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svnflowervol666 · 4 years

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Paper Peonies (70′s crime boss!Harry x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: violence, death, other than that she’s squeaky clean! (nervous laughter)

Author’s Note: Yes, this is inspired by that one part in Tiger King and no, I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve had this scenario stuck in my head for a while (and by a while I mean March aka I am slow as hell to get shit done but I digress), and that combined with my obsession with the show Good Girls is where this fic blossomed. This is obviously set up to have multiple parts, so I hope this is enough to draw you in for what happens between Harry and Y/N after this! Take care and TPWK.

April 22, 1977 ~ New York City

She had always been suspicious of what Harry did for a living. His clothes were nice, the lapels of whatever color suit he’d decided to wear that day were always pressed with the upmost attention to detail and she’d never once seen even the tiniest scuff on his loafers. The chocolate brown curls on top of his head, no matter how dishevelled they appeared to be, always looked intentionally messy as if each wild strand had its own position to uphold. He never missed a nail appointment, and Y/N knew this because she always smelled the faintest hint of acetone trail behind him after his cologne with notes of sweet tobacco and ginger each time he entered the flower shop where he worked. Everything about his presence led her to believe that Harry was important man, but she hadn’t realized just how influential he was until tonight.

Harry visited her once a week. Every Wednesday for the past six months at precisely one o’clock in the afternoon, the wind chime attached to the door at the store entrance would announce his arrival. He always ordered a custom bouquet, the most expensive option in their catalogue, and always insisted that Y/N be the one to make it. She had creative authority over which flowers went where, which colors to use - “Whatever your pretty little heart desires,” as he would tell her as he smirks behind his amber tinted sunglasses. He always tipped, no matter how many times she told him this was a flower shop and that she didn’t work for tips, and he always plucked the prettiest, freshest flower out of the bouquet and handed it back to Y/N. He'd drop the flower into the display vase at the register if she refused the gesture, and other times he’d tuck the stem right behind her ear, caressing her cheek in the softest manner to intentionally fluster her. Harry knew she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, as he’d come to know her just as well through the small talk they made during each one of his visits, which is why it amused him so much to see this girl, kind and short-tempered, freeze up at the slightest touch of his fingers on her skin.

Y/N knew he was a man with a routine, which is why she grew inherently worried when one o’clock rolled around and Harry had yet to show his face in the flower shop. She wasn’t sure why she even cared so much; he was only a customer. Sure, he was easy on the eyes and always flirted with her and it was just about the only form of male interraction she’d come across throughout the entire time that she’d known him, but that was all he was - a customer. So, to busy herself and her thoughts, she’d scrubbed the countertops a few more times than necessary and paid far too much attention to the arrangement of pots and vases for the rest of her shift.

It had all happened so suddenly.

At first, she had been giving the shop its final sweep before closing. The gentle singing of the wind chime made Y/N curse under her breath. We close in ten minutes, why the fuck are you here? But her irritation soon turned to relief when her eyes met his - Harry’s. He graciously apologized for being late, though he had no reason to. She didn’t even ask him what she wanted, only going immediately to work on the bouquet she’d been planning out all day in her head for the next time she saw him.

One minute, she was chatting him up and playfully giving him a hard time as she always does, and the next, she heard the unmistakable sound of gun shots and she was being shoved underneath the cash register by Harry and told to “Stay there, and don’t fucking move until I come get you.”

She isn’t sure, but she thinks she’s went into shock because she can barely see and although she can hear glass breaking and the strangled voices of two men going head to head, but it all rings faint and distant in her ears. Her knees tuck impossibly close to her shoulders as she hunches underneath the counter in imminent fear that whatever or whoever is out there creating an ungodly amount of damage is coming for her next and out of all places, her unproductive, measly life would come to abrupt halt in a fucking flower shop of all places.

It could have been five minutes, it could have been hours, but there’s a lingering gun shot proceeded by a harsh thud that she somehow hears through the ringing in her ears and she can sense that the quarell had ended. She scurries backward into the tan wood when she hears footsteps approaching her, too scared to even look up because she’s convinced that she’s next.

“Y/N...Y/N? Y/N!” she comes to when she realizes that it’s Harry shaking her wearily by the shoulders.

“Where’s the phone?”

There’s caked blood around his ringed knuckles, a thin trail of crimson liquid running down his temple and his cheekbone rears an ugly cut that’ll certainly take weeks to heal, but he’s seemingly unharmed aside from the few casualties on his face.

“What?” she asks, still in a daze and utterly confused as to why he’s asking a question like that at a time like this.

“Tell me where the phone is.”

His voice is stern and if she’s being honest, it scares the shit out of her because if Harry is still alive and well, she’s not so sure that the other guy is.

“O-over by the broom closet.”

“I’ll be back in a second. Whatever you do, stay here and do not look over the counter,” is all he says before disappearing from her view.

She tries her hardest, she really does, not to eavesdrop on the conversation Harry is having with whoever is on the other line of the phone. He’s speaking in whispers and so low that it’s almost undetectable, but she hears bits and pieces.

“The flower shop on Main Street...It’s fine, I just need yeh t’ bring the boys here now...Yeh, there was someone else here but I’m taking care of it.”

That last bit is enough to send bone-chilling shiver down her spine. It kicked her fight or flight response into full gear, which has her scrambling to her feet ready to book it out of the shop to the nearest payphone so she could call the police. After all, shouldn’t she regardless? Given that a shootout just happened in the lobby of her fucking workplace. She moves to stand up, but a jarring sight over the counter she’d been hiding under stopped her.

A pool of blood, the most she’s ever seen, surrounded a limp body whose face was battered to the point of being unrecognizable laid on the ground in front of her. Her breath catches in her throat and she actually feels like she’s suffocating.

Harry did this. And all she could do was collapse right back on the ground where she had been hiding.

“Are yeh alright?”

His eyes are full of sympathy and a bit of regret when he returns, and hers are filled with frightful tears that Harry will hate himself for for the rest of his life knowing that he was the reason for.

“I, uh... I think so,” she’s able to squeeze out in between waves of panic.

“Good,” Harry says sternly, “Now, come on. I’ll take yeh home.”

If Harry was “taking care of it,” it being her, there was no way in hell she was spending more than another second alone with Harry.

“Who is that?” her voice is quiet but firm, and it’s what makes Harry realize that she hadn’t listened to him and had definitely peeked over the counter when he wasn’t looking.

He sighs in displeasure, eyes flicking towards the dead body in the lobby of the store and then back to Y/N.

“No one yeh need t’ worry about. It’s taken care of. Now please, just let me drive yeh home so I know you’re safe.”

“No offense, Harry,” she began, “But there is no fucking way I am getting into a car with you.”

“Y/N, just-” is all he can get out before she makes a beeline for the front door and is running as far away from Harry as she possibly can.

She makes it about two blocks down the now empty streets before her lungs give up on her. In times like these, she wishes she exercised more. Just as she’s catching her breath against the door of a closed bodega, begging and praying that Harry had lost track of her, she feels headlights coming up on her backside in the distance.

“Y/N!” It’s Harry, yelling at her from the driver’s side of a maroon Mustang.

“Just get in the car and I’ll explain everything.”

Not a fucking chance, buddy she thinks to herself. She gives him her sassiest side glare before resuming her fast-paced walk down the street.

It doesn’t deter Harry from creeping along the street to match her speed.

“Y/N,” he pleads.

“Fuck off, psycho” she mutters under her breath, but it’s still loud enough for Harry to hear.

“It’s 1977, Y/N! Do yeh know how many serial killers are on the loose right now? Get in the fucking car!”

He’s getting ansty now. Not only by her persistance to get away from him, but because of the fact that he knows whenever he looses sight of her, she’s going straight to the police and everything he’s built for himself will come crashing down on him. He never thought that his sweet, hot-headed Y/N would be his downfall.

“Why?” Y/N stopped abruptly and spun around on her heels to face him.

“So you can get rid of your witness? I’m good. Blow my brains right here out on the sidewalk, please. I’d prefer a junkie to keep my corpse company over the maggots in whatever hole in the Bronx you planned on throwing me in.”

“Christ, you’re impossible.”

Harry didn’t even bother saying that under his breath.

“Here,” he starts, reaching for the button on the glove compartment.

Using the dull, yellow street lights and infinitely glowing neon signs in the store-fronts of the buildings around her, she can see that he’s pulled out a pistol. It causes her to jump back a few steps, as if she hadn’t just politely asked him to kill her on the sidewalk in the first place.

“Fuck, sorry. Didn’t mean t’ scare yeh.”

Well it’s a little too fucking late for that.

He quickly unloads the cylinder and the clanking of bullets hitting his seat fills her ears. With a flick of his wrist, he presents the handle to her.

“Yeh can point it at me the whole drive. Please, just let me take yeh home so I know you’re alright.”

He seemed earnest and sincere, but based on everything that had happened to her in this short amount of time, she had come to realize that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to Harry.

However, in her brief stint on Earth, she’s decided that everything that’s happened to her thus far had been for a reason (as cliche as that seemed), and her gut was telling her trust him. After all, he had shielded her from the rainfall of bullets that more or less decimated the flower shop just minutes before.

She say anything, only yanking the gun from Harry’s grip and slamming his door shut.

“The brownstones in Bed-Stuy,” is all she tells him.

“Jesus, Y/N. We’re all the way in Chelsea. Couldn’t find a closer place to work? That’s a scary train ride home at night. Surprised yeh haven’t been kidnapped yet.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t say shit like that considering this is the first time I’ve spent longer than ten minutes with you and I’m sitting in your car.”

Harry sighs under his breath, cursing himself for freaking her out for the umpteenth time tonight.

He notices her struggling to load the bullets into the cylinder.

“Do yeh need hel-”

“I live alone in Brooklyn. I know how to fucking use a gun,” she snarls as the firing pin finally clicks into place.

“Alright,” Harry mumbles.

She shifts in the plush, leather seat, one elbow leaning out the open window as the other is tucked into her side so she can point the barrel of the gun right at Harry’s side.

“Okay, start talking.”

Rolling his eyes, he bangs the back of his head against the head-rest. He winces as soon as his scalp makes contact with the seat, momentarilly forgetting he’d gotten it slammed against the linoleum during the brawl in the flower shop.

“What do yeh’ want t’ know?”

“For starters, what the fuck happened at the flower shop?”

Harry feels like he’s sighed precisely nine hundred and thirty-one times tonight, but he’s somehow able to squeeze out another one before answering Y/N’s question.

“Did yeh ever meet the guy that lived above the shop?”

“Mr. Perry? He’s harmless. Why? Is that who was on the floor?”

Her sould hurt momentarily for the middle-aged man that she ocassionally crossed paths with when she’d open up the store in the mornings. He was never quite sociable, but he always tipped his hat to her when he saw her. Her boss had told her once that he always kept to himself, so she was never surprised that he never struck up a conversation with her.

““S not exactly harmless, Y/N,” Harry corrected her.

“We did...business together a few times. Found out he tried t’ cross me. Word must’ve got around tha’ I was looking for him, so I’m assuming when he saw my car outside the shop, he figured he’d take his chance t’ get rid of me.”

“What kind of business?” she deadpanned.

Harry hesitated.

“...Business,” he repeated.

The hammer of the gun locks into place, making Harry flinch and realize that he really fucked up by giving Y/N that gun.

“What kind of business?” she asks again, this time with a loaded weapon at her disposal.

“There’s...money involved. Lots of it.”

“So it’s illegal?”

“Most definitely.”

“Fine,” she decides that she probably doesn’t want to know anyway and moves on to her next question.

“You’ve been checking up on him this whole time? That’s why you come into the flower shop?”

Harry nods hesitantly, fingers gripping impossibly harder into the steering wheel.

She scoffs, laughing almost.

“So you don’t actually bring all of those flowers to your mother then? It was all just a ruse to keep your ducks in a row?”

Y/N isn’t sure why, but her heart broke over the notion that Harry didn’t come to the flower shop every week just to see her. Even though she acted like he annoyed her most of the time, she really was quite fond of him. I mean, anyone that’s seem the man would say the same. She never expected their relationship to flourish past light conversations about what flowers are blooming, but knowing he never actually cared was a different kind of disappointment.

“No,” Harry is quick to discount her assumption and he’s looking as serious as she’s seen him all night.

“I do give them t’ my mum.”

There’s a pregnant pause before he starts talking again.

“She died when I was ten. The cemetery’s only a few blocks away from the shop.”

Y/N feels like shit for pushing him, so she flips the safety clip on the side of the gun and allows it to fall limp in her crossed legs.

“Sorry.”

Harry’s sucks his lips into his mouth and shrugs his shoulders, letting her know that at least he knew she meant well.

“Okay,” Y/N draws out, her anxieties that Harry is going to take a detour to the nearest boat dock and throw her into the disgustingly unsanitary water in the dead of night rapidly dwindling away.

“Let’s say you do drop me off at my apartment. What’s stopping me from running to the police the second I get out of this car and telling them everything that I saw?”

Harry laughs sarcastically, readjusting the rearview mirror.

“Well, for starters, your fingerprints are on the murder weapon.”

“Fuck!” Y/N yells, kicking the gun out of her lap and letting it clank to the floorboard.

It was almost soothing. He knew it was only her reaction to realizing she could be held accountable for his crimes if anyone ever did find out about what happened, but the fact that she didn’t reach for the gun after that moment made him think that she trusted him in come capacity.

“And if that wasn’t enough t’ convince yeh, he was trying to start a human trafficking ring. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t really think someone like that deserves to roam the streets. Think the world is far better off without him, don’t you?”

Okay, maybe Harry had a point.

When she hadn’t said anything in a while, letting only the sound of the wind fill the space of the car, Harry turned to look at her. Though she had unhesitantly cocked a loaded gun at aimed it directly at his face just moments ago, he couldn’t help but take his eyes off of the road and let them wander around her features.

She really was beautiful. The way her hair was blowing with the speed of his car and how the each street post they passed glowed around her sillhouette like a halo was stirring something inside of him.

He had went into the flower shop for the first time, he was genuinely in search for flowers to place on his mother’s grave. He’d expected to be greeted by a frail, elderly woman with shaky hands behind the counter, not Y/N. She was stubborn and he could see the fire behind her eyes and with everything in him, he couldn’t place his feelings for her. Was it akin to a grade-school crush on the cute girl he sat beside on the bus? Was it sexual tension that was begging to be unleashed so he could really show her what he was capable of beyond the flirtatious touches and salacious smirks? Or was it something else?

“Think we’re here,” Harry broke the long stream of silence as the car rolled to a halt outside of her apartment building.

“Oh,” was all Y/N said, almost saddened by the fact that their interraction was reaching its end.

“I’d really appreciate it if yeh didn’t go t’ the police. I won’t stop yeh, but if yeh do this f’ me, I promise I won’t let anything bad happen t’ yeh anymore.”

His eyes looked sorrowful, like he had an inkling that she would snitch and help take him down. But there was another part of him that believed she wouldn’t.

“I won’t,” she whispered quietly.

Her fingers lingered on the wooden-coated handle as she turned to him.

“Why are you doing this?”

“This as in...?” he quirked his brow at her.

“Helping me. You could’ve easily just killed me in the shop to spare you the trouble, but you didn’t.”

A small smile broke out on Harry’s face, the corners of his perfectly-pink mouth turning up just slightly.

“Didn’t think I could make it more obvious, but...I like yeh. I care about yeh. Care about what happens t’ yeh. You’re a sweet girl. Yeh didn’t deserve t’ see all that.”

Y/N nodded, eyes zeroed in on the discarded gun and loose bullets that had been rattling on the floorboard the entire drive to her apartment.

“Thank you,” she whispered, almost undetectable but Harry heard her.

With this information on hand, she no longer believed Harry meant ill with anything he had done. Even murdering the man that lived in the studio above where she worked.

He cared about her. He cared about what happened to her. And that’s why she was still here.

As she reluctantly removed herself from the passenger seat and closed the door to the mustang that must have cost a year’s worth of her rent, she pivoted and leaned on the still-open car window.

“You know,” she started, her iconic, I’m-not-even-joking-in-the-slightest expression that Harry had come to know (and love) reared its head.

“You’re paying for all of the shit you broke. Those pots are expensive and the owner’s gonna blow a fucking gasket when she comes in to do payroll tomorrow.”

This earned a genuine laugh from Harry, loaded with more than she understood at the moment, but would eventually learn more about.

“It’ll look brand new in there come morning. Swear it,” he placed his hand over his heart for good measure.

“Goodnight, Harry,” she spoke softly, her lips mimicking the smile that was plastered on his.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

As someone that had witnessed and was now an accomplice in a brutal murder that took place where she worked, Y/N called in sick the next day. Her undeniable PTSD had made her violently ill with even the thought of going near the entirety of Manhattan. But alas, she had bills to pay and forced herself into the flower shop on Friday.

The second her coworkers heard the windchimes and realized it was her that had entered, they were quick to bombard her with what she had missed while she was out.

She was too busy being completely stunned by the sight in front of her.

The store was spotless. It looked exactly as it had the before “the incident.” No broken glass, no missing pots, no blood stains on the floor, and no body. It was as if Harry had never even stepped foot in the shop to begin with.

“Your guy came by looking for you. Left you a card.”

“Harry?” she asked, “Can’t be. He only comes on Wednesday’s.”

She momentarily mourned the brunette. Would he ever come back at all now that his “friend” was most likely chopped up into dozens of pieces and burried in a dump somewhere that no one would ever find?

“Real tall? Curly hair? Always wears those yellow sunglasses? Huge flirt with the mustang?”

Yep, that was him.

“It’s in the office,” her coworker added before going back to her task of sweeping up wilted petals from the ground.

“He’s a charmer, ya know?” she added.

“Seemed worried when I told him you were sick. It was kinda cute, actually.”

She was too shaken up to give her the embarrassed reaction that she knew she was waiting for, walking with purpose towards the back of the store where the office was.

Sure enough, in a beige envelope sealed with melted wax and her name written on the front in perfect cursive, was a letter. With shaking hands, she freed the expensive-feeling paper from the confines of the envelope and lifted it closer to her face so she could read it.

Thank you for not saying anything.

Thank you for trusting me.

I meant what I said about protecting you.

If there’s anything I can ever do for you, please don’t hesitate to reach out.

x, H.

p.s. Those pink pots were a bitch to replace. Tell your boss to stop buying product in fucking New Jersey.

And finally, written in jet black ink at the bottom of the stationary in Harry’s handwriting, was an address.

She knew she’d been there before, as the street name was notorious for being home to New York’s most bustling night clubs and dive bars, but she couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t until she’d asked her friend about it later that night over their Friday night pizza-and-beer tradition that she realized where the address would take her.

A strip club?

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #crime boss!Harry

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doctorthreephds · 4 years

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Synapses: Part 4

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 6.4k

TW: Death, sickness, blood, violence, typical Criminal Minds stuff, specifically from the episode “Amplification”

Summary: You find yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with Spencer as your relationship grows. But, the calm is just before the storm and your job puts you in more danger than you signed up for.

Masterlist

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @green-intervention @eevee0722

Spencer made it easy to fall in love. You had little knowledge of romantic relationships besides a couple of elementary and middle school “relationships” that were barely romantic, just a couple of kids attempting to find their way in the world. Your experience with relationships, in general, had been difficult. Your father was estranged growing up and your mother was loving but constantly busy with work and her duties as a diplomat. She made time for you, though, and in the end, you wish you had made more time for her.

Death is a fickle thing, it is the only thing that makes life worth living, and yet even as a forensic scientist, you wanted to figure out how to evade it. When your mother died, your relationship with death was complicated because you felt cheated. That she deserved so many more years of life and that you should have done more to help. You know that in your heart, you feel a deep passion for Spencer, that you want to get to know him and to cherish him as he should be cherished, but death still loomed overhead and it terrified you. So you hold Spencer at an arm’s length. While he had no problem hugging you and holding your hand occasionally, you made sure he remains cordial and platonic with you. Such a task was difficult, though.

Your feet ache as you walk over to the elevator, sniffling in an attempt to calm your runny nose. Spring had officially set in and so had your allergies; it seemed as if all the pollen in the world was coming for your sinuses. Pulling out a tissue to blow your nose, you barely register Spencer standing next to you.

“I’m going to see Ponyo in theaters tonight, it’s a limited run and they’re playing it in Japanese. You could come with me, I could even simultaneously translate it to you,” he states and you jump slightly in surprise, not having expected him to be there.

“Sounds like fun, but I desperately need Claritin and I wouldn’t want you to miss the screening,” your voice is nasal as you speak, the pressure in your head making it pound with every step you take once you exit the elevator.

“It’s no problem, we can both head home and I’ll just pick you up with my car,” he suggests, and you look over suspiciously.

“You hate driving.”

“But I’d drive for you,” you sigh as the two of you make it out of the building and start toward the metro. “I’d just really like to see it with you, I think you’d enjoy it.”

You huff as the breeze picks up slightly, hitting you with another face full of pollen. Looking over at Spencer, his eyes were bright and full of mischief. He holds onto the strap of his bag as the two of you walk down the stairs and you try your best to read his face. Only pure content and joy, oh how this man has ruined you.

“Fine. Only if you pay for dinner,” you mumble, blowing your nose into another tissue as the train approaches.

“Of course, it’s my turn anyway,” he states, a satisfied look on his face. The two of you often paid for each other when it came to food, remaining constantly indebted to each other. But this way, you always knew he would come back. Because he owed you.

Getting home was a relief, it truly serves as a place to escape and decompress. After being stuffy all day and having to work through several reports as you reviewed the evidence and possible threats, it had truly been a test of your patience. After taking Claritin and changing into something a little more suited to the weather, Spencer arrives right on time. The rest of the night goes off with a hitch and more often than not do you find yourself looking over at Spencer as his eyes take in every single little detail of the movie. True to his word, the two of you order cheap nachos and pizza from the movie theater and munch on it during the movie. He speaks translations to you in a low whisper, adding intonation and inflection to distinguish between the characters. Spencer never ceases to amaze you and while you love Ponyo, there’s just something so alluring about watching Spencer talk about things that interest him. At the end of the movie, he continues to process and talk about every little detail left to his whim.

“While Ponyo is essentially a movie about a child’s innocence and familial love, there is an underlying theme that comments on the pollution of our oceans, as seen in the character of Fujimoto who is afraid of humans and constantly criticizes them,” Spencer says as the two of you walk into the foyer.

“The ramen looked amazing, though. It makes me hungry for some real food,” you state as the smell of popcorn makes you crave even more food.

“Food in film, specifically films directed by Hayao Miyazaki, are a tool to show togetherness and family as well as human nature. The details of the food tell their own story in many of the other movies. We’ll have to check them out if they even come to the theater,” he continues and you smile, shaking your head.

“Or we can just watch them at my apartment. I’ll buy the whole box set and we’ll just have a whole binge,” you tell him as the two of you make it out onto the street, walking back to his car.

“That’s also good too,” he says as you bark out a laugh. “It’s a date.”

While such trivial words shouldn’t insight fear inside of you, it doesn’t stop you from spending the rest of the night thinking about it after Spencer drops you back home. It remains in your mind the next day when you go to work and find your way to the BAU during lunch, only to find that they were called away on a case. So, the rest of the week is spent thinking about the words “it’s a date.” Obviously, he meant a physical date, like the one on a calendar. But what if he wasn’t? He hadn’t been over to your apartment before and you had never gone to his. It was like a platonic line the two of you hadn’t crossed so that your relationship would stay strictly on the down-low. What did it mean that he wanted to come over to your apartment, then? On a so-called “date?” There wasn’t even an actual day you planned to have your movie marathon on, so technically it couldn’t even be considered a date. Just a plan.

That Friday, you were getting ready to go home and crash on the couch after ordering take out when Penelope texts you.

From Penelope (5:46 PM):

I’m gonna need some reinforcements up here, the team is just getting back.

To Penelope (5:46 PM):

Hard case?

From Penelope (5:47 PM):

Like you can’t even imagine.

Sighing, you get up out of your chair and head to the elevator, going a couple of floors up to the BAU. When you get out, Penelope stands there with a face of anticipation as she sees you walk out.

“Oh good, they’re almost here. Spencer’s not doing too hot,” she says and you frown, turning to face the elevator.

As if they were summoned, the second elevator opens up to reveal the team in several different states of fatigue and disappointment. Spencer stands in the back, hunched over slightly as he frowns and follows the rest of them out once the doors are fully open. You smile at your dad and pat him on the shoulder as he leans down.

“The gelato place downtown is still open,” he whispers and kisses your cheek before walking into the offices. You walk in front of Spencer and gently bump into him to break him from his stupor.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask and look up at him, seeing the furrow in his brow and the dark circles under his eyes that look even darker.

“Nothing, I have to work on my reports,” he mumbles and walks past into the offices.

“Why don’t we go get food and you can come back, just to help clear your mind,” you insist, following him as he collapses into his office chair, rubbing his temples to relieve a bit of the stress built up over the past couple days.

“I have too much to work on,” he brushes you off and turns to stare at all the papers stacked up on his desk.

“You can work on them this weekend,” you state and push the spinny chair so that he faces you. “I know something is wrong, we’ve known each other for several months and I can tell when something is bothering you. Now, I’m not going to ask, but I do know that you can complete reports faster than everyone here and that you can take them home. So, I declare today backwards day. Let’s go grab some ice cream.”

You smile your biggest smile in hopes of breaking him out of his spiral and the reference to Ponyo definitely helps. He smiles slightly, although it doesn’t reach his eyes, and shoves a couple of folders into his satchel before standing.

“Lead the way,” you smile at him and loop your arm around his in hopes of helping to keep him grounded. The two of you walk out of the BAU in silence, but you can feel a change in Spencer already. Hunting the worst types of people every single day as a job constantly gets to you, especially when it comes to this team who constantly look at the mind of unidentified subjects to catch them. With your father, he deals with it through good old compartmentalization and expensive alcohol. For Spencer, you would guess it’s not as easy. His mind was endlessly thinking and analyzing so any mistake made would be remembered and replayed. The best you can do is let him know that there’s a world around him other than everything going on in his head.

After getting on the metro, you engage in simple conversation, telling him about what you’ve had the luxury of working on and the most recent book you had been reading: The Awakening by Kate Chopin. When you see the stop for downtown, you pull him off the train and begin to walk toward your favorite family-owned gelato establishment.

“Where are we going?” he asks, looking around at the nightlife of D.C.

“It’s a surprise,” you wink and pull him toward a small shop full of freezers filled with gelato. His eyes light up at the sight of the gaudy decorations that are over the top depictions of Florence and Rome.

“Gelato?”

“It’s backwards day!” you remark and order a medium stracciatella.

“I’ll get a medium mint chip,” he asks and you reach out hand over your card before Spencer can get to the cashier.

When the both of you have your gelato in hand, you both slowly meander down the street as you devour into your delicious treat.

“Did you know that the word stracciatella comes from the Italian word ‘stracciare’ and is also the name of the famed soup that is popular in the Lazio region of central Italy? The same technique is applied to the ice cream but instead of chocolate and ice cream, it’s broth and an egg-based mixture. It’s a western variation of the Chinese egg drop soup,” he gets out before spooning some of the gelato into his mouth. You can only smile at him as you admire how beautiful he looks in the dim lighting, rambling on and effectively getting him away from the horrors of the world, even if for a moment. He continues to talk about soup and how often eastern traditions are westernized and taken over, but all you can do is stare at him and think about how head over heels you are for him.

Perhaps it is love. But your heart is stored in a box away from harm. Its defenses were weakening, though. Every word spoken by Spencer was like a small chisel working away at the precious marble box, artistic and masterful. You love him, yet in your mind, keeping it from him meant keeping him safe. Or, keeping yourself safe.

Quiet weeks are always appreciated at the FBI. Quiet weeks for you meant simple research and few reports, just enough to keep yourself busy. Quiet weeks for the BAU were just simple consultations and writing up all their fieldwork into manageable reports. But, before a tsunami, the ocean always rears its ugly face.

You knew something was wrong when your director called you before dawn. A shrill noise jerked you from your sleep and you pull your phone to your ear even before checking the caller.

“Agent Montgomery,” you reply groggily, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you check your digital clock.

“There’s a suspected attack, we’re sending an agent to pick you up. The FBI is under strict media blackout rules so do not inform anyone,” Director Chase states. “There’s Cipro for you on arrival.”

Your heart beats out of your chest at the mention of anthrax. You had just started college when the Amerithrax attacks happened, it had been one of the reasons you wanted to become a toxicologist. Never in your life did you ever expect to face an actual anthrax attack head-on.

Getting ready is a blur, you pull on suitable clothes and meet the other agent when they arrive. During the drive, you are given a very quick debrief. Last night, twenty-five people checked into emergency rooms with black lesions and lung failure after they had all been at the same park after 2 p.m. The strain of anthrax used was weaponized and reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs, odorless and invisible. At the moment, there are eleven dead with the number quickly rising. All remaining patients were moved to a special wing in Walter Reed Hospital with Dr. Linda Kimura from the CDC and her team overseeing the treatment of all victims. You memorize this information and how you would apply your skills, finding any evidence and analyzing it. The thought of working with the BAU is both exciting and terrifying. Your father would be at risk, and so would Spencer. The only peace of mind is the fact that you would be working with them so any harm that comes to them would go through you first.

Once at the Bureau, you swallow the Cipro dry and take the elevator up to the BAU where several military scientists have gathered and move around the busy offices. Your director approaches you as you enter and glance around at all the chaos.

“Dr. Kimura’s already in the conference room with Agent Jareau and Agent Hotchner. You’ll be accompanying them to any possible active sites to try and gather a sample as well as oversee the response,” he states and you nod, climbing up the stairs and trying not to throw up the pills you just swallowed. Seeing JJ and Hotch helps to ground you a little but your heart still beats quickly.

“Dr. Kimura, it’s nice to meet you,” you smile weakly and shake her hand.

“You too, I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances,” she replies and you nod, turning to look at the file full of evidence. It was unlike anything you had ever seen, less than twenty-four hours and already fourteen people were dead.

The rest of the team shuffles in and you meet Spencer’s gaze, seeing the worry build up in his eyes like tiny storms. You were sure that your face shared the same fear. As they are debriefed, you find yourself looking through at the lesions and pictures shared, trying not to grimace at the sight. College had its fair share of gross photos, but those people were either dead or safe. Time was not your friend.

“Reid, go with Dr. Kimura and Dr. Montgomery to the hospital, interview the victims,” you tune in at your name and look up at Hotch as he delivers assignments. “There’s Cipro. Everybody needs to take it before we go.”

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something,” Dr. Kimura huffs out as she raises the tray for everyone to take.

“This is really happening?” Emily asks. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Can such a weapon be real?

“We knew this could happen. We’ve done our homework. We’ve prepared for this. This is it,” Hotch speaks the words as if they are a mantra as if the FBI knows everything. And while he’s right, the FBI does not know everything about this strain of anthrax. The unknown kills people, you just hope you can get to it before it kills more civilians.

“Jin dan,” your father says. “May you live one hundred years.”

Your jaw clenches as you watch both your father and Spencer takes the pills. Your father is on the older side, you know that and he’s lived through a lot, but something like this would take him out in a matter of hours. And Spencer, he’s young and healthy, but this spore had killed fourteen people. What was another victim?

As you follow Dr. Kimura and Spencer out of the conference room, your mind is full of statistics and chemical concoctions that could help you. It moves quickly and swiftly, distracting you from the escalation of the current situation.

“Why didn’t you take the Cipro?” Spencer asks as you stand in the office.

“I took it when I arrived, I was here before you,” you respond monotonously, sighing as you turn and give him a reluctant smile. “Sorry, I’m just nervous. Never really been ‘in the field’ before.”

“You’ll be great,” he offers you a look of encouragement and squeezes your hand as you follow Dr. Kimura to the cars, waiting for Spencer as he grabs files from JJ.

The car ride is spent talking about treatments and other specific details. You focus on trying to break down the creation of the spores as well as possible antidotes to combat it. Because there are no know samples just yet, you work through from the other angle. How does one weaponize a regular bacteria? Well, increasing its ability to quickly become activated and multiply would do the trick. To fight against it, our white blood cells would need to work just as quickly to get rid of the foreign bacteria that attacks our immune system, therefore an antidote would be able to target this bacteria and destroy it at the same rate. Just as a vaccine would. Arriving at the hospital is a bit jarring, you walk with Dr. Kimura and Spencer up to the wing where you break off and look at blood and toxin reports to fully understand what parts of the body are being attacks as well as what kind of chemicals makes up this specific toxin.

“What’s causing her aphasia?” Spencer asks as they make their way back over to you. This piques your interest as you take notes on a separate piece of paper, jotting down everything you can think of to help understand.

“The poison is infecting the parietal lobe, impairing her speech. Some of the other patients displayed the same symptoms shortly before they died,” she states solemnly, and you sigh as you speak out.

“The only thing that can help them is if we find the antidote because unless we do a molecular analysis of the specific strain, we’re unable to understand how this works,” you grumble, the want to lash out angrily growing. “This can’t be his first attack, especially if he was a scientist. You run small trials before getting to human subjects.”

You continue to work with Spencer, sifting through ideas as Dr. Kimura makes calls and inquires about possible previous victims. It made sense in your little science brain, that one would not test on a bigger group before ensuring it was deadly with a smaller group--like vaccine or drug trials. As Dr. Kimura brings over a list of other patients, Spencer goes into another area to call the team as you cross-reference your notes with her.

“So far, all we know is that this is anthrax. Do you think I can use blood and tissue samples in your lab for analysis? Maybe I can refine the strain and get an antidote or perhaps see how quickly it multiplies,” you ask and she nods.

“Of course,” she calls over another nurse and asks for blood and tissue samples from an already deceased victim and asks for it to be delivered to your lab.

As Spencer steps out of the closet, you look over at him and try to memorize every part of him. The revolver that sticks out of his hip, the badge, the long unruly hair, his violet shirt, just everything that makes him Spencer. Your heart was racing with nerves and all you wanted to do was take him out of harm’s way.

“How are you feeling?” he inquires as you shake your head.

“I feel useless. I’m no medical doctor nor am I any closer to finding the antidote,” you mumble and look up at the ceiling to try and stave off the tears.

“You’re doing great. It’s a waiting game until we get more answers about the profile, you’re doing the best you can,” he reaches out and wraps an arm around you as you hug him, sighing as you deeply inhale his cologne.

“Yet my best can’t stop all these people from dying,” you look over at the young girl that Spencer was talking to, watching as every breath in her lungs feels like the last.

“You’re one person. And I know that when it gets down to it, you’ll be brilliant,” the two of you pull away slightly and you look up at him, your noses almost touching. You could kiss him right now if your lives weren’t being threatened, but the voice of Dr. Kimura breaks the two of you apart.

“How’s she doing?” Spencer asks as the three of you walk over to the window, Dr. Kimura pulling up her charts.

“She’s a fighter. She’s held on this long because she’s young and strong. But she’s started to bleed into her lungs,” Dr. Kimura states and you stare through the glass, wanting to will this young girl to live.

“One of four left,” you mumble and look over at Spencer.

“We’re running into another problem. When next of kin have questions, what do we tell them about cause of death?” you look back through the glass as you ponder another unanswerable question.

Once the samples are ready, you and Spencer go down to the hospital lab where you try to isolate the spore in each of the samples and look at them underneath the microscope as well as streak them on Petri dishes. Spencer helps with tools and supplies so you aren’t running around, but the most that the microscope tells you is that it is anthrax and the dishes won’t be ready for analysis any time soon because they need to incubate. Once done, you clean and sterilize everything before sitting down on one of the chairs and looking up at the fluorescent lights of the hospital.

“This is useless,” you mutter and shake your head.

“No, it’s not. They’re delivering the profile right now and then we’ll be able to find a suspect,” Spencer tells you as you look over at him, a small smile on your face.

“Are you always this optimistic, Dr. Statistics?” you ask as he chuckles.

“No, because I’m usually running and forming statistics, but you distract me enough from the looming threat of death,” your eyes widen as he speaks as you let out a short laugh before his phone begins to ring. The conversation is short, but you gather that you finally have a suspect worthy of bringing in.

“That was Morgan, we’re going to a suspect’s house. His name is Dr. Lawrence Nichols and he tried to lobby for money to fund his anthrax preparedness plan but failed because it wasn’t feasible,” he says as the two of you grab your things and make your way down to the bottom floor, Derek meeting you as the three of you take off toward his house. He fills you in on Dr. Nichols’ past, his adamancy about wanting all families to have protection against anthrax as well as his inevitable job termination. Your hands shake with nerves as you think about having to be around people, specifically people that could potentially pose a threat to your life. This wasn’t what you did, nor was it who you were. You were far out of your comfort zone, but at least you could be helpful instead of sitting around in a lab.

The three of you wait outside the small suburban house, waiting as the hazmat team goes through and ensures that there are no traces of anthrax that could threaten your life.

“This guy just had people over for a charity event last month,” Derek states and you look over at the house, it was painted a robin blue. You would never suspect a serial killer to live in such a normal house.

“We should probably take a look around anyway,” Spencer suggests as the three of you head toward the garage and behind the house.

You stayed quiet and observed from a scientific view, looking over at the rose bushes and reaching over to touch the delicate flower. Though even the most beautiful flowers have thorns and you wince as a sharp point pricks your finger. Following Spencer, you stick the finger in your mouth to get rid of the blood.

As you maneuver around the many plants, Derek’s phone rings and he puts Penelope on speaker as Spencer listens in. You, on the other hand, continue to look around for any evidence pointing toward him being the suspect. Perhaps a lab of some sorts. As you enter the smaller building behind the house, you instantly see the makings of a lab with the fumes hood and the surplus of beakers and Petri dishes. Stepping into the lab, your heart jumps in your chest when you see a shattered test tube on the floor with white powder.

Behind you, Spencer calls out your name and you rush over the door to close it, the chill of the air conditioning blasting behind you.

“Spencer, get back! Get back right now,” you fumble with the lock, shutting yourself into the lab with the vial.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” he asks and pushes against the door.

“No, please, Spencer. Get away from the door,” you beg, tears forming in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? Open the door,” he persists as he stares at you through the glass. Was it enough? Was he infected? You couldn’t know for sure.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you mutter, a tear dripping down your cheek as you step back from the door.

“Kid, what’s going on?” you hear Derek call out from behind Spencer as he backs up from the door.

“Call Hotch. Call an ambulance. Call everyone,” he tells Derek as the fear fills your veins. Your hands are so cold, why are they so cold? Spencer’s sweet voice isn’t enough to talk you down from the anxiety building up. This was the tsunami and you were caught in the tidal wave.

Spencer stands away from the door as you wrap your arms around yourself, staring silently out at him. Your phone rings as he calls you and you put it on speaker.

“Tell me what’s going on, everyone’s on their way. You need to describe everything to me,” you can see Spencer’s mind going a million miles an hour and you could see the blame he put on himself. This wasn’t him, this was all you. At least you were right about anthrax getting through you before it did him.

“There’s a body here, I think it’s Nichols, and he’s dead. There’s also a tube that’s shattered. It’s full of white powder, I’m pretty sure it’s anthrax--Spencer,” you pause, staring straight at him. “I don’t want to die, please I’m so scared.”

You hear all the sirens as they approach and you shake your head, more tears falling down your cheeks.

“Sh, you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” he says and you can see that all he wants to do is wrap his arms around you. “This is where you can help, remember? It’s your turn to be the hero.”

You look up to him, the tears blurring his figure as you wipe them from your cheeks, nodding.

“You’re right,” you mumble and take a deep breath before beginning to go through the lab. “You’re right.”

First, the body.

Reaching down, you feel the skin of Dr. Nichols and see the blue-ish tint to his skin as well as the way his blood has pooled. He appears to be dead at least for a day or two, Livor mortis has already set in.

“Spence, he’s been dead for maybe one to two days. Blunt force trauma to his head,” you say just as Hotch and another man join Spencer and Derek.

“Doctor, we need to get you to the hospital,” Hotch speaks and you shake your head.

“No, I can help. I’m the only one who can work the case here. I’m already exposed, there’s nothing they can do but give me morphine. I can do this,” you state and turn to the lab, looking around for any important information.

“Just get out of there, you need to go to the hospital,” Spencer insists as you continue to search his desk.

“She’s already infected. Now if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure,” the general says and you grab the papers off his desk, reading through his notes.

“If I’m in here, I can find the cure, or I can make it. If I figure out how he made this strain then I can make the antidote with his notes,” you reply, hearing Spencer sigh with exasperation. “I can also try to see who killed Dr. Nichols, the answer is in here somewhere.”

“Say something to her, order her. She can’t stay in there,” Spencer’s voice cracks and you shake your head, now was not the time to get distracted.

“She’s right, her best chance is to be inside,” Hotch replies and you set your phone down as you read through his writing. “We’re gonna get a suit and mask in to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, I’m already infected,” you mumble and break apart all his lab reports.

“Your dad is going to kill me,” Hotch tells you and you sigh, shaking your head.

“He does his job, I do mine.”

Your mind reels at the information, but you force yourself to focus and read through the reports and how Dr. Nichols managed to make such a potent spore. In your mind, your best bet is a combination antibiotic and antibody treatment to combat the toxins and ensure that any remaining bacteria is killed off.

“I think there was a struggle, there’s glass spread out and clutter all over,” you tell them, looking around and finding another desk in the corner. “There’s also another desk in the corner that’s smaller and organized. It appears there are two sets of handwriting as well as instructions on how to sterilize and transfer spores.”

“Nichols would know all that,” the general states.

“He has a partner, maybe even a protege,” Spencer suggests as Hotch and the general run off to go follow that lead. Your phone begins to vibrate and you see that your father is calling you. Picking up, you put the phone to your ear.

“Papa, I’m so sorry,” you mumble, feeling the tears well up once more. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sh, piccolo. This is not your fault. How are you doing?” he asks and you inhale deeply, beginning to feel sharp pains in your chest.

“I’m fine. I’m working,” you let out a sad laugh and shake your head. “I’m scared.”

“You’re going to be okay,” he tells you and he says it with such conviction that you almost believe him.

“If I’m not--”

“Don’t talk like that,” he cuts you off and you shake your head, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“If I’m not okay, I just want to tell you that you were the best dad in the whole world and that I love you so much. I’ll tell mom ‘hi’ for you,” you hold in a sob as he begins to protest. “I love you.”

You hang up the phone and sob into your hand, breathing in as deeply as possible to try and stay afloat. Quickly, you call up Penelope as something crosses your mind.

“Hey, you,” Penelope mumbles solemnly.

“No funny quip?” you bite your lip nervously as she sighs.

“I can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are,” she says.

“Hey, Penny. Do you think you can record something for me?” you ask, glancing out the window to where Spencer is staring in.

“Anything,” you hear her type. “Alright, you’re good.”

“Hey, Spence,” you bite back another sob as it shakes through your chest. “This isn’t how I intended for you to hear this, but here it goes. I love you. So much. And I’m such a coward for not saying it to your face, but, if I’m gone then I want you to know that your brain and your smarts are so incredible, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I love you so much.”

A woman in an orange suit steps into the room and you quickly hang up your phone, smiling at Dr. Kimura.

“Dr. Montgomery,” she says as does her best to walk in the suit.

“You look nice,” you say and let out a shaky laugh. “How is everyone else doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she states and you nod as Spencer calls you back. You answer and put him on speaker.

“Hey, it’s me and Garcia,” he tells you as a tickle in your throat bubbles up and makes you cough. “I think the cure is in there somewhere. Dr. Nichols was a former military scientist so he’s secretive and paranoid. Prentiss and Rossi don’t think the partner was a coworker.”

“Can you look for the cure while I help them?” you ask Dr. Kimura and she nods as you look around the room. “I’ve been through everything, Spence.”

“I know you’re not thinking straight,” his voice cracks. “But, we need you.”

You clear your throat and nod.

“You’re right,” you rush over to his desk and look through his items. “There’s a picture of him teaching and a syllabus.”

You think back to the instructions and think for a moment.

“Hold on,” you run over to the other desk and look at the content. “It’s a student, it has to be if he went through the trouble of writing lab procedures.”

Picking up the thick stack of paper, you instantly recognize it as some sort of thesis. Years of curating your own, you would never forget it.

“A thesis, his partner was a doctoral student,” sweat drips down your hairline as you sift through the papers.

“He wouldn’t have let just anyone in there so perhaps he opened his lab to a student,” Spencer formulates as you read through the paper. “Check the sciences.”

“Uh, cross-checking with names of former employees or customers with grievances at the bookstore.” Penelope types away at her keyboard as you read through the paper, it mentions things like preparedness and less about the spores itself as well as scientific findings. “Nothing, my doves.”

“This doesn’t sound like a science student, this is all about city preparedness, and response,” you cough and try not to stress about the taste of blood in your mouth.

“Check the social studies,” Spencer states. “Public policy, urban planning.”

“Hot to trot. There’s a Chad Brown, School of Public Policy at U. of M. matches a Chad Brown, former employee at the book front. I’ll tell Hotch,” Penelope hangs up as you stifle another cough, the pain in your chest worsening.

“You did it, now get out of there,” Spencer says and you turn to Dr. Kimura as you let out another cough. Blood splatters on your hand and you wipe it on your pants.

“You said the cure would be hidden somewhere we wouldn’t suspect. What about Nichols’ inhaler?” she walks up with the inhaler as you put Spencer on speaker.

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you out here,” he says and you hang up as the two of you walk out of the lab and into the tent where people are ready to spray you down. You let the tears flow freely now that you’re out and the water rolls over you in an attempt to get rid of all the powder that might have stuck. Spencer is outside the tent speaking to Hotch and your father as you get naked and hosed down. Once they’re finished, you’re toweled down and put into a gown as you get on the gurney and are wheeled off to the ambulance.

“Hey, you,” you mutter weakly to Spencer as he walks alongside you. Another cough bursts out of your chest.

“I’m seeing you off to the hospital, the team doesn’t need me,” he states and you nod, taking his hand as they get you into the ambulance. There is a sharp pain in your lungs every time that you move and you cough up blood more and more. The lights in the ambulance are too bright and you feel so hot as Dr. Kimura places her stethoscope on your chest.

“How are you feeling, Dr. Montgomery?” she asks as you fail to hold back another cough.

“I’m obey,” your eyes widen as the words in your head fail to come out of your mouth. “Obey. I fleel fin.”

Your eyes water as you look over at her and then at Spencer who watches you in terror.

“Okay, that’s okay,” she mutters to you before calling out to the driver. “Driver, faster.”

The sound of your heart beating echoes in your head is nausea and dizziness loom over you, making you close your eyes. All the sounds, including Spencer who seems to be calling out to you, dissipate as you drift off into the darkness. At least he would know.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #emily prentiss #jj #Jennifer Jareau #david rossi #aaron hotchner #Penelope Garcia #derek morgan #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction

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auswriteforyou · 4 years

Text

Undeserving. (Ethan Choi, Chicago Med)

It was burned into her brain. Medically speaking, she knew that was impossible. She knew memories were less medical and more mental. Maybe she should schedule an appointment with Dr. Charles. Maybe he could get the memory of her husband having sex with April in an exam room on the 4th floor while she was doing life-saving surgery down the hall out of her head.

She understood the location choice. It was rarely used, the only time they made it up there was when no other bay was available. She had left the room feeling incredible. It was a difficult situation, one that required far too much attention and far too little preparation was given but it had come out with the best possible outcome. She wanted to find Ethan immediately, tell him what she’d accomplished and about the patient she’d grown close to in this process. She didn’t expect to find him in the exam room she heard a crash come from.

She had figured it was just a patient having wondered from their room but no. It was such a nightmare that she had no reaction to it at all. The scramble of them untangling, the sound of scrubs being pulled on and apologies falling on empty ears.

She filed the divorce papers the next day. She put in her transfer request that afternoon. He refused to sign them. Imagine that. He was unfaithful for months, treated her like a stranger for months, literally had sex with her best friend and now he won’t sign the damn paperwork. And here she was, almost a year later of talking only through an attorney from her very expensive law firm in New York because she didn’t even want to hear his voice.

But she was tired of wasting money and her efforts on getting someone as stubborn as him to do anything without getting what he wanted first. She pulled on her big girl pants this morning and decided that today was a good day for a whole lot of baggage. She boarded her plane, she landed, she came straight to the hospital and she was Pissed. The week long vacation she had been planning to Bermuda had been interrupted for this.

“No way.” Will Halstead greeted her at the door, eyes bright and smile shiny. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Do I look that bad?” She smiled, knowing damn well she looked like a four course meal. She’d used this year to become someone she was proud to recognize, to grow the pain and assert herself in ways she never dreamed she would. She was a chairwoman on more boards than she could count. Lead cardiologist in the most sought after position in the most sought after hospital in the world. She knew who she was, she was sure of it.

“Honestly, you’re smoking hot.” He knew how to make a girl feel special. “Do I wanna know why you’re here? You looked like you were about to walk through the walls.”

She held up the file folder, a grimace on her face and he didn’t need any more context clues. They’d all heard the stories, how the papers got served to him in the middle of a surgery and the refusal to sign or send them back on his part. It was annoying honestly.

“Help a girl out, where might I find him?”

“Surgery Room 1.” Oh, good. He wouldn’t be able to run away.

The gallery was almost full, apparently a good surgery in their books. Thankfully, she’d timed it just right that they were beginning to close. She greeted her old coworkers, offering quick hellos and we’ll catch ups because she was always a business first kind of lady.

Ethan stepped more into view and that flutter she remembered from the first time they met flew into her chest. Had he managed to get more attractive? Her finger pressed the intercom. She cleared her throat.

“Ethan, if you don’t sign these papers you’re going to be the one who needs to be sewn up.” His head snapped at the speed of light to her in the gallery. She could tell it took him a minute to recognize her, or to make sure she was actually there. Could have been a mixture of both.

“Darling?” She rolled her eyes, waving the papers at him.

“Meet me at my car when you’re done. Bring a pen.”

He did not, in fact, bring a pen. He barely found her because he wasn’t expecting the Lamborghini rental car. He climbed into the passenger seat, eyes never leaving her face. It was kind of creepy.

“How have you been?” She snorted.

“A year of putting me through the political ringer and that’s what you start with?” She tossed the papers in his lap, trying not to let him see the hurt she still had lingering in her eyes. “Sign these. Please.”

“Talk to me.” He was quick to rebuttal. “Please. Let’s just have one conversation. I’ve spoken to no one but your lawyer for months.”

“Exactly Ethan,” He cringed at the lack of nickname, “I didn’t think I had to spell it out how much I didn’t want to talk with you.”

“Please.” He knew he had no right to ask her for anything but she was here on a mission. She wasn’t leaving without a resolution. “How have you been?”

“I’m head of Cardiology in New York, I have a dog, I bought a new car and recently found out I am allergic to fish. How’s April?” That was a low blow. She knew it, he knew it but she traveled far too many miles to not get her little jabs in.

“She moved away, I don’t know where she is. I haven’t seen her since that day.” At least he was honest. She used to pride herself on being able to tell when he was lying but after all that, she didn’t know what she knew.

“Awesome, glad to know it was all for nothing. Now that we’re all caught up, sign them.”

“No.”

“Ethan, the next option is to have it annulled by the court in which they give me half of everything you have.”

“You were the only thing I had that ever mattered.” She felt her mouth drop open, felt like he had slapped her in the face.

“You’re kidding right? That’s how you treat the most important thing in your life then? I’d hate to be the things you hate. Honestly, fuck that.”

“I fucked up, I take full responsibility. I won’t gaslight, I won’t say you did anything wrong because you didn’t. I was weak, I was the one who sought out something new because I was afraid of my own insecurities as a man, as a husband. I thought I would never be good enough for you and I set out to prove it. It’s not that you made me feel that way or made me feel like I should be more, I just convinced myself I wasn’t.”

It was silent for a long moment, the damage between them beginning to sew itself back up because, for once, he was opening up to her.

“I fought tooth and nail for us, from dating to engagement to marriage. I fought for you when your brain fought against you. I fought for you when you couldn’t fight for yourself. And at the first sign of me healing myself, of me choosing myself for once, you ran off with my best friend because you both felt insecure about things out of anyone’s control.”

“You’re right. You’re absolutely right. That’s the worst part. It’s the worst part because I took all the respect, all the trust, love, compassion you gave me and stomped on it. I treated you with such disregard and disrespect that it makes me sick and darling,” She looked at him for the first time since they decided to open up, “I am truly sorry.”

She stared at him for a long moment, the anger from earlier finding a lighter lull in her chest as she searched for any sign of a lie. She’d reinvented herself, made herself stronger through becoming who she had always wanted to be. He had reinvented himself by realizing where his mistakes were and how to better himself to be who he wanted, needed to be. She wondered for a moment if he was coming to the same realization as her. They weren’t the same people they had been. They had grown, sprouted leaves and vines and built themselves up from the roots.

“I forgive you.” Out of all the things to come out of her mouth, neither of them expected that.

“What does that mean?” His voice was almost a whisper, his fingers that had saved many lives toying with the edges of the file folder.

“It means we talk,” She took the folder from him, tossing it into the backseat without care. “And we figure out what this means, we don’t lie to each other and we try. Both of us this time. I can’t float this relationship, whatever it is or is not, we have to be on the same page.”

He looked at her like she’d put the stars in the sky, sewn him up with the tidal waves and took them to the moon. She wondered if he’d keep looking at her like that. It didn’t scare her to think that he would. They didn’t kiss, they didn’t jump into each others arms and scream at the top of their lungs about love and happiness. They let their pinkies brush over the console, their hearts and minds race at the thought of whats to be built and allowed themselves to begin to grow, with each other.

it’s been a hot minute but my fingers started tapping and that was that! This was a request from an Anon that I was happy to fill. I hope you enjoy, I apologize for the wait. It’s also been a LOOOOOOng time since watching the show, I don’t have any plot lines. I don’t even know who is still on it, hopefully I was vague enough to not deviate too far off script. (also I didn’t get to proofread this, I'm sorry). Thank you for requesting and happy new year!

#chicago med #Ethan choi #ethan choi fanfiction #Ethan choi imagine #ethan choi imagines #chicago med imagine #chicago med imagines #chicago series #chicago med fanfiction #I honestly just write whenever I want to huhh #anyways #enjoy!#auswriteforyou

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years

Text

A Nightmare In A Dream (Part 2)

Summary: Six months after reuniting with the Winchesters and her brother, things are going good for the reader. She and Dean are happily together and occasionally stay with her brother, Matty, and Sam, who has been getting him used to normal life. Life appears to be heading in a good direction when the past has a way of creeping up again and dropping a bombshell on them all...

Pairing: Serial Killer!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Square: AU!Dean

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: mature (language, angst, death/murder, drugging/kidnapping, family drama)

A/N #1: This is a spin off of A Dream In A Nightmare and takes place ~6 months later. It’s recommended that fic is read prior to this one...

_____

Four Hours Later

“What exactly are you doing here?” asked Dean when you walked in the front door at your house in town. He barely lifted his head up from the dining room table where he had his computer out.

“Helping find Smith and potentially Lewis.”

You left your one bag by the door, the other going on top of the table across from him.

“I think a better idea would be for you to go stay with Matty where it’s safe,” he said.

“Do you not trust me?” you asked. He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. “I asked if-”

“I love you,” he said, pulling his hands away and looking over at you. “I love you, you fucking dumbass. The past six months have been the best damn six months of my life. I feel happy. I am happy. I don’t feel like a monster or a psycho anymore. Some days I feel like maybe I’m not even the bad guy. But I am the bad guy, sweetheart. You killed to keep your brother alive. I did it because it was the only control I could have in my life. It seemed like the only way I could stop the bad guys out there. Now I’m one of them. You deserve better than life with a monster.”

“Dean,” you said, sighing and taking a deep breath. You walked into the kitchen and sat up on the countertop, gripping the edge as he walked over and leaned back against the island across from you. “I killed eight innocent people. I did that for my brother. You kill bad people. Not counting Lewis, I apparently have only killed eight innocent people. I’m the monster, not you. I have zero justification for what I did and I don’t want it. Don’t try and push me away saying all that crap. I’m the bad guy, Dean. I am exactly the kind of person that belongs on your list.”

“He forced you,” said Dean.

“I had a choice. I picked Matty every time. Even when I wasn’t sure if he was alive, I kept...just in case. It was always a choice, Dean.”

“You were a twelve year old girl. You had no choice. Even as an adult, you had no choice.”

“Yes, I did. I grew up. I got bigger. I could have said no a long time ago but I didn’t.”

“You were alone and terrified and Lewis had you right where he wanted you. I was that kid too,” said Dean. A beat went by before he took a step in front of you and grabbed your hand. “I want you to go because I love you. I don’t want him to hurt you anymore.”

“I don’t want him to hurt you,” you said. He cocked his head and rested his forehead on your own. “I threw a knife at his neck and he didn’t go down. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“We’re not going to get far if we keep hating ourselves,” he said.

“You gotta promise me if he ever got a hold of me, you forget about me. You take care of my brother and you just forget about me,” you said.

“I’m never forgetting the woman who saved me, saved my family,” he said. “Matty’s somewhere safe?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “Can we do this together?”

“Normally works out better when we do,” he said, smiling for a brief moment. “Two weeks ago we were talking about the rest of our lives and what that meant for us. I want to make those things happen. I never want our family to be afraid of something like this happening again.”

“Then let’s get this guy and get Lewis if he’s out there and do those things. I want to go back to having backyard barbecues and turning our bedroom into a pillow fort and being us. I want us to move on for once and for all,” you said.

“Say we do get James Smith and Lewis. After that...what I do...do you want me to stop?” he asked. “Stop killing.”

“I want you to do it if you want to. If you want to stop, you stop. I’m not telling you what to do one way or the other, De. When it’s all over, I only want you to be happy, Dean. That’s all I want for you.”

“If I said I liked it...liked helping people...would you be angry?” he asked. You wrapped your arms around him, Dean shifting closer.

“Do you remember my cousin? I introduced you to her last month at your company party,” you said.

“Yeah. She came with Brix. He’s in construction sector. He just made manager for second shift electrical I think,” he said.

“You own a billion dollar corporation with 300 employees and you know the facilities manager,” you said with a smile.

“Memorizing 300 names and faces is a lot easier than plotting a murder,” he said. “I remember her. Why?”

“Because you saved her life if you can remember. You saved mine,” you said. “He was a horrible person and my Uncle hurt her. She was a shell before. Now, now she goes to nursing school. She has a good and nice boyfriend. She smiles. She’s living again. You might kill. But you save just as much, if not more. If you want to keep saving people, I’ll be okay with that. Always,” you said. “Maybe you can take some breaks in there but I’ll never make you stop being you.”

“You’re not supposed to fall in love with the monster,” he said.

“I didn’t. I fell in love with you,” you said. “You saved my brother just as much as I did. You’ll never convince me you’re not the good guy so stop trying, babe.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder, giving you a big hug in return.

“Probably still be eating out seven nights a week,” you said. He chuckled, a tiny shake escaping him. You ran your hand through his hair, the other tracing up and down his spine. “Go relax and take a bath. I know you haven’t been sleeping well the past week. Go on. I’ll keep you safe. We’ll order some food for a late dinner when you’re all done.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Okay,” you said. You gave him a kiss and he went upstairs, the bedroom door shutting quietly in the distance. After a beat, you hopped off the counter and went to the fridge, pouring a drink and turning your attention to Dean’s computer. “Alright. What have you come up with so far…”

You took a seat and started poking around, Dean not finding anything new out on James Smith it seemed. All the data you had pointed to him living in a home on the north side of town in a quiet suburb. Houses far apart. Lots of land. Gated driveways.

If he lived there, he certainly had enough money to get Lewis the medical attention he would have needed without anyone ever knowing.

“What are you-” you said to yourself before you heard a bang upstairs, Dean shooting down the landing in nothing more than a towel.

“Move. Now,” he said as he headed for the front door. You grabbed the computer and your bag, Dean picking his up from earlier and rushing outside with you. “I see this time, I don’t get yelled at for leaving my crap by the door.”

“Who is there?” you asked, grabbing your keys and running around to the other side of your car, tossing your clothes in the back. You got behind the wheel and Dean slid inside, taking a deep breath. You took off and he looked back out the window at the house. “Dean.”

“House isn’t safe,” he said, holding up a small white card. “It was taped to the bathroom mirror. It was not there when I got in that tub. I shut my eyes for a minute max and when I opened them, there it is. It says welcome home.”

“Fuck,” you said, squeezing the wheel. You drove out of your neighborhood and into where you normally did your errands.

“Pull into a parking lot,” he said. You found a nearly empty one, the sun down by that time of night. You rested your head on the wheel but felt him staring at you. You lifted it and looked down to see a knife in his other hand. “You leave it under the seat in case of emergencies.”

“If you have something to say, then say it,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. He grabbed your wrist and held up the knife.

And put it in your palm, shrugging you off.

“If you think I suspect you, come right out and say it,” he said.

“Yeah, for a second it crossed my mind,” you said. “What the hell are you doing looking at me like that for? Or was everything we just said in the kitchen bullshit?”

“Oh come on. I-Gas, gas, gas!” he said, his eyes getting bigger. You hit the pedal and the car lurched forward, Dean grabbing the wheel as you cut out through the lot. In your rearview you saw a pickup speed right through where you’d been parked.

“You were watching that truck, not me,” you said, getting a hold of the wheel and getting back on the road.

“Yeah. I was trying not to make it obvious,” he said. You handed the knife back to him, Dean wiping his hand over his face. “That was a fully loaded vehicle. Expensive.”

“James Smith?” you asked.

“The Wilson’s,” said Dean to himself. “The Wilson’s are on vacation and that truck has been parked in their driveway next door all week. Shit.”

“Dean. I think Smith knows we’re on to him,” you said, catching headlights far back in the distance.

“He did it on purpose,” said Dean, looking in the rearview mirror. “He wanted us to find him. He wanted it, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Dean, reaching into the back and grabbing his bag. “Because...oh thank you, thank you my spare running sneakers are back here.”

“The only reason they’re back there is cause you didn’t bother to get them after that make out session,” you said.

“You know I’m learning from all this that my lazy side is coming really in handy,” he said. “Don’t crash us.”

“Don’t what...and you’re climbing in the back as I drive away from someone who very likely wants to kill us,” you said, Dean managing to fling himself back there with only one swerve. Three minutes later he was back in the front seat and in clothes and his sneakers, rifling through your bags for anything to use as a weapon. “You were saying about Smith before, him wanting us to find him.”

“Yeah,” he said, setting the knife in the cupholder for the moment. “Dammit, it’s all we got. If it gets dicey, you take it.”

“Alright,” you said, plowing through a red light, the truck still following after. “What’s he want?”

“You know how when you want to kill someone, you lead them into a trap but they don’t even know until it’s too late? They thought all the decisions they made were there own so they didn’t suspect a thing?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“I have a bad feeling we fell for the trap,” he said.

“It’s one against two,” you said as you sped out of town.

“I guarantee he has a gun,” said Dean.

“I could drive to the police station?” you said.

“We’re on the wrong side of town and he knows it,” said Dean, looking back again. “How much gas you got?”

“About half a tank,” you said. “Maybe five, six gallons.”

“Okay. We have some time to figure this out,” he said.

“Dean, I gotta cut back in towards town. If we can make it to your office building, you have security guards there. Guys with guns. We drive up, run inside, say it’s a guy with road rage after us,” you said.

“Okay. I like that plan,” he said. “I mean, I don’t. We’re gonna lose every lead we got on the guy the second we do that but it’s preferable to being dead. You gotta make this left up here.”

“There isn’t a left,” you said. “We’re on a boulevard. With a median.”

“There’s a gap right up there,” he said as he pointed.

“Dean, that’s not a turn! It’s broken guardrail.”

“Today, it’s a turn.”

“Cars are driving the opposite way, Dean. I’m not driving head on into traffic,” you said.

“Y/N. It’s coming up. Don’t worry about the cars. Just go,” he said.

“Oh fuck,” you said. You waited as long as you could before you turned left through the gap. “Uh. Dean.”

He threw it in reverse and suddenly the traffic right in front of you was backing off, Dean holding onto the wheel too. He turned it slightly before he threw it back into drive to get you going the right way, the pickup on the other side going past.

“Now let’s lose him before he catches up again,” said Dean. You took off down a side street and made your way in through a neighborhood back there. “I think we finally lost him.”

“What if he put a tracker on the car?” you asked. You got your answer when you saw the truck in the rearview again. “I fucking hate this guy.”

“At least we can go in the right direction now,” said Dean. You drove straight for awhile when suddenly another pickup truck pulled up and blocked the way forward. You took a right down a street and found yourself on a cul de sac with a lone house settled back. “Y/N. What neighborhood are we in?”

“Maple Grove,” you breathed out, looking in the rearview, spotting the two pickups park and block off the exit. “We’re in Smith’s neighborhood.”

“That’s his house,” said Dean, nodding to the home outside the car. “He knew exactly what we would do.”

“To be fair, the car is bugged so not entirely your own fault,” said Lewis over what sounded like a radio. Dean threw his head back and slammed his hand against the dash. “You guys sound like you missed me. Y/N. You did so good for me, kiddo. I know it’s been a long six months but you did such a good job.”

“Dean…” you said, watching him shake his head at you.

“No,” he said. “No. Not you.”

“Dean, he’s lying,” you said.

“If she stabbed me in the neck, I’d be dead,” said Lewis. “The body double was difficult but we figured it out, didn’t we?”

“No,” said Dean. You reached over but he grabbed the knife and pointed it at you. “Don’t...why? You already had me. Why let me escape?”

“You never escaped kid,” said Lewis. “You just thought you did. I never wanted your brother. I wanted you. Now you understand. You will never escape. You haven’t been free since the day I told you I’d break you.”

“You didn’t…” said Dean, staring at you, looking all kinds of panicked. “You said you wanted to have a family! We were gonna get married and have kids and I was gonna get Matty a job and he could…”

“Dean, Lewis is lying. I love you, honey, I love you. I would never betray you,” you said.

“Or would she? She’s done it before. She still playing her game? She likes playing games with her toys. You’ve always been a fun one of hers,” said Lewis.

Dean took a deep breath, his face wet as he glared at you.

“Get out of the car, Dean. I won’t throw you in a cellar this time. You do as I say and we can all get along peacefully,” said Lewis.

“Why?” said Dean, sniffling but not bothering to wipe off his face. “Why her?”

“To prove a point. No one could ever love you apart from me. Now get out of the car,” he said.

“Dean, don’t,” you said. He stared at the knife and then at you, some blankness to his eyes. He put the knife down and got out of the car. He got a shove to the ground and you got out, Dean not even putting up a fight. “Hey! Stay-”

“That’s enough,” said Lewis right behind you, the sharp tip of a blade resting against your lower back. “Look at him. You broke him real good.”

The other man in the mask hoisted Dean up after he secured his hands and threw a hood on him, leading him blindly over to the house. Lewis didn’t move with you and you weren’t sure if he was deciding to kill you there or inside.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I’m alive?” he said.

“Obviously you have a partner I never knew about,” you said. “He’s going to wise up. He’s going to realize you’re lying about me and he will escape.”

“Why do you think you’re here? What’s a better incentive to behave than a little brother? The love of his life,” chuckled Lewis. “Congratulations. You’ve gone from star pupil to permanent resident.”

“How exactly do you expect to keep me in line?” you said, Lewis grabbing your arm and walking the two of you over to the driveway.

“I had no problem hurting him as a boy. What do you think I’ll do when he’s a man?” said Lewis.

“You won’t kill him. It’s everything you’ve worked for,” you said.

“You’re correct there. But I can still do irreversible damage. I don’t want to break him completely but if I have to in order to get you to behave, I will,” he said.

“You don’t hurt people you love,” you said, walking down the incline. He shoved you down and gave your ribs a kick, your arms wrapping around yourself.

“Get used to it,” he said. He grabbed your arm and hoisted you up, dragging you into the house. “I hope you enjoyed the fresh air. It’s the last you’re getting.”

He pushed you into a very nice foyer and a stronger grip grabbed you this time, the other man in the mask taking you away down a hall. You went through a pair of doors into a home library, the man holding you pinning your arms behind your back. There was an open space behind what looked like where a bookcase belonged. You caught sight of panel on the wall before you stepped into windowless room.

“Get off of me!” you shouted, trying to get away even if your ribs were killing you. The man led you over to a plain bed on the ground, a little hook in the wall with a metal cable running around the edge of the room. A pair of soft padded cuffs went around your wrists, the guy kneeling right on your newly forming bruise punching the air out of your lungs. When he got up, your arms were behind you but you had enough of a tether to move and get on the bed.

He pulled out a strip of cloth from his back pocket and you groaned.

“Dean has money. We have so much money. We can pay you whatever you want. Just let us-”

“You can shut up now,” said the man, tying the gag over your mouth. Something sounded familiar about it though. He sat back on his heels and pulled off his mask, your eyes wide. “You did what you had to in order to survive. I get that. I did what I had to too. You live with that guy that long...you can’t help going a little coocoo for cocoa puffs. You know what I mean?”

You stared at him and he pulled down your gag before tightening it uncomfortably around your neck.

“That too snug, little sis?” he asked with a dark smile.

“Dylan,” you whispered, the fabric making your throat already hurt. “He said...we heard the gun...”

“Lewis gave us options. You didn’t like the options. So while you got to live out and about in the real world, I got broken.”

“He said you were dead,” you said.

“Dylan Y/L/N died a long time ago so yeah, I guess he was right. I’m not your brother anymore. I’m his,” he said.

“No, you’re not. He manipulated you. He hurt you to get what he wanted. He doesn’t care about you. He wants Dean and now he’s got him. He doesn’t-”

You stopped talking when he grabbed your neck, giving it a squeeze.

“You abandoned me. You picked Matty over me. Don’t worry, I’ll find him too and then I’ll bring him back here and then you’re gonna learn what it feels like to be broken,” he said.

“I didn’t-” you coughed out, Lewis grunting in the doorway. Dylan let go of you as you heaved, getting some air back in your body.

“I told you, she has value right now,” said Lewis.

“I ain’t gonna kill her,” he said as he stood. “Not until she asks me to.”

“Never happening,” you said, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Your brother is very persuasive,” said Lewis. “Clean up the cars, Dylan, and then we can have our first dinner with Dean.”

You glared at him, Lewis raising an eyebrow.

“You weren’t hungry, were you?” he said with a smirk. They both left and the metal back of a bookcase slide over the entrance, sending you into darkness. A bright light turned on overhead and you winced, taking in your surroundings. There wasn’t much aside from the mattress and a toilet sink looking thing in the corner and a showerhead and drain in the one nearby.

“Sammy, come find your brother before it’s too late,” you said to yourself. “Please come find him.”

Four Hours Later

It had to have been around two in the morning when Dylan came inside the room. You wearily lifted your head as he undid the tie around your neck.

“Is this where you tell me you were pretending?” you asked. He sat back on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. I knew that was too much to hope for.”

“Lewis said I can train you,” he said.

“Train me to do what?” you sighed.

“Be part of the family,” he said. He took a knife out of his back pocket and flicked it open. “Sort of intense. I don’t guarantee you won’t be a whimpering shell when you come out on the other side of it.”

“You were my big brother you know,” you said as he put the knife against your back.

“So?”

“So why did a twelve year old girl have to save her big strong eighteen year old brother? You should have saved me. You should have saved me and Matty,” you said. He stared at you and you scowled. “We were children. You weren’t.”

“Lewis is my father. He-”

“No, Dylan, he’s not. Our real dad and our real mom were killed, in front of us. All I wanted, all I was counting on, was you getting out and saving us. He took you out to the back of that barn and shot and we thought you...you owe me an explanation of how the fuck you’re alive,” you said.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he spat back, slicing into your back.

“Yes you do!” you shouted. He did it again and you grunted. “Did he say he’d let you go if you pretended? Say you could go back home if he got us? What’d he say, Dylan? What did-”

“He said he’d let you two go!” he shouted, getting right in your face. He was panting, his brow scrunched up. “So I shut my mouth and listened to you two cry and then I heard him take you both away. But he came back too soon before I could get out and then he had me. He told me the truth, told me Matty was someplace with him, you were free but you were going to start learning real soon. You were kids. You were afraid. He could manipulate you two. I was too old. I was too big. I was the one that got hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt and everytime one of you two did something right, I got hurt for it. You’re the reason I broke bones and-”

“You know he manipulated you,” you said, Dylan leaning back. “But you don’t even care. You’re still on his side. Why?”

“Because he is very good at breaking people once there’s a crack. Dean has cracks, Y/N. He’s not fought back once. He’s not talked back once. He’s going to fall apart and then Lewis will put him back together exactly how he wants him and Dean won’t even know what hit him.”

“You know what hit you,” you said.

“Don’t be cute,” he said. He dug the tip of the knife into your shoulder blade for a split second, just long enough before he pulled back and moved away. He went over to the entrance and you turned towards him.

“If you want to hate us, that’s your choice. But you remember what mom said? The last thing she ever said? Take care of them. She said that to you.”

“I did. But now I’m just angry,” he said. “If I have opportunity to kill you, I will. Matty too.”

“Then I guess that settles that,” you said, leaning over onto the mattress. “Dylan.”

“What,” he said.

“Hurt my little brother and I’ll stab you in the neck too,” you said. He blinked a few times before shaking his head. “I’m not joking.”

“I know. Which is why if you think you hate me now, wait until you see once he’s here.”

He left after that and you rolled onto your stomach, trying to stretch out your arms and alleviate the pain your back.

If you could just get to Dean, you knew you could get through to him.

Getting there was going to be a problem though.

The Next Evening

“I heard you asked to speak to me,” said Lewis. You sat with your hands in your lap, glancing up at him. “You were good today so you can have a rest on those shoulders. Out with whatever you want, I have dinner soon.”

“Dylan wants to hurt my brother Matty. I also know that he’s so fucked up that if you told him to stay away from our little brother, he would. So I propose a compromise,” you said.

“You’re up to something,” he said, crossing his arms. “Continue.”

“You want Dean to break. I bet the shock is wearing off and he’s starting to have doubts about me turning on him,” you said.

“Always were intelligent,” said Lewis with a quick smile. “It was always going to happen. I’m prepared for that.”

“But it’d make your life easier if he thought it was true.”

“That’s correct,” he said. You took a deep breath and threw your head back, closing your eyes. “You want me to tell Dylan that Matty’s off limits and if I do, you’ll say whatever I want to Dean, won’t you.”

“I became a killer for him. I think I can pull off a little acting,” you said.

“Would you hurt, Dean? Do it with a smile?”

“Lewis. Think of all the shit I’ve already done with a smile for you. This would be a breeze compared to some of that,” you said.

“But you love him.”

“Yes, I do. But I love my brother more. I’ve sacrificed everything for him. I will sacrifice this too,” you said.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for that. You know what I want. Matty is out of this, for good. If you can agree to that and call off, Dylan, I will do and say whatever you want to Dean.”

“Are you starting to understand why I said you’d be useful?” he smirked. “I always knew this would come up. I always knew where your loyalties would fall.”

“Do we have a deal?” you asked, holding up a hand as far as it would go.

“Yes,” he said, shaking it briefly. “You will get some fresh clothes to change into. Try to look nice for when you see him, hm?”

“Whatever you say, Lewis.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #serial killer!dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean reader insert #dean x #dean winchester x you #au

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werezmastarbucks · 4 years

Text

more like honeymoon [3]

previous part

word count: 2279

warnings: idk why I keep making Damon the butt of the joke

music: in the text

SMITHEREENS by twenty one pilots segment

You were exhausted beyond belief as you sped down the road. Soon, there’s a very familiar turn that leads towards the Salvatore mansion. And from there, the exit into the normal, moving world. You couldn’t believe you’d see them again. Even Damon, whose guts you came to hate over time, even before he threw you into prison. That’s what isolation does to a person. That’s what the illusion of freedom does to a human. Prison was prison after all.

You nearly crashed into the tree that stood lonely on the turn, the landmark Salvatore oak. It would’ve killed you, and that was unnecessary now.

There were three shadows on the lawn as you left the car. It was almost midnight. You limped across the yard, feeling ribs poke your lungs. Kai must have cracked at least one from how hard he punched back. He never held back, in anything, and for that, you respected him. Because he respected you enough to inflict real pain, like you were equal. Although you clearly weren’t.

Elena didn’t stand the tension and ran towards you, got you in her arms, and you suffocated on her Elena smell. The smell of home. You couldn’t believe you were going back now. Damon was the same. Why wouldn’t he be? Dark and ironic, a little concerned, he evaluated you with his careful glance.

“How did you get away from him?”

“I killed the motherfucker”, you grumbled. The wounds were fresh, both physical and mental. Realizing that you’ve technically been his prisoner all this time... That is something yet to digest. Here you had the honors to finally be the last of Kai’s archtypes: the victim. You had been a lover, a friend and an ally already. Like an invisible hand was dealing Tarot cards, now you had to get a mouthful of bitterness. You brushed it aside.

“So I had some time ahead”.

“How have you been?” Elena asked, without letting go of you. You eyed the third silhouette, almost blending in with the night darkness. The witch, to do the spell. It was somebody you didn’t know: a tall, dark guy, a little menacing. Who knows what changed in nine months.

“Does he know where you went?” Damon asked.

“Of course he does. But he’s there, and I’m here. Can I go sleep now? We have to do it tomorrow, or he’s going to catch up with us”.

Damon narrowed one eye. The prick didn’t trust you. Perhaps the memories of you opposing him were too fresh.

“You sure you’re ready to leave your boyfriend here?” he asked. Elena shot him a warning glance.

You lifted your shirt, wincing painfully, to show the blue bruising on your ribs. You could swear it was the shape of Kai’s loving kiss.

In the house, you were turning your head right and left as if something could change here. Virtually everything was the same, except three (!) new people inside. The witch boy was quiet. He looked like he was cautious, and you thought, he should be, in case Kai catches him.

Elena brought you a cup of coffee. You noticed a hip of winter coats in the corner of the room, piled up on the couch. The fireplace was blazing as if it was cold outside, too.

“What month is it?” you asked, dizzy with exhaustion and pain.

“It’s Christmas”, Elena said.

“Are you going to be okay? Do you need... blood?”

“I’ll be fine at midnight. The day starts again, and my body is the same as when I first came here... well, you know”.

You looked at Damon, tried to picture him here, when he was stuck here with Bonnie and Kai. He must have been going crazy in this cage with two people he found hard to tolerate. His eyes were flickering thoughtfully with the flames from the fireplace.

“Hey”, you looked at the witch guy. You realized you didn’t know his name. You reached out to him, and he accepted your hand.

“I’m Frank”, he said gloomily. Elena looked at her wristwatch.

“Oh”.

“What?”

“That’s a funny name for a witch”, you said, “all the witches I know have extra names”.

Frank shrugged like it was a punch at him.

“Frank, I’m scared Kai will come. He knows I’m going back, and he doesn’t want to let me go”.

“Yeah, what are we going to do if he comes?” Elena asked, fear in her eyes. She really was afraid of Kai. That still impressed you. You still felt like a child, amazed at something. He scared somebody like this. So that they look out the window, small shivers on the back of their necks, their eyes darting from side to side. He creeped someone out so hard their lips went dry as they sucked the air in, listening hard, listening for his steps approaching. Your Kai.

“Don’t worry, I’ll put a signal spell. It will shield the territory around the house. If someone approaches - anybody at all - we’ll know”.

The three of you looked at Frank. He looked grave, like he was taking this whole thing too seriously. You wondered how long he’s been in this Mystic Falls mess. How little he meant for the rest of them that they decided he’d be fit to go here and face you and Kai Parker.

You blinked tiredly.

“I’m blacking out. I need some sleep”, you muttered. Coffee did not energize you; quite the opposite. The soft warm liquid made you want to sleep badly. Your mortal yesterday’s body was almost collapsing.

Elena helped you come upstairs into Stefan’s room, and you nested on his bed.

This whole rapid trip over the whole country almost got you dead. It was crazy. In the morning, you were back in Hawaii, in your spacious, beautiful house on the North Shore of Oahu, and now you were back here on the edge of Virginia, trying to fight your way back into the usual world where living and traveling cost, where there were rules and people ready to stop you when you get too carried away with having fun... You wondered what you loved so much about that outer world, and it was your last thought before you fell asleep.

In the morning, everybody looked much better and more relaxed. You stretched your back, hearing the bones crack healthily, and the only pain you felt from yesterday was ghostly. It would pass soon, just like hurt from being deceived by the person you loved the most in the world. Once you get out...

The time of eclipse was coming. You felt weird, hollow as you sat at the breakfast table, and thought of all the breakfasts Kai made you. He was so inventive. Nine months is thirty days nine times. Not once you had the same breakfast. He had all the ways to cook food in his head, and it horrified you. He had spent so much time alone he has learnt literally everything one can learn. It was wrong.

You packed your bag and brought it downstairs. Damon eyed it judgingly. You reckoned he was being so cold because he felt extremely guilty. You could bet your own life that the moment they did the spell he was sorry about being harsh. He wished he could get you back. Inside, Damon was soft, but outside, he had this thick, hard skin that was almost like scar tissue.

“What’s this?”

“These are my things”.

Damon’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something sarcastic, but Frank rushed in between you, pushing you away and out of the house.

“We gotta go”, he said shortly. And nodded at the bag.

“Damon, you’ll get it? Let’s go”.

Elena was carrying the coats in her hands as disgruntled Damon walked side by side with her with your bag.

“The witch boy is getting too bold”, he thought out loud.

“I just want to get away from here before this guy comes here and kills us all”, Frank replied without changing the pace. He was walking through the forest, leading the way.

“We won’t get out of here before eclipse either way”, you reminded him.

“Uh-huh”.

“Is it cold there?” you asked Elena. She shook her head to throw the hair away from her face.

“This winter is very cold. Just like when we were little kids”.

You could feel excitement rise in you. Christmas. Snow. Changing days. It was good before, and was about to get even better. You almost shone from the inside.

The witch observed the forest. He was very quiet. You looked through the trees too, bringing the last look on this strange world that became not what it was supposed to be to you.

You descended into the well of the cave, Damon threw your bag on the ground right into the circle of the sun.

“What’s inside anyway?”

“Clothes”.

“Clothes?” he repeated, apalled.

“Listen, there’s things you can’t get back in 2010s. Rare things. And expensive jewelry, okay? I got diamonds there, Damon, I’m not throwing them away”.

Damon was silent for some time. He was trying to figure out, inside his brain, what life has been like for you, for the last nine months. He would never guess right, even though he must have been pretty close.

Everybody looked up at the sky and the dark ring coming to consume the sun. Palpable nervousness filled the air. You stepped towards each other. Elena pursed her lips like she was pondering something.

“Isn’t it bad we’re leaving him again?” she asked.

They all looked at you like you could give them a prognosis on Kai.

“Fuck that guy”, you said gloomily. Frank shook his hands like a surgeon before the operation. Damon was eyeing you with dark satisfaction.

“He wasn’t what you expected?”

You kept silent.

“Did he hurt you?”

You thought of all the times Kai accidentally slapped you on the head while he was cooking. His damn hands always flying all over the kitchen. After being slapped around like a junior dish girl, you learnt to stay away when he’s busy with the pans and plates. The only thing you did was chopping.

“A lot”, you replied.

Elena squeezed your hand.

“Isn’t he going to be much worse once he gets out?” Frank asked suddenly, “If you said he was that mad before... now that we’re taking away Y/N and leaving him behind. And if he has the spell and the ascendant, that means he’s going to get out on his own, and he’ll be vengeful”.

His words echoed in the cave like hammer.

“Bonnie’s destroying this world as soon as we get out”, Damon said. Your head snapped to him.

��What?”

“He won’t have time to get out. He’ll need to wait until tomorrow, and by that time, this prison world will be gone. And Parker will be gone, too”.

There wasn’t much more time for talking; the eclipse was almost full. You took the witch’s elbow as he chanted and lifted the new ascendant, letting it levitate. Elena held your hand on the other side. As Frank’s hand got free, he took your palm and squeezed it, too, and you finally realized you’re going home.

The white light shone upon you, carrying you and your bag away.

The forest was white, too. Your ankles slowly got cold and, as you looked down, you saw snow. It was closing to evening in the woods in Mystic Falls, and the light was slowly draining from the sky. From the first look it seemed like the real universe wasn’t as brilliant as the magical prison world.

You couldn’t believe you made it. You sighed to see the foggy air leaving your mouth. And saw Damon and Elena’s mutilated smiles turning into gaping mouths of anguish. The traveling spell wore out almost all magic from Kai, and he turned back into his usual self, dropping Frank skin. In the last blast of remaining magic, he threw his hand forward and sent the vampires away. The leaped through the air, Damon further and higher than Elena. She must have bought him the last second when she regretted leaving Kai behind. You told yourself once again, he was changing. There was a twisted type of rationality in him now. You stood on one leg as the cold snow pierced your feet through your Converse sneakers.

Damon was impaled on the thick outstanding branch on a tree, groaing in pain. Elena was thrown against another tree, twisting in the air, and collided with the shaft with her back, breaking her spine in half. They didn’t manage to utter a word.

Damon was now hanging there, cursing like a sailor he might have been once, many years ago.

“Cold?” Kai asked. You shrugged.

“Should’ve gotten some warm shoes, too”.

“Ah, you weakling. It’s just snow!”

“I’m just going to get sick, Kai”.

He looked at you and smiled. You knew everything would go well, and you were still happy to see him, like it was a crazy stunt he was supposed to pull. Although you knew that by the time you went to bed last night Frank had already been dead.

“Hop on”, he gave up, picking up your bag. You pushed on his shoulders and jumped on his back, clutching his sides with your knees. You pressed your face to the back of his head for a second. Soft, slightly curly hair. Your Kai.

The last things Damon heard from the tree were,

“Let’s nick his car”.

“No”.

“Why not?!”

“Because we’re not scoundrels, Kai! It’s not the magical world anymore, you can’t steal people’s cars!”

“Oh my god...”

#kai parker #kai parker imagine #kai parker x reader #damon salvatore #tvd imagine #vampire diaries imagine

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mordoriscalling · 4 years

Text

48 Weeks (3/4)

(Part 1) (Part 2)

Throughout the 48 weeks that Geralt and Jaskier spend apart, their relationship develops.

Aka, part 3 of the Singer and the Sailor AU no one asked for but I wrote anyway. The events of this story happen after Stay or Sail Away but before Homecoming. Warnigns: some sexual content ahead!

Weeks 25-36

Week 25

“There seems to be something special about the sea, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm.”

“You know, Tolkien once wrote that there was a special melody in between the sound of waves and seabirds’ song. Music that elves were susceptible to and, once they heard it, they couldn’t be satisfied by anything else but life at sea.”

There does seem to be something to it. Geralt hums again and asks, “Are you calling me an elf?”

Jaskier laughs. “You certainly are beautiful like one.”

Geralt scowls, thankful to all the gods that he can hardly blush. “You look more like an elf, with the ears."

Jaskier grins. “Ah, yes, that and my dashing good looks! And the fact that I love singing, and I don’t look my age and... wait.” Jaskier blinks. “Tell you what, maybe I am an elf.”

Geralt chuckles.

“And you, sir, you could be an elf too. You look like a legendary warrior from the First Age who would talk to dragons and outwit them.”

He rolls his eyes but lets Jaskier ramble on about his "warrior-ness".

Week 26

“You fucking what?!”

“You tried to teach chickens how to fly.”

“How is that worse than trying to school a bumblebee?” Jaskier shrieks. “What the fuck, Geralt?! How would you even attempt to do that?”

“We first trapped it in a jar –”

“Oh no.”

“– and then we would tap on the glass to make it fly in the opposite direction. In the end, it would fly away if it noticed our fingers getting close to the jar. That was our idea of schooling it.”

“The poor thing had to be terrified.”

“It was Eskel’s idea,” Geralt grumbles.

Jaskier sighs dramatically. “I can’t believe I love such a cruel man!”

Geralt freezes. “You what?”

“Shit."

Week 27

When Jaskier picks up, Geralt takes him in and his beauty is even more striking than usual. His features, both soft and sharp, his bright eyes, his charm and wit. Jaskier’s a talented, successful man, and Geralt can’t wrap his head around it.

“You love me?” he blurts out, still disbelieving.

“I’ve been serenading you for the past six months but thanks for noticing.”

Geralt snorts. “No, it’s... it’s you, and I am... me.”

He almost growls in frustration because words fail him yet again when he needs them most. Jaskier’s gaze softens with understanding anyway.

“Oh, my heart,” he replies quietly, “I know you think yourself broken and undeserving of good things because of your past but... you haven’t had an easy life and yet, you’re kind and willing to do so much for the ones you care about. You’re witty, sharp, capable and reliable. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a partner, really,” Jaskier says, his smile almost shy.

Geralt doesn’t know what to say to any of that. Three decades ago, he was living in an orphanage, just a kid with anger management issues and shitty, shitty prospects for the future. Now, he has a fucking celebrity confess his love to him.

“I...” he begins, then trails off. He knows he has to say something. ‘Love’ refuses to pass through his throat but there’s no mistaking about the warmth Geralt feels whenever he even thinks about Jaskier and all the ways in which he’s ridiculous. “I,” he starts again, “I... feel the same.”

For once, Jaskier is silent, his eyes glistening.

Week 28

“The tour was a success! Minus all the expenses od renting venues and everything else, we still made some decent money, which is great news. And the fans!” Jaskier gushes, “oh, Geralt, the fans! It feels fantastic to be appreciated by so many.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s good to be home, though. It’d be even better if you were here, you know? I... I wish you were.”

Geralt swallows hard. “Me too.”

There’s the heavy silence between them again as they look at each other helplessly. This time, it’s Geralt who breaks it.

“Now that you’re back,” he says, “could you see how’s Ciri doing? You could... drop by Yen’s place sometime.”

Jaskier’s grin is blinding. “Sweetheart, I’d be honoured! But only if Yennefer allows it too, of course.”

Now that, that part’s going to be the hardest.

Week 29

“I can so imagine you in lingerie.”

Geralt raises his eyebrows in surprise. Jaskier takes it as a clue to go on.

“The lingerie would be black of course and oh, it’d look magnificent on your body. I’d just watch you touch yourself, sprawled on the bed. Darling, what a sight you’d make. I could come just from looking at you but I’d try not to because I’d want to take the lingerie off of you, piece by piece. Slowly.”

Geralt’s breathing is already harsh and laboured, and he’s undoing his trousers with his free hand. “Jaskier,” he grits out.

“Yes, dear?”

“Keep fucking talking.”

Jaskier smiles dangerously.

Week 30

Earlier this week, he received a message with another recording from Jaskier. The song is slow, gentle and loving, because there’s no other word for it. It makes Geralt feel abashed.

When Jaskier picks up the video call, Geralt asks, referring to the lyrics, “you really think you see me?”

“I think I do,” Jaskier replies, his voice warm.

It’s a lie. Jaskier has no idea about Blaviken, he doesn’t know the whole of Geralt’s story. Still, it’s a nice lie to believe in.

Jaskier tells him he loves him once again. Geralt says it back. He wants to have this as long as he can.

Week 31

On Saturday that week, it’s Ciri’s fifteenth birthday. Geralt’s call interrupts the birthday party.

“Happy birthday, Cub.”

Ciri grimaces a bit at the old nickname, making him chuckle. She starts growing into a proper lioness, not a cub any longer. Cirilla is their pride and joy – a clever, talented, headstrong girl. Geralt could’ve never raised such a child alone. When he found out he was supposed to be her legal guardian just a week before he turned thirty – that he’d have to take in a traumatised four-year-old with vague memories of her family she lost in a car crash – he needed help. He contacted Yennefer for the first time in years. Caring for Ciri brought their love back to life. Before he knew it, he proposed, and then the three of them made a proper family Geralt never knew he would have. Whenever he was away, Yen had help from her brothers, and if they were deployed too, she could always count on Vesemir.

His marriage to Yen turned out to be a disaster in the long run and really, all of them – him, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Vesemir – are just different shades of fucked-up. Ciri is their collective effort, though, and it often feels like she’s one of the few things they’ve ever done right.

“I’m sorry I can’t be there,” Geralt tells her.

“It’s all right, dad.”

It’s not, he knows it isn’t. Geralt should be there with her. He’s missed out on so much of her life already, and yet the Navy took almost another year away from them. Geralt fears that when he finally returns for good, he’ll seem like a stranger to her because of all the time they’ve spent apart. He's afraid that she’ll not even want him to make up for it.

“I love you, Ciri,” he says, desperate for her to know it all of the sudden.

She smiles slightly. “I love you too, dad.”

He smiles too and wants to apologize again but then Jaskier appears. Ciri starts talking about taking piano lessons from him and then Jaskier joins in, chattering about what they’ll work on first. Geralt simply sits back and lets their words wash over him in warm waves.

Week 32

There seems to be some development in the relationship dynamics back at home.

“Your ex-wife is very sexy and very scary,” Jaskier says, all casual, “I wish I could hate her but her fashion sense is impeccable. Is sexy and scary your type, by the way? Because if so, I only fall in within the sexy category.”

“Hmm.”

“Geralt, you wound me–”

Week 33

“I hate him.”

Geralt sighs. “You two are getting along, then?”

“He will do,” Yennefer answers. “You downgraded, of course, but you could’ve done worse.”

“Yen.”

“Fine. I’ll say this: I think he’ll be good for you.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “He is.”

“I’m glad to see you happy.”

Her voice is gentle like it almost never is and there’s an ache in his chest. In moments like this, the old regret that they didn’t work out burns bright. They’re too different and alike for it to be anything but damaging, though; similarly scarred and scared, knowing exactly where to bite on the raw. They lash out when they’re hurt, and they’re not good people, not exactly. All of this does not mix well. The good days, when they soared, could not compensate for all the pain.

The divorce two years ago was one of their best decisions, but they’re there for each other still, in a way no one really understands.

“I want to see you happy too, Yen,” he says.

“I have Ciri.” He doesn’t reply and she lets out a heavy breath. “I’m getting there. I think I really am.”

“That’s good. You... deserve it.”

“Aw, Geralt, Jaskier’s turned you all soft.”

Week 34

The past week, there have been three storms, two damages to the ship and one conflict among the crew. Geralt is just grateful that his job pays as well as it does.

He does miss home but the heaviness in his chest at the thought of his loved ones is not crushing anymore. Most days, he doesn’t think about them as much as he used to. When he focuses on work at hand, it seems like the ship, the crew and the waves around are the only things existing in the world. They’re supposed to get from one point to another, one task after another, and it’s fulfilling when they achieve it. He’s at home in the simplicity of it.

But then, there’re moments when he remembers that there’s another home, right where his family is, a whole world away. His weekly calls with Ciri, Yennefer and Jaskier only serve to aggravate him, showing him that there’s a different life for him out there. The sea pales in comparison to it.

This week, Geralt doesn’t like the reminder especially. He sees Jaskier on the screen and hates that he’s so far away, that it’s been like this for so long.

They don’t do much talking. Jakier strums his guitar idly and Geralt listens.

Week 35

“Your older brother is so nice!”

Jaskier angles the camera so that it shows Eskel next to him. Eskel raises his hand in greeting with a smile. Ciri is there too, focused on cutting vegetables.

They’re standing by the kitchen island in Yennefer’s apartment. Eskel returned from a deployment a few days ago and, being a good brother and uncle, he’s started taking care of their cub right away.

“He’s the devil incarnate,” Geralt grunts in reply.

Eskel makes a rude gesture at him.

“I refuse to believe it, darling!” Jaskier answers, “Such a sweet man cannot be evil.”

Eskel and Jaskier smile at each other. Something in Geralt goes dead cold.

He’s very well aware that his older brother is more attractive than him, particularly when it comes to character traits. Eskel’s gentler, more articulate and charming; a much better match for Jaskier, in truth.

Geralt secretly dreaded Eskel and Jaskier finally meeting and now as he watches the two joke and talk, it appears that he was right.

Week 36

“Just three more months!” Jaskier exclaims in greeting.

Geralt brushes his hand over his face because there’s nothing “just” about it. It’s been eight months at sea and the memories from before the deployment are like a distant dream.

“I wrote you a song, by the way. It’s about you coming home.” Jaskier smiles. “I know I’m getting a bit ahead of myself but it’s a nice thought. You being back.”

The song is by far the shortest and simplest Jaskier wrote for him but Jaskier voice has the haunting quality like it always does. Geralt, as always, can’t stop thinking it.

That day, he stands at the side of the ship and listens to the waves. He can almost hear the sea’s music and he already knows he’s going to miss it but at the same time, he can’t wait to be back on land; to return to the other home.

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher fanfiction #modern au #the Sailor and the Singer AU

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notyetneedcoffee · 5 years

Text

No Secrets, Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader (???)

Warnings: None in this section

You sat in the car staring at the house. Your beautiful new prison.

“Miss Y/L/N, you have an incoming call from Miss Maximoff.” The car’s AI announce.

“Hi Wanda, so who called you?”

“Steve. He sent me the file and thought I might be able to help.” She was on the other side of the planet at the moment. It had to be the dark hours of the morning where she was. Still, she sounded alert and concerned. “How are you holding up?”

“At the moment?” You sighed, gripping the steering wheel hard. “I’m frustrated.”

“That’s it?” Wanda laughed. “I’d be pissed.”

“Yeah, that too.” You admitted.

“Try not to be too angry, though. They just feel like every weird, inane, and inappropriate thing that pops into their head is some how on blazing display now. They conveniently forget that I can pick up on all that, too. I’m just better at not responding.”

You tried to put yourself in Tony’s shoes. As much as you hated it, you understood his reaction. You may not agree with his solution, but you understood. Picturing the crazy stuff that probably popped into the team’s minds, and having to deal with it all at once might be a bit much to deal with, it kind of made you smile. “I suppose being around everyone would get kind of maddening.”

Wanda laughed. “It’s why I don’t do parties. I know you’re still likely to see some of them before this wears off. Please keep one very important thing in mind. People are not what they think. What matters is the way they choose to act.”

“Okay.” You considered her words.

“Much of what people think are caused by outside influences, or old tapes in their head. Still, they choose to do different. Just like someone may be racked with fear, but behave more bravely than anyone else. There are some people who’s thoughts are plagued with darkness, but they choose to be kind.”

Sitting quietly in your car, in front of the big modern house next to the lake, you knew things could be so much worse. The reality that Tony really was trying to be as good to you as he could right now sunk in. “You’re wiser than your years, my friend.”

“Don’t give me too much credit.” She laughed. “There is one other thing, Padawan. Don’t fight it. It’s like saying ‘hey don’t think about a blue monkey in a pink tu-tu’. You brain immediately conjures the monkey.”

“Okay.” You laughed despite yourself.

“I don’t know how available I’ll be, but call me if you need to. Whenever, night or day.” Wanda encouraged.

“I will. Listen, thanks.”

“Don’t sound so down. You’re probably going to get tons of sleep, be able to catch up on all the great shows, work out all you want, and not have to listen to Sam and Bucky fight over who gets to pick the music in the gym. Time will fly by.”

“I’m sure you’re right.”

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Thanks, Wanda.” You cut off the call as you popped the trunk to grabbed your bags.

The house looked like a team from Architectural Digest picked the décor. It had all the conveniences of Tony’s smart homes. The refrigerator looked to be stocked by one of the compound’s chefs. A neat row of your favorite bottled juice was lined up beside your favorite soda and a stack of your favorite yogurts. On the giant bed you found a set of expensive silk pajamas and a plush robe under a copy of Anna Karenina. In the en-suite bathroom you found a tub big enough for four, and beside it a basket full of spa goodies.

The cell phone in your pocket buzzed. Steve’s name scrolled across the screen.

“Hey.”

“You made it okay.”

“Yeah. Tony must be feeling guilty. The house it loaded up with all kinds of gifts.”

“I hope they’re nice.”

“I suppose.” You sighed. “I’d rather be home.”

“I know.” His voice was quiet.

“Wanda called.” You sat down on the edge of the tub, running your hand over the fluffy towel.

“Good.” Steve took a deep breath. “I think we have, ah, some stuff to talk about but… God, I can’t do this over the phone. I’m sorry. I just… It feels wrong to do this over the phone.”

One of the generational leaps Steve never managed to make was his attitude towards the phone. It was a utilitarian tool. If you had something important to say, he felt you should do it face to face. You smiled, “I know. It’s okay, Steve.”

“Really?”

“We can talk later.” You gave a humorless laugh. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry, Honey. I really am.” Again his voice dropped low, quiet.

The little endearment warmed your cheeks. He so rarely used it. “No reason to be sorry, Steve.”

“Well, you get settled in and I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay. Steve,” You sighed. “Thank you for checking on me. You be safe.”

“Will do.”

Strains of what you thought might be Verdi tickled the back of your mind. You stopped chopping the cucumber and put the knife down. The clock showed 12:35. It was still a half an hour until Bruce was supposed to be at the house.

‘Got to stay focused. This is so going to suck. What if she starts asking me questions? You’re going stumble around like a dumbass. Some genius you are. No. No. It’s going to be fine. It’s a short visit. I’ll be fine.’

Yep. Definitely Bruce.

You munched on your salad as you split your attention between the British Bake Off on the television and Banner’s constant internal rambling. It swung from running down a check list for his visit to trying to remember the Band Aid’s commercial jingle.

When the knock came at the door you looked at the clock. Only two minutes had passed. Bruce must have been at the street, or just coming down the long drive, when you heard him. Interesting.

“Hi Bruce.” You opened the door, popping a piece of cucumber in your mouth. “Hungry?”

“Ah, no.” He came in. “Thanks. I don’t want to be rude, but I’d like to just get to it. If you don’t mind, that is?”

“Why not?” You dropped into the chair at the table. “You’re just the first person I’ve seen in a week.”

‘Shit. Shit. Way to be a jerk.’

“It’s okay, Bruce.” You smiled. “I don’t mind, really. What do I do?”

“Ah, bring your chair out here. Then, ah, just let me run the scans.”

You pulled your chair out where he could walk around you. “Do I need to stay still?”

“No, I mean don’t dance around or anything.” He began pulling out equipment. He was internally humming the Verdi piece.

“How’s the team?” You knew it would be kinder to just be quiet, but you were dying for some interaction.

“Okay. Staying busy.” Came out of his mouth, but a barrage of things hit you. ‘Cap won’t stop moping. Tony needs to cut back on the caffeine. I’m gonna go green on Bucky soon.��

“I heard you just got back. Some mission with Nat and Clint.”

‘What a dress.’

“Ah, damn it. This sucks.” Bruce looked away from the device in his hands and deep in your eyes. “I’m really sorry, but I’m just afraid to talk about anything okay.”

You frown, nodding. “I’m sorry. I’ll stay quiet.”

‘Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.’

“You know what? Fuck it.” He sighed. “Things are tense. They’re kind of awful. Tony and I stick to the lab. Cap is walking around on auto-pilot. Bucky is fucking impossible. Sam is trying to play peacemaker but failing spectacularly. Clint came up with the mission just because Natasha and Bucky nearly killed each other sparring.”

‘I hate it. Hate it.’

“I’m sorry.” You twisted you hands together. “I don’t want everyone miserable over what happened to me.”

‘No. No. No. Fuck. Don’t cry. I’m going rip Tony’s arms off if she cries.’

“Not your fault.” Bruce sighed.

“Bruce.” You lifted you jaw. “I know it’s not my fault, but at least if I were there Tony wouldn’t feel guilty, I could tell Steve snap out of it, and I could smack Buck up side the head. You tell them to knock that crap off.”

He chuckled. “I’ll tell them you said so.”

Bruce asked you some medical questions and took a blood sample after finishing the scan. He calmed down quite a bit, but still left as soon as he could. Later that evening he called you to say that the reading were consistent with your time in the lab. The anomaly would go away, it would just take time.

You made yourself a hot chocolate and curled up on one of the deck chairs to listen to sounds of the evening forest when you got off the phone. It would be a long while alone. The sun wouldn’t set for a while yet, and you were reading a new book. Reading outside lessened the feeling of being trapped.

‘Don’t care. Got to do this.’

You head came up at the same time you heard the motorcycle pull down the drive. By the time Steve parked his bike, you stood at the edge of the deck just a few feet away. He looked up, seeing you clutch a throw blanket around your shoulders, wearing jeans and an old tee. Steve looked you over from bare feet to big eyes.

‘Beautiful.’

“I missed you.” He said, voice low.

“Missed you, too.”

Steve stepped closer. “I’ve been thinking, a lot. There’s something I don’t think I can, I don’t want, to wait to tell you.”

“Okay.” You swallowed, fighting to hold still. So much, so strong, hit you at once.

He took a deep breath, his large hand touched your hair, cupped your face. “I’m not sure when my feelings changed, but for a long time now all I can think about is how much I want you, want you to be with me.”

‘Those lips. So pretty.’

You felt a smile curl at the corner of your mouth. His mouth covered yours, lips gentle and soft. When your hands slid along his waist. His tongue swept lightly along your lip and was met by your own. He moan, pulling you close, kiss deepening.

‘God, yes, honey.’

BLEEEP! CRASH!

You both jerked away from each other in shock.

‘No! Not now!’

It took a second for the realization to hit you that you heard a car crash. Somewhere close by.

‘No. No. No. Dammit. Not now.’

Steve looked at you, “I should see what happened.”

“Yeah,” You breathed.

‘No. We should go inside, forget we heard anything. Want to feel you again.’

“It’s okay.” He covered your hand with his own when you touched his chest. “I’ll be here when you get back.” You gave him a warm smile.

‘No. I don’t want to go anywhere. Not missing out again.’

“Okay.” Steve nodded, stepping away from you. “I’ll be back soon.”

TAGS

@asiaaisa77 / @babygurl8840 / @badassbaker / @bangtan-serendipity / @beautifullungs / @buchanansebba / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @dsakita / @geeksareunique / @imma-new-soul / @jennmurawski13 / @jesseswartzwelder / @kiki5283 / @lbouvet / @michelehansel / @mindtravelsx / @morganhoran1671 / @my-favorite-fics-and-imagines / @notyourtypicalrose / @nova3312 / @patzammit / @rainbowkisses31 / @readermia / @rynabarnesrogers / @sammghgecko / @scarlettsoldier / @sebbysstangirl / @sexyvixen7 / @sllooney / @thegetawaywriter / @theneuropsychwriter / @the-omni-princess / @the-reading-octopus / @thorfanficwriter / @unadulteratedwizardlove / @vanillabunn21 / @vxidnik / @what-is-your-plan-today / @wildmoonflower / @wwe-fanfiction-queen / @sassy89sworld / @bitchwhytho / @carinacassiopeiae / @jessyballet / @killcomet / @steve-rogers-is-a-saint

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fan fiction #steve rogers fanfic

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ellewritesathing · 4 years

Text

Faking It - II

Summary: You’d done plenty of dumb things in your life, but the dumbest had to be picking Greendale’s latest bad-boy to pretend to be your boyfriend.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 2

Word-count: 2.6k+

A/N: can you guys believe there’s not an angsty air hockey gif on here? but seriously thank you for all the support for Part 1!!

Tugging on your fourth outfit of the night, you reminded yourself that you’d been on dates before this - not dates with someone like Caliban, sure, but dates - which meant that you had no reason to be this nervous. This was just a date. Except that it wasn’t. This wasn’t just any date with any guy. It was fake, for starters, and it was with Caliban; dangerous Caliban that Billy was afraid of and Harvey hated.

And Harvey didn’t hate anyone - it got in the way of his job as a golden retriever.

But it was easy to see why Harvey hated him as you watched Caliban pull into the driveway in the most expensive-looking black BMW you’d ever seen. You hated him in that car. It had to be a racing car, one that Caliban had had a while and was familiar with judging by how easily he interacted with it. Maybe he was just easy with everything. Either way, he was walking up to your front door and you didn’t have time to dwell on it if you wanted to get to him before your parents did.

“Okay, see you guys later!” you yelled out as you raced down the stairs, almost crashing through the door and into Caliban in your rush. Steady hands reached out to catch you before you could fall. “Hey, Abercrombie, you clean up nice,” you said with a smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Ohhh, no you don’t,” your mom said as she rounded the corner and leaned against the doorframe. “I need a name and a plan.”

Reluctantly, you let go of Caliban and turned to face your mom. In your most controlled and not-at-all-embarrassed voice, you said, “Mom, this Caliban. He’s Harvey’s cousin I told you about, remember?”

“Huh.” Your mom tilted her head to the side as she looked at him. You couldn’t tell if it was the hair or the leather jacket that made her suspicious. “I don’t remember you ever visiting when you were kids.”

“My mother left the family for California about eighteen years ago to get an abortion,” Caliban said. He was surprisingly non-confrontational as he spoke to her, considering the fact that he almost decked Billy within five seconds of seeing him - he was even smiling. “Nine months later and there I was: snot-faced and crying.”

“And now the prodigal son returns,” your mom hummed. She seemed to have softened as Caliban spoke, but now she narrowed her eyes. “Be back by ten.”

“Eleven,” you said, jutting out your chin slightly to come across a bit tougher.

“I don’t think you understand how this works,” your mom said, feigning offense as she turned her eyes back on you.

Before you had the chance to respond, Caliban’s hand slipped past your arm and hung in the air between you and your mom. An offering, sweet but ill-advised. “Ten it is,” he said.

Your mom’s mouth quirked at the gesture but she shook his hand regardless. It looked like she squeezed it a bit tighter as she said, “Don’t get in too much trouble.”

“If we do, we’ll call his mom,” you said, putting your hand back on Caliban’s arm and lightly pushing him down the porch steps. He seemed amused as he opened your car door, but he didn’t say anything, a fact that unnerved you as he buckled his seatbelt. “So where are we going?”

“I thought we could go to the arcade and I could win you over with my stellar air hockey skills,” Caliban said, giving you a devious smile as his hand slid up to the ignition. The car roared to life under his fingertips as he finished speaking. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m gonna kick your ass with my far superior air hockey skills,” you said, moving in your seat to appear nonchalant. “But I could be persuaded to go easy on you if you add food to this grand plan.”

“Food is a given,” Caliban said, eyes focused on the road ahead. “But you should know-” his eyes flicked to the rearview mirror “-I’m not above cheating to get a win.”

The airiness of his voice made your heart race, as did all the possibilities of how this night would go that flashed through your head. You were too preoccupied thinking about how this was probably the most attractive bad decision you’d ever made to hold a conversation, and Caliban was too preoccupied being an attractive bad decision to make small talk.

As he drove, the street lights lit up his face and made you think of all the ways you’d capture this moment on canvas. Caliban’s soft curls contrasting with the hard lines of his bone structure, the shifting light drawing attention down to his lips. The same lips that were curling into a smile because his pretty blue eyes had caught you staring in their peripheral vision.

Thank god he didn’t say anything.

All Caliban did was merge into the fast lane and kick up the speed a few notches, but you did your best not to look at how his hand curled around the gearshift. Instead, you sighed dramatically and looked out the window. This view wasn’t as pretty as the pearly white grin he shot at you after catching you out.

Caliban pulled into the arcade parking lot after about ten more minutes of you trying to slow your heart rate down. He was infuriatingly quiet as he shut the car off. How were you supposed to know where to go from here if he wouldn’t give you a hint?

“So, you’re a real speed demon, huh?” you asked as you unbuckled and turned to him.

He laughed as he unbuckled and shook his head. “I’ve been called worse. Do you want food first or are you ready to be completely and utterly destroyed in a game of air hockey?”

“I’ll take my victory dinner afterwards, thank you very much.”

As he got out of the car, you could have sworn you saw Caliban roll his eyes at your joke, but you didn’t mention it. Just like you didn’t mention the ten thousand thoughts that raced through your head when he held out a hand to help you out of the car. ‘To keep up appearances’ was his reasoning, and because ‘he’s not a total asshole.’

Your heart started racing the second you walked into the arcade, but you told yourself that was just because of the adrenaline getting you ready to win. Caliban started you off at one of the basketball games, effortlessly and annoying sinking every single ball through the net. Almost all of yours bounced off the rim.

Caliban laughed when you got frustrated and threw the ball so hard that it bounced against the back of the game and you had to jump out of its way to avoid being hit, bumping into him in the process.

“Here, will you allow me to show you how to do it without injuring yourself?” Caliban asked, hands still holding onto you from when he’d caught you moments before.

“So you can put your arms around me and get my heart racing like some teenage cliche?” you asked.

His head tilted to the side as he pretended to think about it. “I make your heart race?”

You felt your fingers starting to tingle so you untangled yourself before you started blushing. You picked up another basketball. “Are you going to show me how to do this or not?”

“If the lady insists,” Caliban said politely with a smile that was anything but polite.

He stepped behind you and put his hands over yours around the ball. He leaned down so he could speak directly into your ear instead of battling it out with the noise of the arcade. But that didn’t mean you heard a word he said as he moved the ball around in your hands and showed you how to position yourself to shoot your shot.

“Ready?”

“Totally,” you lied.

Against all odds, your ball got nothing but net. You started jumping around to celebrate but you almost wished it had bailed so Caliban would keep holding your hand.

After exhausting all the fun you could from the basketball game, you moved onto skeeball, guitar hero, and the racing games. Caliban was a pro at the racing ones, even if he looked way too tall for the pretend bikes, but you dominated at guitar hero and skeeball. He even managed to get you into one of those haunted house games that you hated with that silver tongue of his.

And then came the moment you’d all been waiting for: The air hockey showdown.

Caliban had the height and speed advantage, but you had one thing he didn’t: pure spite. Thanks to your spiteful secret weapon, you won the first round. Caliban won the next two, but he was too cocky and easily distracted by your jokes. You won that round (‘by default’) and now the two of you were all tied up.

You weren’t going to sugarcoat it: This was intense. You didn’t want to lose and you couldn’t afford to be distracted by how attractive Caliban looked when he was trying to concentrate. The puck hit the side of the table and you leaned over to hit it back to Caliban’s side when someone made a pass at you.

“Hey, what do you think you’re-”

No matter how fast you thought you’d reacted to unwanted advance, it was nothing compared to how quickly Caliban reacted. One second it was you yelling at some jerk you’d never seen before, and the next it was Caliban throwing the jerk up against the nearest wall. He had a white-knuckle grip on the offender’s t-shirt with his forearm pressing into his throat.

You weren’t sure who was more in shock - you, the jerk, or his friends - but you shot forward when it looked like Caliban was getting ready to punch him.

“Woah, woah, woah!” You wrapped your hands around Caliban’s balled-up fist and pulled it down. “Abercrombie, calm down. You can’t hit him.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” Caliban asked, pushing down even more with his forearm. “This little cretin-”

“Because if you hit him, we’ll be thrown out of here and then we’ll never know who’s better at air hockey,” you blurted out. It was the only thing you could think of in the moment as you held onto his hand with your heart beating out of your chest, but it must have done the trick because Caliban loosened his grip slightly and the guy started squirming.

“Your boyfriend’s fucking insane-”

Caliban let out a low chuckle and let go of the guy’s shirt, moving his arm off his windpipe in the process. He dusted off the guy’s shirt. “You should thank the lady,” he said, leaning in a bit closer when he was satisfied with the state of the t-shirt. “She’s the only reason you’ve still got any teeth.”

“I’m not thanking that b-”

“Okay!” You pulled Caliban back a few steps. “Come on, let’s just get out of here, okay?”

“Yeah, just run away with your little girlfriend,” the guy sneered when he was surrounded by his friends again. He looked very sure that he had the upper hand when you stood between him and Caliban.

You let go of Caliban’s hand and stepped forward. “You know what?”

“What do I know, baby?”

“You’re a slow learner.”

He was still busy talking when you hit him so hard that you were pretty sure something in your hand was broken. It was hard to focus on the pain when Caliban was laughing and wrapping his arms around you to drag you out of the arcade and away from the jerk with a split lip.

Your hand was throbbing by the time you got back to the car and Caliban sat you on top of the hood. Stopping your tirade of curses about that fucking prick only to swear when Caliban touched your hand, you realized that maybe you were overreacting.

“How badly does it hurt?” Caliban asked softly as he uncurled your fingers, holding your hand gently.

Your knuckles had gotten caught on his teeth and some of the skin was torn, nothing too gnarly looking just a bit scraped up. There would probably be a lovely bruise there in a few hours, but right now it was just stinging from bad form and inexperience.

“It’s not that bad.” You tried to keep your voice casual as you opened and closed your hand. The worst of it was the skin between your pinky and ring finger, but the blood was minimal compared to what you’d come to expect from movies and comic books. “Just stings a little.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a better liar than you are a fighter?” Caliban asked, looking up from your hand to meet your gaze.

“Has anyone ever told you that you suck at air hockey?”

Caliban smiled but he didn’t engage with your attempt to feel better about yourself. “What do you say we get that slice of pizza, killer?”

The drive to the diner was quiet, but it was an easier quiet than the one before. Logically, you knew this was a bad idea - dating a guy who can go from adorably competitive one moment to knocking out someone’s teeth the next was always going to be a bad idea - but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it for the hour or so you had left. You’d start thinking logically in the morning.

The two of you settled across from one another in a booth and minutes later you were sipping on your victory milkshake and munching on some fries. Caliban had a devil’s chocolate shake and hardly touched his burger.

“So does Harvey hate you because you threatened to punch out his teeth?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“It really bothers you that my cousin doesn’t like me, doesn’t it?” Caliban asked.

As a liar yourself, you could spot his deflection a mile away. You shrugged and waited for him to answer your question before saying anything else.

“Harvey’s family came to visit my mother and me one year,” Caliban said with a sigh. “Everything was going smoothly until his father implied that my mother was a whore. I’ve never had the best temperament, and eleven was a difficult year for me. Long story short, their car was smashed to bits by a baseball bat and mine was buried in the backyard, splintered and broken.”

It wasn’t that hard to believe; you loved Harvey but his dad was a real piece of work. Still, something didn’t sit right.

“That’s all?” you asked.

“Harvey had a, uh, one-sided summer fling when they visited,” Caliban said. “Lucinda didn’t feel the same way about him and tried to kiss me. Harvey caught the wrong end of it and hit me, not unlike how you hit our new friend moments ago.”

“You kissed his first crush?” you asked, pulling a face.

“She kissed me.”

“Still, kind of a dick move, Abercrombie.”

“I’m starting to see why he likes you so much,” Caliban said as he pushed his empty glass to the side. “Are you having second thoughts about our pretend relationship?”

“I’m still thinking it over,” you admitted.

“Let me know when you decide.”

You let out a laugh and twirled your straw around in your milkshake, ignoring the pain in your hand as you did. Like that was a decision you’d be making any time soon. But maybe you didn’t have to. Maybe an epiphany would just hit you in the mouth like a pissed off teenager.

Part 3

Tagged: @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e @miss--moose @marrypuffsstuff @harryscarolinaa @igorsbby @foji2000 @mschfavngz @artaxerxesthegreat @thxmagic @strawberriesandknives @xealia @hotmessindisguise @sweetrogers @reheated-coffee @shelby-x @perseny-blog @millie-753 @luneerius @shizzybarnaclee @lettherebelovex @throughparisallthroughrome @ietss @thebookwormlife @mechanicalanimalz

#caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader #faking it #chilling adventures of sabrina #caos

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purple-scarf-mistress · 4 years

Text

50 Follower Celebration Drabbles

Hotch x Reader: 🧸

Aaron came home late again. He always felt terrible about leaving you and Jack when he was away on a case and especially hated it when he couldn’t come home right away. Instead, he had to go back and file paperwork and deal with bureaucratic red tape, when the one thing he wanted was to be home with you. He pushed opened the door to the apartment and quietly shuffled out of his shoes and set his briefcase down. The first thing he did notice the house was dark was going to check on Jack and watch him sleep for a bit. To his surprise he found you snuggled up next to Jack. His heart melted as he found his phone and took a quick picture. He wanted it for when he traveled the next time. You had stepped into his life in full force going as far as taking Jack on as your own son. Hotch leaned down, sliding his hands under the small of your back and your knees before pulling you gently away from the sleeping boy and into his arms. He cradled you close and walked back to your shared bedroom and laid down with you still against him. He didn’t care that he was still in his expensive suit all that mattered was that he was finally home. Had a family that loved and valued not only him but the work he did in the world. He kissed your head before nuzzling his down against yours and fell asleep.

Emily x Reader 🍒

You were having the time of your life out with your girlfriend and her team dancing at the bar with them. The bar wasn’t really the kind of one where dancing happened - there was no dance floor! But after a few tequila shots you always had to dance and your girlfriend, Emily, never let you dance alone. You loved the way she felt pressed against you, running her hands up your body as you ground back on her slowly. “Keep it PG their ladies” Morgan smirked at them as he joined you two with an attractive lady he picked up at the bar. Emily rolled her eyes turning you around and pulling you closer. She leaned down pulling you into a deep kiss. Your head swooned with butterflies and alcohol and before you knew it Emily was supporting your weight against her. “Babe, I think it’s time we get you home” she smiled at you. She had a much higher tolerance and was happy to let you have the fun tonight planning on driving you both home later anyway. “Noooo! Mooore shotttttts please!” You spun around away from her grasp to the bar. “Barkeep!” Your hand hit the counter, “another round for me and my wonderful friends” The bartender took one look at Emily who flashed her badge behind you and shook her head no. “Sorry little lady, no can do.” Emily watched as you pouted, falling back into her embrace. She whispered in your ear quietly, “if we go home now I’ll make sure to turn that frown around” she winked at you. Your face flushed and you grabbed her hand making a b-line for the door. “Bye, everyone!” Emily laughed following you out to the car waving goodby to her still mostly sober team.

Reid x Reader 🧸

Your anxiety revved up as the plane descended into LAS airport. You had already gone to the bathroom to change your clothes, twice, before the plane began the descent. You wanted to look your very best. Your hands had to fiddle with something to channel the extra anxiety and found its target on the inflight drink napkin. You twisted it this way and that. You startled when soft hands reached over and took yours in them. “Love, you seem anxious. I didn’t realize you were afraid of planes landing. You know it’s more likely you will die falling off your bed, one in two million, than it is to die in a plane crash, which is a 1 in 11 million…” “It’s not that.” You cut him off biting your lip. You were slightly embarrassed by what was eating at you. “Then what is it, love?” His hand reached up to cup your face. He was clearly worried about you. “What if she doesn’t like me? What if she thinks I’m not right for you! What if..” the plane landed stopping your train of thought. You felt like you might be sick as the plane started taxing to the gate. It didn’t help that Spencer was laughing while pulling you into a hug. “It’s not funny Spence!” “Love, I’m not laughing at you. It’s cute, really. You’re worried about meeting my mom for the first time.” He grinned ear to ear, “She’s going to absolutely adore you.” He kissed your forehead once again making you feel small. Blush crept up your cheeks making you look flushed and innocent. “A-are you sure?” “Yes. She is going to love you because I love you. So much” he lifted your left hand to his lips kissing the new engagement ring on your small finger.

Reid x Reader ☔️

Your head throbbed painfully as the pressure on the BAU jet changed. Maybe flying with a concussion across the country wasn’t the best idea. Your turn your attention to the feeling of long fingers rubbing through your hair in a very rhythmic pattern. Spencer hadn’t left your side since he and the team found you unconscious in an ally. The UNSUB had hit you over the head with a crowbar and luckily for you, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He stayed with you through the ambulance ride telling them everything they needed to know about you. Your height, weight, birthday, allergies, and any medications you were on, even the date of your last period. He repeated the same things when they got you inside and the doctor came in to ask questions but you had still been unconscious. He even sat in the chair next to your hospital bed all night until you finally came too. Finding your hand safely tucked into his while his other held a book he was reading out loud to you. Of course, you had no idea what it was saying - it was in Russian. Now he had your head placed gently in his lap while the jet took you guys home and away from this case. “You should be resting (y/n)” he chided. “How did you know I was awake? My eyes aren’t even open?” “Your breathing changes when you are sleeping to when you awake. I noticed the difference” “Only you would notice that” you tried to move, regretting it instantly. “Lay back, relax and let me take care of you,” he said getting a water bottle and some pain medicine. He dropped the pill onto your tongue and gently held the bottle to your lips so you could sip and swallow. “Thanks, Spence” “Oh, course love” he smiled before resuming petting your hair. “Rest now”

Morgan x Reid 🍒

Morgan slammed the tall skinny boy back against the wall. Their lips devoured each other’s hunger for more. Derek felt Spencer reach for his pants and he wasn’t interested in Spencer taking the lead or even in sharing power tonight. He reached for Spencer’s wrists gripping them tightly in his hands before pinning them over the genius head in one of his. “Tonight, your mine. Tonight any bratty quips will be punished. Tonight I’m going to make you cry out for me and you’re going to beg me for your release. Got that?” Morgan arched a brow at him keeping his eyes stern. He watched Reid shiver against the wall, “y-yes sir” Reid loved it when Morgan took charge. When Morgan released his hands and opened his apartment door so they could take this out of the hallway, Spencer eagerly went inside. “Gah!” Spencer looked back after being spanked hard by Morgan as he walked. Morgan pulled Reid close, kissing up to his neck, before gripping the curly mop of hair and yanking it back. “You better be naked and bent over the bed by the time I make it into the bedroom, or there’ll be hell to pay kid” Morgan smirked letting go watching Spencer practically run back into the bedroom leaving a trail of clothes strewn across the hallway floor.

Morgan x Reader 🍒

Morgan was on his way to pick you up for your date night. You had no idea what he had planned but you knew for a fact what you wanted to happen. He had been gone for almost a whole week and you were in desperate to get him in bed tonight, or against a wall…. a bathroom stall… the car seat. It didn’t matter. The fact is you knew you were getting laid tonight. No matter what. You prepped everything. Perfectly shaved legs, a sexy short little dress that hugged your curves just right and no panties. It’s not that you weren’t bringing any, you just weren’t going to wear them. You smiled hearing the doorbell and quickly flitted from your room to the door throwing it open. Before you could say hi Morgan stepped into the room and kissed you passionately. He pressed his body against yours and backed you into the room kicking the door shut behind him. You moaned in the kiss. The panties you had in your hand that you planned to slip into his pocket fell to the floor onto his shoes. He pulled back to see what feel and smirked. “Oh,” he smirked “I’m glad we’re on the same page” He lifted you quickly up onto the counter and laid you back. Winking at you casually, “I’m glad your panties dropped that quickly for me babe”

Tag List: @hommoturttle @rxseinbloom @obsessed-with-spencerreid @l0ve-0f-my-life

#JR writes #50 follower celebration

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atomicse · 4 years

Note

juliantina au 3 + trope 2 + prompt 34

i didn’t think i would get any of these… but let’s go!

spy!au + enemies to lovers + “i don’t even know why we’re doing this.”

(idk if this is any good [or coherent] but i wrote it at 3am so pls be kind. also i don’t think this is what u wanted anon, but…)

“god, this is so boring, this dude hasn’t done anything all day. i don’t even know why we’re doing this.”

juliana rolls her eyes. of all the people they could’ve paired her with, they had to put her with the obnoxious, trust fund baby. “because it’s our job?” she snarks.

the other girl sends juliana what she probably thinks is a murderous glare, but her bright blue eyes and disney princess aura make her look as intimidating as baby yoda. “i’ve worked with this organization for years, i don’t do stakeouts, i do real, important, shit.”

juliana doesn’t say anything, she won’t even try to fight this petulant little girl.

“whatever.” carvajal huffs. minutes pass without her externalizing her displeasure of the situation, and juliana dares to think that maybe, just maybe, she won’t have to deal with her attitude for the rest of their shared stakeout when, “i can’t believe mr. g put me with you.”

“what is that supposed to mean?” juliana asks with a raised eyebrow.

“we’re like, the worst possible combination he could’ve come up with.“ the brunette shrugs nonchalantly. juliana just stares at her. “you’re like, this angsty loner type, and i’m… i don’t know, the kind of agent that has a sense of humor and isn’t brooding 24/7”, she explains.

juliana can’t help but snort, that’s rich coming from her. she’s never worked side by side with the other agent before, -they’ve actually only ever conversed twice, once when she first joined the organization, and right now-, but it is common knowledge that carvajal has this sort of hero complex, people say she’s always hell bent on saving the day. “aren’t you the one that’s always putting herself at risk just to be the hero or whatever?” she sneers. “i would appreciate it if you dropped your preconceived incorrect ideas about me. you don’t know me.” juliana frowns.

“and i don’t want to” carvajal shakes her head, turning to look at their mark.

“well, i don’t either.”

“fine.”

they both stare out the window, silently waiting for the man on the other side of the street to get into his vehicle. once he does, carvajal turns on the engine and drives off without saying a word.

juliana sighs in the passenger’s seat, she doesn’t understand why the other girl hates her so much.

after following their mark for hours and trying to gather as much information about him as possible, they decide to approach him on his last stop of the day, a stupidly exclusive casino on the most expensive side of town.

they get out of the car and juliana thanks whatever entity is looking out for them because they let them in, no questions asked.

“okay so, i’m going to go explore the place,” juliana says, already seeing lots of people she thinks might be useful to their mission. “you should go with aguayo, maybe you can get some info directly from him.”

carvajal gives her a weird look “why me?”

“because i’m too much of a broody loner, no?” juliana reminds her “and you’re a lot easier on the eyes” she adds after a beat.

“did you just call me pretty?” the brunette smirks.

juliana blushes an embarrassing shade of pink, “shut up, just go.” she throws over her shoulder as she makes what she hopes is a smooth exit.

an hour and a half after their separation, juliana has already scooped out the area in search for any suspicious activity (and downed three shots of tequila). she’s sitting at the bar, half-heartedly conversing with the friendly bartender while waiting for her partner to finish whatever she’s doing to subtly interrogate their mark.

“hello, gorgeous, you havin’ fun?” she hears a voice say to her. when she turns, she finds a disheveled man eyeing her lustfully.

juliana’s stomach churns, the way he’s staring at her is painfully reminiscent of the many times man just like this one would look and treat her and her mom like they only existed for their twisted enjoyment when she was young.

she’s since stopped being afraid, she is the company’s best asset, but for some reason, she finds herself paralyzed while the unknown man reaches to grab at her.

juliana’s alcohol dazed brain is just catching up, coming up with a half-baked plan to simply kick this man’s balls off when a sickenly sweet voice captures their attention. “hey, sir, i think you should go find someone more age appropriate.” her partner smiles at her over the man’s shoulder and juliana has never been more relieved to see that annoying little dimple on the brunette’s cheek. “besides, this one’s spoken for.” carvajal adds cheekily.

juliana feels the blood rush to her cheeks and curses herself for falling victim to the brunette’s charm.

the man smirks as he looks between them, surely imagining a whole lot of disgusting things that make juliana want to go back to her plan of just ending his bloodline. “can i join?” he leers at them.

her partner scowls at him and takes juliana’s hand, swiftly removing them from the situation before it escalates.

“can’t leave you alone for a second, can i, agent valdés?” ugh, of course she has to ruin it just when juliana’s starting to like her.

“whatever.” juliana crosses her arms over her chest. “did you get anything out of him?” she inquires, hoping that the other woman’s charm had worked with aguayo just as much as it seemed to work with her.

carvajal nods happily, “yeah, dude’s a total lightweight!” she laughs, “a couple of shots of mezcal and he was ready to spill all his secrets to me.” juliana snorts, she guesses that carvajal must’ve had her fair share of drinking too, since she’s being so buddy-buddy with her. “i thought narco leaders were… different.” the brunette says pensively.

the woman’s attitude is giving juliana whiplash, before she’d treated her like shit, and now she’d being almost nice. “um, right. did you get any relevant stuff for our investigation?” juliana doesn’t want to be here any longer than necessary.

“yeah, i recorded our entire chat. there’s some juicy shit there.” carvajal shows juliana her phone, a forty-minute audio recording sits on her recently saved files.

“good job.” she awkwardly pats her partner on the back.

carvajal scoffs. “it was better than good and you know it.” she leans down so her and juliana’s faces are dangerously close, “c’mon, v, tell me i was amazing.” she pouts.

damn her and her stupid wide blue eyes and her perfectly shaped lips and- woah, juliana is more than a little buzzed too. “no, ya vámonos, carvajal. we gotta attend the briefing tom-” she starts to ramble when surprisingly strong arms wrap around her waist and soft lips crash into hers.

juliana has kissed people before, of course she has, she’s kissed her fair share of girls, even a few boys during games like spin the bottle or truth or dare when she was in middle school, but no one has ever made her stomach flip like this infuriating woman right here. the way carvajal gently sucks on juliana’s bottom lip makes her brain malfunction.

they kiss for what seems like an eternity, only separating when their lungs demand air.

juliana blinks dazedly at carvajal when she calms herself down enough to hold the other woman’s gaze without jumping her. “what was that?” she asks.

“the creepy dude from before was pissing me off, looked at you like you were a piece of meat” carvajal explains without letting go of juliana “also, you were talking too much” she winks.

juliana process the information for a second. “so…” she trails off “… are we done here?” she asks as casually as she can. the kiss left her a little shaken, she can’t wait until she gets home for a nice hot bath -or a cold shower.

“yeah, just let me go grab a bottle of water. i need to sober up a little in case we bump into el alcoholímetro.” the brunette finally lets go of juliana.

juliana nods dumbly before going after her, she really needs to sober up too.

“thank you for the ride.” juliana says quietly. carvajal had taken her home instead of just dropping her off at the subway station like she had suggested, claiming that she would never let someone take the subway at that hour, even if they annoyed her as much as juliana. (hero complex)

carvajal gives her a dorky thumbs up as she gets out of the car. “night, valdés, don’t let the bed bugs bite!” juliana can’t help but smile back.

this day was so weird; first, being paired with carvajal had been unexpected, second, the other agent had been hostile towards her for no apparent reason, then treated her obnoxiously nicely, and third, she actually kind of liked carvajal, a little bit.

“do you want to… stay the night?” she asks with an amount of courage she didn’t know she was capable of mustering.

carvajal smirks, “are you propositioning me?”

“it’s late, you shouldn’t be out” juliana explains. “and i have a spare room.”

the brunette seems to think it through and juliana scolds herself for offering, you idiot this is none of you business. “sure, yeah.” oh.

“cool. c’mon i- i’ll show you” juliana stutters a half assed explanation of her home’s layout to her partner while said partner just looks at her amusedly.

“relax, valdés” carvajal chuckles. “i’m not going to bite you …unless you want to.”

juliana scoffs, why is she suddenly flirting with her? “didn’t you hate me this morning?”

“i don’t hate anyone, though i did dislike you a little, but i’ve always been a sucker for pretty girls.” she steps into juliana’s personal space.

“i-”

carvajal cuts her off “shut up, valdés, you know exactly why you invited me over.”

then, she joins their lips together, sucking on juliana’s bottom lip like she had an hour ago, and it is just as glorious.

#prompt game #anonymous #asks #juliantina #juliantina fic #yo idk what this is so don't even ask #long post #this is a mess luv

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florbelles · 4 years

Note

❄️🔪🍂 for Lyra! Had to go ahead and get the sad one out of the way first, because I've come to accept that it is simply part of the Lyra experience whenever I ask these things. (The date is June 17, 2020 and I still have not recovered from "yes, darling, I know he's dead, do you think that makes me love him less?")

thank you lovely 💕 when i said i’d answer this in five to six business days i was fully joking but i’m pretty sure it has now in fact been five to six business days. embarrassing

❄️ What makes your OC sad, so sad that they can’t help but cry all day? How do they cheer themself up? Does their sadness upset any of their loved ones too?

we’re gonna subvert expectations, no dead husbands shall appear in this answer! 💕

lyra would tell you it's cheap whiskey and gas station sushi and hope county street style, but honestly, she just desperately wants to be liked and loved and accepted, so rejection in any form -- from anyone, even those sinners and nonbelievers, even her sworn enemies -- wounds her. (she’s really out here at 3am like john? john are you up? because i don't think hurk sr likes me, he was extremely rude today while i was threatening him in his home)

(the rest is going under a cut because tolstoy has nothing on me. tw for references to lyra typical self-destructive behavior, drug, sex, alcohol, serial murder mentions)

having said that, it doesn't normally affect her -- she doesn't care or think enough of most people for it to have a lasting impact, and it just increases animosity and disdain where it already existed. when it is someone she cares about, though, or comes from someone who’s meant to care about her, it's emotionally devastating.

the most extreme instance came in the form of her parents disinheriting her when she was 16 years old. it was a formality more than anything else -- she was nearly 17, she’d run off the year before and cut off all contact -- and in many ways she’d expected or even attempted to deliberately provoke it, since it would force them to acknowledge what she’d always known, that they didn't see, know, or care about her. it was impossible for them to love her; her father was a narcissist who prized her insofar as he could project onto her as a version of himself, and her mother was so far gone on designer drugs she was apathetic to nearly everything else, her unwanted trophy daughter most of all.

still, receiving confirmation in the form of a notice that caught up to her while she was crashing at one of her favored ex girlfriends' family home -- that they went to that effort just to ensure she knew they no longer recognized her as their daughter -- gutted her. later she’d say that it was what she’d wanted, that they were already dead to her, and thank fucking christ she wasn't a member of that sick miserable family any longer. in actuality, she locked herself in the guest bedroom, curled into herself on the floor, and cried for three days straight.

and then she stopped.

she doesn't get cheered up, honestly, she just has to go through straight through it. if there's an action she can take or vengeance she can exact somehow, she’s eventually able to drag herself out of the comatose state she goes into when she’s grieving; lyra feels everything very deeply, so she’s physically crippled by emotional pain in a way that she never is by external injuries. (break her leg and she’ll drag it behind her, but if her heart’s broken, she won't walk for a week.) because of that, she absolutely tries to fight emotional pain with physical pain -- she doesn't self-harm in a direct way, but she does seek out risky or destructive behaviors (trysts in back alleys with strangers, binge drinking, drug use, getting in fights, reckless driving) until she finds somewhere else to channel that energy. god help anyone who's in her way when she does.

🔪 Has your OC ever killed someone? Ever had to defend themselves against violence? How did this make them feel? Or, alternatively, has your OC ever attacked someone? Seen someone die?

no, lyra has never killed anyone in her life, why???

she killed seven men before she came to hope county. the first was a known predator at the strip club where she worked when she was 18 -- she propositioned him and then stuck a knife in his throat.

she fully believed that she was acting in defense in all seven instances, albeit not necessarily her own. each of the men she killed were especially dangerous or vile predators/abusers/otherwise corrupt and exploitative who were considered untouchable -- to the law, maybe, but not to her. (she never killed the relatively harmless philanderers who made up most of her targets; she just seduced, robbed and humiliated them).

her last kill before she flees to montana -- the reason she flees to montana, in fact -- is the man in idaho, and it’s a huge fucking mistake, one that almost gets her caught. it’s messy and impulsive and she does it because she’s shaken up and triggered af from her recent vegas trip. she’s fully spiraling. like this can't be it, this can't be all there is, this can't be all i am, this can't be all that's left for me, and part of her Wants to get caught on a subliminal level; some part of her Wants to die just to have an end. she’s tired. she’s jaded. she was at that gas station where she found him in the first place buying two bottles of tequila, but then she could just Feel the way he watched her and kind of hovered over her and she just. left the bottles on the counter and followed him out the door and stalked him for deadass fifty miles until he finally pulled off at a truck stop.

that and her first kill mirror each other in that they weren't calculated and she did it in a Rage. she was purely driven by anger and hatred and adrenaline, she was shaking, her body just completely Flooded itself and so honestly? she’s a little hysterical about it -- both times she started to sob at first and then she just. laughed, she couldn't stop laughing, and that’s the only time she’s truly afraid of herself. usually she doesn't feel anything but relief and vindication when she kills; she’s doing it for a reason and she believes she’s justified so she doesn't feel any haunting guilt. she’s like this is what i am, this is what i can do, this is how i can be good even though everyone has always told me i was born bad -- maybe i was but maybe i can use that, maybe i can do what others can't

obviously in the holy war of 2018 she kills Hundreds of people, both heretics and defecting (or potentially defecting) peggies. she doesn't feel remorse about any of that tbh, she never will. she was protecting her family, it's not a question to her, it's not something she has to think about

🍂 What are their opinions on the different seasons? Which one do they hate and which one do they love and why?

lyra loves the summer best. she always has. as a girl, summers were when she was home and could at least pretend her family wanted her, and if nothing else, she could go run free and become a menace on the island. she first ran away in the summer, she found her home in hope county in the summer, she fell in love in the summer.

(also homegirl's wardrobe is like. entirely sheer dresses with high slits and bare arms and plunging necklines she floats through life in silk and tulle and lace and strappy stilettos and she’s happiest in the sun out lying in a meadow or wading through the river or leaning out the side of her car with the windows and/or top down do you really think this bitch thrives in the colder months)

she’s a daughter of spring, she was born mid-march, and she does love it -- she’s a flower hoe, she likes watching the world come back to life and the smell of blossoms in the breeze and the crisp air in the mornings

same with fall, she loves her bonfires and hot coffee and her furs and her cider. she got married in the fall, the best months of her life were in the fall. she lost her heart in the fall. she dies in the fall.

winter can go fuck itself

i jest she thinks the snow is pretty aesthetically and she likes holiday events & attire & traditions and mulled wine and chestnut praline lattes and her furs are lovely and expensive and she might as well break them out, but the cold is Not her friend and neither is the snow. like. does a bitch look like she shovels. do you think she owns snow boots, do you think she owns thermal clothing, no she does Not so overall winter gets like a 2/10

#answered #risenlucifer #oc: lyra fairbanks

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let-me-love-you-loki · 4 years

Text

Waking Up in Vegas--Ch 34

Chapter 34: Talking About the Future Like We Had a Clue

Mera, Afternoon, Thirteen Years Before

I watched the clouds floating by overhead, laying sprawled out on the summer grass. The scent of the Mississippi hung in air thick with the buzzing of bees. It was a normal afternoon, a moment home from the hectic life of an independent wrestler. Colby was asleep, his head in my lap. He snored softly as I ran my fingers through his hair.

We’d been on the road for weeks—going from one town and promotion to the next—without a moment to breathe in between. There were long nights of waiting ringside and in locker rooms while he competed, driving through exhaustion, studying by flashlight and hoping like hell I didn’t get carsick. I was glad to be out of that car of his. Money was something we didn’t have a lot of, so it wasn’t uncommon for the two of us to sleep in it. Hotels—even the cheap fleabag motels—were often out of the question for us.

Colby smiled in his sleep, his right arm coming up to rest on his brow. My fingertips outlined the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. The fragment of a slip of paper, curled as if it had been on fire, the word Forever in a curling script. It was simple. A design he’d chosen when he was seventeen. One whose twin was etched on my skin as well.

I smiled down at him, knowing that the future was going to be hard, but it was us against the world. As long as we were together there was nothing we couldn’t handle.

Mera, Morning, 9:13 AM

If I tried very hard, I could still see the outline of the tattoo on the inside of my right wrist. It had been a stupid thing to do at seventeen. At the time, it had been wild and reckless and romantic. We were young and thought we had the world in our hands. And, for a while, we did.

Then it all came crashing down in a heap of lies and resentment.

I’d spent two grand getting it removed after we broke up. My adult self could have strangled the stupid teenager I’d been for the pain and expense of cleaning up her mess. Of course… my adult self was more than occupied with the time it took to mend a broken heart. Colby had spun a different story of the tattoo he’d kept. It was no longer about the relationship that we’d had, the future we’d planned out for ourselves. No, it was a bold statement of his straight-edge lifestyle as a teen.

It would have been a lie to say it wasn’t a blow when I heard the story. I remembered the day we went to get them together. But it seemed he’d forgotten.

“Mera?” The voice cut straight through the cloud of confusion and lingering hurt. It pulled me to the surface of thoughts that had tried to drown me. Dean brushed the backs of his fingers along my cheek. He captured my chin between his finger and thumb. “What’s wrong?”

My husband sat up in the bed beside me. His chestnut hair was mussed and tangled. His cornflower blue eyes were hazy with sleep. He watched me, worry furrowing his brow.

“Ghosts,” I replied.

Dean, Morning, 9:15 AM

Mera hardly slept. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, her face twisted in a mask of hurt. I’d lain awake at her side, wiping away the tears that rolled down her cheeks, snatching her in my arms and cradling her against my chest. I hated every moment of her pain. Everything in me wanted to take it away from her, to give her the chance to have peace. At least for a while.

I watched her fingers absently trace over her right wrist. Part of me wanted to ask about the faint white scars. But I knew it wasn’t the right time. And God knew, there was a great big part of me that was afraid of the answer.

Ghosts. A particular ghost. One that didn’t stay in the past.

“What do you need from me?” I asked. In that instant, with the confusion and melancholy that rolled off my wife like waves, I knew that wants weren’t much of a concern. But whatever she needed from me… I’d do everything I could to make sure she got what she needed.

She closed her eyes and wilted right in front of me. Mera collapsed into my embrace, her face buried against my neck. I gripped her tight and hoped that it could say what my words couldn’t… that I wouldn’t leave her. That I couldn’t leave her if I tried.

Mera, Afternoon, 1:18 PM

I knew now why Dean loved living in Las Vegas. Sure, there was no shortage of things to do on the Strip, but it was the wide-open sky and the desert air that made it a place that changed me. At night, it was a brilliant inky black dotted with stars faded in the city lights. During the day, it was a high, bright blue that reminded me of Dean’s eyes. Storms made the clouds sit low in the sky like soaked cotton.

That day it was clear and periwinkle. There wasn’t a cloud to be seen. I leaned my head out the window as Dean drove out into the desert. He was going in the direction of Red Rock Canyon, but I couldn’t say that was his destination.

“Dean?” I said after a long quiet.

“Yes, my sweet wife,” he replied, reaching over to curl his fingers around mine. His touch was gentle and grounding.

“Where are you taking me?”

He glanced at me, his head turning for a split second. I couldn’t see his eyes from behind his dark sunglasses, but I knew that his eyes were a beautiful forget-me-not blue. He grinned with the corner of his mouth. “I’m taking you somewhere special, darlin’. Trust me.”

My heart skipped a beat every time he called me darlin’. It was an immediate reminder of that night that started this wonderful, wild new life of mine. It made me think of fountains and stars and late-night breakfasts and music that no one could hear. My gaze dropped to my wedding band as I thought about that night.

It had been months since then. Months that had shown me the depth of Dean Ambrose’s love and devotion. There had been so many moments of ugly reality when a lesser man would have walked away. Yet he stayed. He stayed and supported me and rescued me from even the little terrors of life. How he had the strength, I’d never understand. But I would be desperately grateful for it and desperately in love with him until the day I died.

“I love you.” The words came smoothly, unbidden. But I knew they were burned into my bones.

Dean’s fingers squeezed mine as he pulled off the side of the road and put the car in park. He turned in his seat and leaned in to press a kiss to my lips. It was lingering and gentle and yet enough to set my blood on fire in my veins.

When he pulled back, I took my time drinking in the way he looked. There was something remarkably soft about him in that instant. He was every version of himself that I’d ever known all rolled into one. His smile was goofy, eyes intense, entire being focused on having me within arm’s reach. My heart skipped a beat at the knowledge that I was the center of his attention.

That I had been since the day we met.

Dean, Afternoon, 1:28 PM

She had this look in her eyes… the one she got when she was so deep in her own thoughts that she forgot the rest of the world existed. I’d seen her like this more times than I could count, but the sheer beauty of it slammed into my chest like a blow each and every time. The ache in her eyes vanished. She softened in a way that made me wonder what she’d look like if she were ever able to fall into something completely, unbothered and unafraid of whether anyone would be there to catch her on the other side.

“I love you,” she’d said.

Goddamn, I’d never get tired of hearing her say those words. Of knowing that they belonged to me. Those three little words from her were better than the sweetest whiskey. Better than any adrenaline rush could ever be. They were a drug all their own, made doubly potent by the look in her amber eyes.

I was grinning like a fool, and I knew it. I got that way when it came to her. Foolish. Reckless. Stupid. Desperately in love. Determined to do whatever it took to help her be happy.

“I love you, too,” I said, stroking my fingers along the curve of her cheek. She blinked and looked up, drawn from her thoughts by the sound of my voice.

Mera smiled at me. It was a punch through my chest that knocked the wind out of me. She hooked her fingers around the chain of the dog tags around my neck and pulled me close. I licked my lips, filing away another moment when she made use of that necklace to get me against her.

When she looked at me like that, I felt ten feet tall. I could take on the world. I was a man worthy of someone like her. It didn’t matter that I never finished high school. Or that I’d spent my entire adult life in one fight or another, scraping the bottom of the barrel to get from one day to the next. No, when she watched me with those eyes and touched me with those fingers, I was everything that everyone said I’d never be.

Mera made me a better man. I didn’t know what stood on the other side of the next day, but I knew that whoever or wherever I was, I wanted her by my side. I wanted to see her on the top of the mountain of her life.

“Why are you always looking at me like that?” she asked, dragging my attention back to the present.

“Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened in my life. And I’m thinking about how I get to spend the rest it with you.”

She blushed and looked away. I caught sight of her fingers sliding along the inside of her wrist. It was an absentminded sort of thing. But I knew enough about the trauma that lived deep within her that it wasn’t without meaning. I didn’t have to think too hard to know that had something to do with Seth Rollins.

“This,” I said, gesturing my finger back and forth between us, “is the one thing in this world that I will fight to keep. I can lose that house, this truck, that business… none of that matters to me like you do. And even if that happens, I will bust my ass to get it back for you because you deserve everything.”

I watched some unnamed emotion slip across her face. She looked down at her wrist again. “You’ve been worryin’ that spot all day, Mera. What is it?”

Mera, Afternoon, 1:35 PM

Leave it to Dean to notice even the smallest things I did. It was as if he was always watching. As if it made him happy just to look at me.

My heart jumped into my throat. This moment was good. It was peaceful. I didn’t want to drag the past into it. Even if that past would never be able to leave me.

“All that’s left of a tattoo I had removed years ago.” I knew Dean would understand. That he would figure it out without me having to say the words. But it was time that I stopped locking those memories away. “When we were seventeen, Seth and I got matching tattoos. You know the one on the inside of his wrist? I had one just like it. It was supposed to be this kind of promise to each other. That we would be together forever. He changed his mind about what it meant. And I got mine removed.”

I glanced up at him, wondering what was going through his mind. He was watching me carefully, pain behind his blue eyes. I shrugged.

“I was a stupid kid who thought she was in love. Getting matching tattoos sounded like a good idea then.”

Dean’s fingers skimmed over mine. He curled them around my wrist and pulled it up to his mouth. I watched him rake his eyes over the faded white scars before kissing the skin gently. My heart melted in my chest.

“When we’ve been married for five years,” he said plainly, brimming with confidence that it would come to pass, “we’ll go and get tattoos together. Whatever you want. They don’t have to have anything to do with each other. We’ll make a new memory for you. For us.”