#the way that the doctors office has seemed incredibly confused by my requests

[serkonans]

the way we handle medical leave in the states even for people with good benefits is cruel

[letarasstuff]

One kind of intern

(A/N): This was requested by @greenslifestuff :) It took me a week or two because I had to interact with my friends in order to get the inspiration I needed 😅 Summary: The team gets to work with a gen z teenager. Let’s see how that goes.

Warnings: Swearing and gen z humour

Wordcount: 2k

✨Masterlist✨

___________________________________

“Team, this is (Y/N) (L/N). She will be interning for the upcoming three months alongside this team. (Y/N), these are Agents Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, Derek Morgan and Doctor Spencer Reid and our Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia”, Hotch introduces a teenage girl to his team like this happens every day.

“Wait Hotch, we don’t get interns. What is she going to do, no offense, but getting us coffee or what?” Morgan eyes her suspiciously. She looks like any teenager grabbed from the street. A band t-shirt, a torn pair of jeans and a cup from starbucks in her hands. Nothing you would expect to even enter a federal building.

“No offence taken, Agent Morgan. I know having an ugly pickly bitch working with professionals seems weird. It’s just I have summer break and I thought it would be a good thing on my resumé if I already interned in the FBI, because I just graduated and I wanted to go to the academy this fall. But if you wanna do a vibe check with me first, that’s fine by me. Whatever floats your boat.”

The room falls silent. Then out of all sudden everyone turns to Garcia, who puts her arms up in defense. “I don’t even know half the things she said, ask her yourself.”

That’s how the BAU gets their first contact with Gen Z culture and let me tell you it is a wild ride, so buckle up your seats, drink your tea up because we aren’t going to make any stops.

“(Y/N), I need you to come with me. We are going to the M.E. getting the latest reports from our last case”, Morgan tells her while passing her desk. In the blink of an eye the teenager is ready, putting her denim jacket with various pins and bits of patches on.

“Derek, can we get starbucks on the way back? The pumpkin spiced latte is back on their menu and I am on withdrawal. Pleaaaaaasseeee”, she looks at him with a pouty face. Morgan smiles. “Ok, under one condition: We both get one, take awesome pictures and send them to the group chat and then we act like we didn’t get them anything, but we actually buy them their usual.” He got the hang of it pretty fast. “Deal, Sis.”

While they are in the car on their way to the M.E. the agent groans. “Ugh, road work ahead.” “Uh yeah, I sure hope it does!” Morgan eyes her from the side. His whole demeanor says ‘old and confused’.

“What was that, kid?” But (Y/N) begins to laugh. “Don’t you know vines? Short dumb and funny clips people made?” It’s safe to say that this afternoon he learns to speak in vines, getting on Rossi’s nerves because nothing makes sense anymore.

“Ok, I heard you wanted to become a profiler. So I thought I would show you some old cases and then you try to figure out the profile. I’ll present them to you like I do to the team, alright?” JJ and (Y/N) sit in her office, safe from curious eyes. “As right as the law, Ma’am.” 

“Good, this is a case from several years ago. It happened here in D.C. Three men were murdered execution style in the middle of the night in an alleyway. They were all from different backgrounds. The only connection between them was that they were evicted for some form of sexual harassment or assault. The UnSub also had a signature: A shot into their groin while the men were alive.”

Unfaced by the presented facts (Y/N) pops a piece of gum into her mouth. “It do be like that.”

“What?” “I mean, it’s obviously a woman. She experienced any harassment or assault herself. She also has excess to the files, I assume she works as a paralegal, since most of them are women. Female serial killers are extremely rare, but they are better organized. The only thing left to say is good for her getting revenge.” The blonde looks at the teenager with wide eyes.

“I-I guess but you know you can’t say anything like that to Hotch, do you?” She asks concerned. “JJ, I’m dead inside, not dumb. I know this.” But the agent shrugs. “Good. Though I really want to see his face.” “Mood.”

Penelope Garcia is the closest one to relate to Gen Z culture, since a great part of her time is spent on the internet. She happily learns about all the phrases and their meanings as well as the newest trends and hypes.

“Purp is sus, I tell you”, is heard from the lair into the hallway. Spencer and Derek look at each other with concern on their faces. “Do you think they are alright or do we have to-” “IT’S A SELF REPORT I SWEAR PENNY! YOU WORK WITH PROFILERS IN GANDALF’S NAME!” Spencer’s question is answered by that.

“Baby girl, crazy girl, are you doing good? Do you need help or something?” The older one asks warily. But it’s drowned in another screaming match. “I TOLD YOU PURP WAS THE IMPOSTER BUT YOU HAVE TO TELL THEM I VENTED WHEN I DIDN’T! I WANT ALL TIKTOKS I SENT YOU BACK!” “YOU DON’T DARE TO REVOKE MY TIKTOK PRIVILEGES!” “WATCH ME GARCIA!”

“Whoa girls, what about taking a break?” Morgan tries to diffuse the situation. “Yes, I think JJ got new pictures of Henry and Emily brought cookies this morning”, Spencer adds.

The girls, who mere seconds ago were ready to jump each other's throats, look at the other one. “You get the cookies and I go to JJ, deal?” (Y/N) asks. “Deal!” Without sparing the boys another glance they run out of the lair. Their devices are still lit up. A red figure shines into their faces. ‘AMONG US’ is written underneath it. “I think we get too old for this stuff, don’t we Reid?”

Spencer always thought he was young. Of course, his mind is older, but physically he is not that old. But the intern proves him wrong. And boy is he wrong.

“Spencer, is there anything interesting to know today?” (Y/N) takes a seat on his desk, distracting the genius from his paperwork. It is a common occurrence for her to go to him to ask for a fun fact.

“Do you wanna learn something about sloths?” His knowledge (or the writer’s) on this subject is astonishingly big.

“Spill the tea, sis.” “Did you kn- What? But I don’t have tea to spill. And I don’t wanna spill anything, I-” Reid rambles in confusion.

“It’s just a saying, Spencer. There is no deeper meaning to it then ‘Tell me everything about it’. You know, it’s mostly used for gossiping, but I don’t really like to gossip. That’s why I use it in a different context. You got it?” (Y/N) explains it to him in a soft manner, knowing her generation can be complex.

“Yeah, I think I do. Thank you for telling me. I really like the phrase. It has a nice ring. What about you spill the tea about all the phrases you know and I tell you some things from my knowledge?” “I think you got yourself a teacher, genius. But now tell me about the sloths, I love them.”

A few days later Rossi catches her doing some weird moves. “Are you having a seizure or what is your problem, youngster?” Even though he tries not to show it, David took a great liking to (Y/N), thinking of her like a granddaughter. Still, most of her actions confuse the hell out of him.

“I’m practising a dance for tiktok. My friends and I worked on a choreo we wanted to film later. Come here, I can show you.” And that’s what she does in the conference room. The teenager walks him through every move of the choreo, explaining the meaning to it and how it correlates with the song.

“And then you move your arm like that. Exactly like that! You did a great job, David! Are you sure you don’t want to come with me later? We can make you your own account and name it ‘Grandpa-on-tiktok’. You can promote your books over there and it’s a way to float with the trend!”

Seeing her this excited Rossi can’t do anything but agree to the idea. Also, he secretly liked doing the dance thing. It made him feel young again.

“(Y/N), you said you graduated this summer. But your file said you are 16?” Emily asks her one boring day filled with paperwork and countless cups of coffee. “It is what it is”, she mindlessly answers, too focused on filling out the work in front of her.

“I mean yes but how?”

“Emily, smart people exist. I know, coming from me hits different, but here we are.” Finally (Y/N) puts her pen away looking at the raven haired woman.

“What are you talking about? I can’t really follow you.” The more the intern says the more confused gets Emily.

She sighs. “I don’t want to leave you on read here. I kind of am smart somehow. Apparently I was smart enough to skip a grade or two. But it’s no biggie. Many peeps do this, so I don’t sweat it.”

“Even though I feel like you are selling yourself short here, I know you are an incredibly intelligent person. Someday you will be an awesome profiler and any team will be lucky to have you. I really hope we will be the lucky team. But I’m still not sure if this is what I should say in this context.”

“Emily, you are goals. This fam is squad goals. I really hope to be a part of this someday”, (Y/N) admits. “I’m sure Hotch will do his best to get you on the team, you became a great part of it. I can’t imagine a future without you.”

Sadly Prentiss has to get used to a time without the team’s beloved intern. On her last day (Y/N) knocks at Hotch’s door.

“Hey, I wanted to say thank you. The time with you and all the others was amazing and I learned so many useful things for not only the academy but also for my daily life. I really had a glow-up here”, she says after coming in.

Hotch motions towards the chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat, (Y/N). I got something for you. See it as a compensation for not getting paid for your internship. You really did great work and a better job than some agents, who are doing theirs for many years already but don’t know half the stuff you do. You are a valuable member to the team.”

“Wait, you speak in presence tense. I leave you all this afternoon, you know that, do you?” But the Unit Chief only gestures to a white envelope on his desk. Quickly the teenager takes it and reads it.

“Are you serious Hotchner? Because I will cry you a river if you joke”, she threatens him.

“I’m dead serious, (Y/N). Even though half of your talks are difficult to understand, the other half is twice as useful and important. Additionally to that, you are like a fresh breath of air that the team needed. That’s why a place here will be available for you as soon as you graduate from the academy. I trust you that you will pass with flying colors, I had to promise that to Strauss.”

“Of course, Hotch. I swear on my Animal Crossing Island that I will do my best and more. Thank you so much”, she leaps into his arms.

The others watch the interaction from the bullpen, pretending to not get teary eyed. Their favorite Gen Z Kid will come back to them after all.

Taglist:

Spencer Reid

@calm-and-doctor

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: The Trickster

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Giovanni Giuseppi, alias James Jesse; also known as the Trickster. The patient has proven...difficult... to properly analyze. Session One. Good afternoon, Mr. Giuseppi. Or is it Mr. Jesse? 

Trickster: (Cartwheeling and backflipping around the room and producing the requisite noises) I also answer to JJ, Mr. Reynard, the Trickster, Trixie, James, Giovanni, and “Shut Up, You’re Bothering Me”. 

Hugo Strange: Very cute, Mr. Giuseppi. Now stop fooling around and tell me how you would like to be addressed. 

Trickster: The Harlequin of Hocus-Pocus? The Artist of Artifice? Oooh, how about the Prince of Pranksters? (Brief pause)  Wait...is that too Joker? It might be too Joker. And it might cause people to get me confused with the actual Prankster. What do you think? 

Hugo Strange: (Already frustrated) Mr. Giuseppi, this is not a game. Just tell me by what name you would like to be addressed so that we can proceed with the session. 

Trickster: Okay. You can call me Giovanni J. Trickster, Suu-per Gee-ni-us! 

Hugo Strange: That is not a name, Mr. Giuseppi. 

Trickster: (Petulant) You were the one who asked me how I wanted to be addressed. 

Hugo Strange: Really, Mr. Giuseppi, how old are you? 

Trickster: Mentally or physically? 

Hugo Strange: (Frustrated sigh) That was a rhetorical question, Mr. Giuseppi. 

Trickster: (Faux-innocently) Well, golly, Doctor! You should’ve said so! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Giuseppi, upon admission to Arkham Asylum, you were given a number of intelligence tests, and your overall IQ score was somewhere around 147. So kindly stop playing dumb. 

Trickster: (Still faux-innocently) Why doctor, do you mean to say there’s more to me than my golden-blonde hair, my perfect teeth, my adorable dimples, and my sparkling blue eyes? I’m flattered! 

Hugo Strange: (Muttering) And I thought one of the Mirror Masters was going to be the narcissist of the bunch. (Aloud) Mr. Giuseppi, I have been very patient with you, but my patience has now run out. If you don’t want me to send you to solitary, I will request that you sit down, shut up, and let me continue with the session! (Trickster sits down with a slightly over-dramatic “thump”) Thank you. So, Mr. Giuseppi, how are you feeling? (Silence) Mr. Giuseppi? (More silence) Are you all right, Mr. Giuseppi?

Trickster: You told me not to talk, doctor. So I’m not talking. 

Hugo Strange: This is a therapy session, Mr. Giuseppi. We will make no progress if you don’t answer my questions. 

Trickster: Then why did you tell me to shut up? 

Hugo Strange: (Annoyed) You know perfectly well what I meant when I told you to shut up!

Trickster: Well, I thought I did, but clearly, I was wrong. This is why it’s important to clarify your terms, Doctor. If you don’t, people might get confused! 

Hugo Strange: Mr. Giuseppi, I told you to shut up because you were talking nonsense. I have neither the time nor the patience for your puerile jokes, and I wished to put an end to them at once. However, when I said that, I did not mean that you should refuse to answer me when I ask you a direct question. 

Trickster: So, you want me to talk, but only when I’m saying what you want to hear? Boy, you’re a lousy therapist! 

Hugo Strange: I don’t recall asking for your opinion on my skills as a psychologist, Mr. Giuseppi. (Pause) So, how are you feeling?

Trickster: Wow, that was the most aggressive “How are you feeling?” I think I’ve ever heard. 

Hugo Strange: Answer the question, or I’m sending you to solitary. 

Trickster: (Cheerfully) I’m doing great, doctor! Thanks for asking.

Hugo Strange: And the reason you couldn’t have said that two minutes ago was? 

Trickster: I wanted to see how far I could push you before you threatened to send me to solitary a second time. 

Hugo Strange: (Deep breath) Tell me, Mr. Giuseppi. Do you have to work at being this much of an irritant, or does it come naturally? 

Trickster: All natural. It’s a gift...just like my angelic cuteness! 

Hugo Strange: (Muttering) Angelic, indeed. (Aloud) Mr. Giuseppi, what motivated you to put on your ridiculous costume and commit crimes with yo-yos, rubber chickens, and exploding whoopie cushions? 

Trickster: (Very serious) You see, when I was young, my parents were killed in a tragic accident, leaving me with only a bag of tricks to remember them by. I suppose I picked the gadgets I did to honor their memory. 

Hugo Strange: That’s very unfortunate, Mr. Giuseppi. I would like to express my condolences for-

Trickster: (Starts giggling) Tricked you! (Snickers for a bit before continuing) C’mon, Doctor. Do I really seem like the type to be motivated by some horrible childhood tragedy? My folks are both still alive and well. (Pause) You’d think a psychologist would know when he was being played! 

Hugo Strange: (On the verge of shouting) Mr. Giuseppi, this is a therapy session, not a stage for your tasteless comedy show. 

Trickster: My dear Doctor, I am the Trickster! The whole world is my stage, and I’m not about to give away the secrets of my act. 

Hugo Strange: Very well. If you won’t cooperate, I will simply look up your history myself. (Pulls out files, flips through pages. Pause) Mr. Giuseppi, why is your file full of completely empty pages? 

Trickster: (Giggles) Tricked you again! (Pause) I slipped into your office last night and swapped the actual contents of the file with blank printer paper. I wanted to see how long it would take you to notice. 

Hugo Strange: You….you...How did you get out of your cell and into my office without setting off the alarms or being caught on any of the cameras? 

Trickster: Ah-ah-ah. Like I said, a great performer never reveals his secrets. (Pause) But you’ve provided me with so much fun, I suppose it’s only fair to answer at least one of your questions. You wanted to know why I became the Trickster, right?

Hugo Strange: Currently, I am more curious about how you broke into my office and why, if you could manage that without getting caught, you didn’t just escape Arkham altogether. 

Trickster: I didn’t escape Arkham for the same reason I became the Trickster: because I have more fun that way! (Pause) By the way, I’d advise you to tell everyone to not take showers today.

Hugo Strange: What? Why? 

Trickster: You’ll find out, doctor. Just wait for it.

(Ten-second pause) 

Riddler: Why is my showerhead spraying out pink paint instead of water?! 

Trickster: Oh, there it is! (Pause, then dramatically) It seems as though some incorrigible yet incredibly handsome and intelligent scamp has swapped out all of the water in the shower systems with Pepto-Bismol pink paint! 

Hugo Strange: TRICK-STER! 

Trickster: That’s my name! Don’t wear it out! (Laughs) 

[my-writings-and-musings]

hello! if you are taking requests, can you please do the oxygen loss prompt with megatron and whirl?

I did Whirl in part two, so I have Megatron here with a ridiculously long one and I hope that's okay! I added Thunderclash as well so I can keep my pattern of two because... I like patterns. I might be getting super into this prompt...

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Megatron

·You're in the ship's recently finished classroom organizing lesson plans on your own, having been working with Megatron to try and set up more structured class schedules on the growing list of topics he's begun to cover. You're thrilled he's found a kind of calling on the ship, especially one that seems to be allowing bots to see the side of him you know best. He's made it quite clear in his own way that your assistance in this endeavor means the world to him.

·He's on the bridge, scouting out potential locations for refueling on the next leg of the journey with the rest of the commanding officers. For once there's mostly cohesion in their efforts, and his insistence on choosing planets hospitable to humans is met with agreement, if not surprise. They're on schedule to finish early for a quiet afternoon off when everything turns to a level of chaos even the experienced crewmembers have to call extreme. The rumble that shakes the entire ship is one Megatron and experienced space travelers know well; they've been ambushed.

·You're nearly knocked off the desk you're standing on by the unexpected tremors. While you're trying to figure out what could possibly have caused the disturbance, a message is appearing up on the bridge, where alerts of failing systems and corrupted codes almost make it impossible to hear an alien captain decree an intent to storm the ship. Megatron attempts diplomacy before lives are lost, but the enemy makes it clear; this ship and its contents are more valuable than anything they could offer. While the captain notes their species has heard of the famed Lost Light and its crew, their hack of the security systems proved embarrassingly simple, and they look forward to the easy payoff from selling the scraps of the Cybertronians onboard!

·With communications down and systems struggling through an ongoing sabotage, Megatron still prepares to coordinate a defense, but is stopped before he can begin by a final taunt from their enemy. Their hack of the security cameras showed his fondness for his new pet, a homo sapien of all things, and thus his current concern should be for the atmospheric regulation instead of battle plans. But considering how many dead organics he's left in his wake, surely one more shouldn't perturb him too deeply, yes?

·The line goes dead just as the ship's alarm attempts to sound, signaling an impending attack before it too crashes with everything else. His fellow officers are moving to get defenses up however they can, preparing to get the resident tech experts on the job of restoring key systems while trying to plan a counterattack with no way to reach anyone. He's near to frozen as he tries to message you to no avail, the cruel mockery of the enemy cutting deep in ways words rarely do for him, if only because the implication terrifies him like nothing ever has; he's all but helpless to save you.

·Only experience and an undying determination allow him to break through the fog. Without asking for guidance or permission, he states his one intent; to rescue you however he can. If there are any objections, he does not hear them, and soon his pedes are tearing down the hallway to where he last saw you and prays he'll find you; the classroom. Oblivious to his rush, the only thing you're aware of is the fact that something is amiss, but you don't have a clue as to what. Between the tremor, the brief blare of the alarm and your inability to get your communicator running, you only know there's danger inbound.

·Not having much information to work with, you surmise that the classroom is probably not the safest place to hunker down, and recall that the medical and scientific wings aren't far. As the doctors on the ship have added human medicine to their repertoire, and are hardly defenseless, trying to get to them seems your greatest hope for securing yourself. Not wanting to panic, you push your supplies into a somewhat neat pile and climb down the small ladder that's been added to the desk for your sake. Somehow you don't find yourself at the top of your worries at all. Your thoughts center almost entirely on Megatron, who will undoubtedly be forced into whatever conflict might erupt, and even an unexpected staleness in the air around you hardly registers amidst your anxiety.

·Megatron is still too logical of a bot not to stop every crewmember he sees to give them a brief list of orders. He knows that, without a united defense and victory, there won't be any way you can be saved at all. So he takes the hindrance, though bots hardly take long to move when he issues a command. But his growing fear gnaws at him with a simple truth; without communication, he can't even be sure of your location, let alone your condition. Perhaps he's going the wrong way. Perhaps you're already beyond help. Perhaps you've already been discovered by the enemy. All he can do in the face of blinding terror is keep moving, keep coordinating, and keep hoping beyond reason that he'll be fortunate for once.

·You can't remember the classroom ever taking so long to cross, but that's hardly important, especially with your communicator still failing to function. Reaching Megatron would give you incredible comfort right now, if only to hear he's alright, yet that's obviously not going to happen. Honestly, it sounds silly to really think about it, the human worrying for the Cybertronian... But your anxiety isn't comforted merely to remember he's a gigantic combat veteran, not knowing anything about his current status is all it needs to wander to scary places...

·Closing in on your position, the mech in question echoes your worry, but his knowledge of the current danger puts his feelings closer to panic. All he knows is that he's coordinated a not insignificant number of bots for a better defense on his way through the ship. With better resistance on their side, he knows they can win, because they must. The alternative won't come to pass while his spark still flickers within him. That promise comes to an early test when he overhears enemies moving on the path ahead, and he takes the charge without hesitation, his terror converting quite easily to rage for extra assistance.

·By the time you're at the door you know something is wrong with you. Each step comes with a wobble you can't explain, and soon the dizziness you thought was worry has grown to almost debilitating levels. Why is the room spinning? Why does your body feel so heavy? It doesn't worry you as much as it probably should, but you know it needs to be fixed, especially with the ship potentially in jeopardy. Faint activity from the hallway outside spurs you to finally trigger the door to open, which thankfully appears to be one of the few systems still working. Heavy footsteps not too far away register in your ears just as you're forced to lean against a wall for support.

·The aliens that come into view before you quite unexpectedly are large, tough, and well armed. Most races would have found them an insurmountable challenge, and even an experienced Cybertronian combatant couldn't expect an easy victory against a single fighter, leaving you quite hopeless as you stare upwards in confusion. Megatron is not the norm, and his drive to win is fuelled by far more than just survival, so he feels little more than irritation when he finally arrives to the hallway you're pinned within. More than a dozen mark his path to you, their forms clustered around the helpless human in sick curiosity, and as a result they're heedless to his appearance.

·Hulking forms most definitely not of Cybertronian make tower over your body as it struggles to keep upright, the ceiling spinning overhead as you try to connect thoughts and move your legs to flee. A language you don't understand precedes a slow swipe in your direction, one that you stumble away from more than dodge, resulting in you roughly collapsing to the floor. Something like cruel laughter greets your painful tumble. You should be angry, being mocked like a bug skittering from its inevitable squishing, but God you're so exhausted. It's not even in you to be afraid when the barrel of an alien gun is pointed at your head and the scent of ozone fills your nose while the barrel fills with light.

·A second tremor shakes the ship, but this one proves to be far more deadly than the last. Your would be killers are obliterated by a blur of gunmetal gray that pummels them into the floor, and before you can blink the carnage begins and seems to escalate to unimaginable levels of ferocity. Only your familiarity with Megatron allows you to discern him amidst the flurry of quickly diminishing combatants, but he's nothing like the mech you know in this instant, going for sheer brute force over strategy as he tears aliens apart with his bare servos. In the bloody chaos you can't tell if he's taking damage or not despite the sheer numbers he was initially facing.

·The end of it all is somehow more startling than the beggining. In one final attack he ends the last soldier, quieting the cacophony of battle to leave only the steady drip of alien blood down the wall and his own haggard ventilations. There's a dash of bright energon amongst the mess, glowing in rivulets down his side, and somehow that's what gets your cloudy brain moving again. Pushing exhausted legs against the floor, you try to rise as you cry out in concern, reaching for him before you collapse right back against the solid ground.

·Heedless to his own injuries, Megatron is over you in a single instant, no longer blinded by the fury he'd experienced at the sight of you in peril. All he'd known was that your attackers had needed to die, no hesitation, and tearing them apart had come easily from there. Now things are once again far from simple. The blood on his hands doesn't stop him from picking you up as gingerly as he can, though your impossibly tiny body appears more delicate than ever in his massive palms. Though it makes him sick to realize, he does indeed know a struggling organic when he sees one, making the captain's words burn in his audials once more.

·Guilt is forced down to a minimum so he can focus on what matters; you. He needs to get you somewhere safe but with access to oxygen, and the only place that can happen is the medical bay or the laboratory, and he knows both are quite close. He couldn't care less about his own gashed side, so even if the medics and scientists are elsewhere he should likely be able to rig something up before energon loss impacts him. Holding you close, in a way that will permit him to shield you with his body, he starts moving while he speaks to you. It's obvious even to him his words aren't motivating, but at least they seem to get your attention.

·Looking up at him, feeling like you're tiny beyond belief thanks to his incredible size, you wonder how much of this could be real. Megatron had just hurled himself into battle for you, enduring agonizing wounds in the process, and beaten back what should have been impossible odds... If he wasn't so close you could touch him, you'd certainly think he was just a figment of your imagination emerging from the spinning hallways around you. His deep baritone rumbles reassurances to you as your eyes slowly drift shut, your perception fading around the edges until he's all you can see, and you can feel sleep beckoning like never before.

·He truly has seen enough organics dying to recognize that you're fading in his arms, and seeing the connection between such atrocities and you is slowly starting to tear into him with guilt that refuses to be ignored. How many lives just like yours has he snuffed out? How recently was it that he could have ended your life amongst the billions of others, unaware of what a gift you are to the universe? More specifically, because of this, what right does he have to so much as look at you? The thoughts are a dark and unmanageable tangle by the time he arrives at his destination, where an already overwhelmed medical crew is tending to the injured from an apparently victorious battle. He's near to shock when he hands you over to a frantically rushing Ratchet and simply explains you need oxygen, his hand gingerly cupping his injury before he firmly insists on being the last to be repaired. If he's spoken to afterwards, he doesn't remember any of what is said.

·The medical bay is dim when you awaken, and you see that you've been placed in your own private room when you look about, oxygen mask holding secure to your face as you do so. A massive shape against the wall would have startled you if you didn't immediately recognize Megatron. He smiles almost sadly when you awaken, and while you initially attribute his uncharacteristic weariness to the welded injury on his side, he quickly makes it clear that isn't the case. Whispering a simple wish for your recovery, he excuses himself and makes to leave, and you know that something is amiss m

·When you merely call for him to stop, he breaks, confessing that his relief to see you alive is equal only to his certainty that he's not worthy of you and can no longer pretend otherwise. It takes all of your strength to sit up and demand he stay; you refuse to let the bot who just saved you walk out, especially when you've made it abundantly clear his past is something you've accepted, and your firm reminder is cut short only by dizziness forcing you to lay back. The sight stirs him to return to your side, concern in his optics, and you lay a hand on the tip of his digit in a breathless and wordless reminder; he's more than his past to you, and you made that decision knowing the struggles ahead. He smiles as his digit gently strokes your forehead, recalling that he too had made a decision that day; to trust you meant yours.

Thunderclash

·The two of you are in the hangar practicing sparring, which for your benefit mostly consists of him holding up a training dummy against his palm while you whack at it, and as is often the case you've become sidetracked by conversation over actual work. He's laying on his front to keep the two of you closer to eye level, leaning his chin against his spare hand for comfort, talking about all the little things that come to mind as opposed to the grand topics he's used to being asked about. Frankly, this freedom a big part of what he likes about these moments with you. He gets to just be a bot with interests like any other.

·Your casual chat is interrupted by a communication from the command team on the bridge, who summon him for assistance tracing where a series of small anomalies across the ship might be coming from. Systems are glitching in ways that can't be explained, the defensive radar can't seem to decide if there's something in the apparently empty space around them, and in an ironic twist the message goes dead just as communication problems are mentioned. It's quickly apparent something needs to be done.

·Apologizing for having to cut things short, the massive bot offers to give you a ride to the heart of the ship, which he'll have to pass on his way to the bridge. Always eager to spend more time together, you happily oblige, taking the place of the training dummy in his palm as he lifts you to rest beside his spark. While his shoulder is arguably a more dignified location, you take more than a little comfort feeling the hum of his energy at your back, and thus have chosen this as your travel spot. Between his wound and the many setbacks it's taken to get him back in shape, it's just nice to feel his spark going strong.

·Not long after setting off, he gets the sense there's more to these troubles than technical error, and that something less than desirable may be the culprit. It's not something he can explain, but being more attuned to the subtler things in his environment just gives him a feeling. When he voices this to you, along with the thought you should probably be left somewhere safe, you ask what he believes might be coming. Not because you don't believe him, but you know he only drops his smile when he is preparing for something bad, and you haven't seen proof of any concrete threat.

·With almost comedic timing, the ship lurches at that very moment, nearly knocking the big bot off balance. Only his firm but careful hold saves you from a twenty foot fall. The rumble fades off with something like a great dragging sensation through the ship, which you'd compare to a Manhattan sized car grinding to a halt. Now cupping you in both hands, Thunderclash asks earnestly if you're alright, to which you reassuringly reply that a little turbulence isn't enough to do any damage.

·Smiling at the fortitude of your tiny body, he begins walking straight away, shifting to strategy as his red optics narrow in contemplation. He explains that the particular nature of that shake confirmed his suspicions something is planning an attack. Rather, they're initiating an attack. The sensation of a ship being locked to another and anchored is a particular one, and combined with their systems crashing it's obvious an enemy has come prepared to strike for a well planned ambush.

·You see that he's worrying, but you say nothing of it, taking hold of his thumb to communicate support. Being with him in private has made it clear his existence as a perpetual source of strength for others exhausts him, so you've since committed to acting as his well of certainty in difficult times. Not letting your fear bleed in to your words, you instead ask what the two of you should do, confirming your own communicator is uselessly jammed as you do so.

·Moving through the ship at considerable speed with his long legs, he decides that you'll still need to be secured rather quickly, as enemy combatants are probably already storming the ship or preparing to do so. You'd debate him if you weren't well aware of the logic in his plan. No matter what the enemy is, you won't stand much of a chance in a full on brawl, as anything confident enough to attack a Cybertronian starship is likely to have the firepower to back itself up. Still, it's impossible not to be dissapointed by your inability to offer aid, though it's probably for the best as you're rather exhausted from sparring anyway.

·It happens in a blur, but that's partly because of the shocking reaction time of the bot carrying you, something few would expect due to his size. Thunderclash registers the threat as soon as he turns the corner, a feat aided by the very much not Cybertronian appearance of the figures he sees, and then made far easier by the multiple clicks of weapons preparing to fire. Your presence in his hands became his central point of focus in that instant. Turning on the spot, he allowed the first hail of bullets to strike his armored back, keeping you well out of the line of fire before ducking behind an opposite corner for cover. The sting of the gunfire matters little when he sees you safe in his hands, and less when he instructs you to stay low after setting you down and charging in to fight.

·In the heat of it all, you're embarrassed to be caught so frazzled, as this is hardly your first exposure to alien combat. But there's little time to admonish yourself when chaos unfolds just around the corner, and your tiny size permits a small peek... Thunderclash is the gentlest giant in the world to you, but in just a few blinks the hulking aliens are on the losing front, and while his fighting style is far from gratuitous it is effective. You're still trembling from the rush of the initial shock when the last enemy of the group is on the floor, but even with your shaky vision you can see your bot is unharmed. For a moment that little burst of relief supersedes everything else.

·In usual fashion though, he expresses worry for you when he returns to pick you up from where he left you, drawing an affectionate chuckle from you at how impossibly selfless this mech can be. But he doesn't back down from the question like he usually does. His expression of concern intensifies as he starts moving again, and his sharp optics find ample to worry about on your seemingly unharmed body, with particular attention being paid to your face. Those brilliant eyes of yours are well known to him, and so he can tell something is... off in their beautiful depths. Even if his medical studies focus very little on organics, he's able to recognize the signs of a body struggling, and your paleness combined with the way you labor for each breath tells him something is very wrong.

·Now in a race against time, he has no choice but to move, gunning it towards the ship's tech wing where the laboratories and medical bay are located. He doesn't yet know what's wrong with you for certain, but aid will be there if it's anywhere to be found. There's no time to be wasted in securing you somewhere either, he's going to have to face any threats as they come in the moment whilst ensuring your protection in the process. It's a set of circumstances he's encountered before in his long and eventful time as a soldier, but there's an entirely new variable this time around; you. He adores you, like no one he's ever met before, and perhaps it's selfish but the very thought of losing you... he's not sure his spark could take it.

·The soothing tone of his voice and the rhythmic thumping of his footsteps make it surprisingly difficult for you to heed his requests to stay as awake as possible. Even though your breaths are coming in with difficulty, it seems like sleep would be a fantastic idea at the moment, even if only to rest your eyes. His cupped hands just support your body so nicely, and are so warm, and his voice is so delightfully melodic. Why does he seem so intent on keeping you conscious? Why does he look so incredibly upset to see you struggling to keep your eyes open?

·The pathway he chooses is mercifully free of conflict at first, but that matters little due to your rate of deterioration, as you may not make it even at his full speed. Driving isn't an option due to his need to be combat ready, and the lack of options and hope is absolutely tearing him apart. He hasn't had someone like you in his life before, and the desperation in his voice begins to show that, cracking as he loses his steadfast control of his usually impervious wall of confidence. The selfishness of his desire kills him; how dare he put his own feelings on you due to his weakness? Begging you to survive for his sake?

·No amount of haze can prevent you from startling at his pain. There are tears in his optics, though he doesn't even seem to notice them, letting them fall down his face as he pleads. In the warm fog clouding your brain, you feel a surge of worry, and your hand instinctively grabs at his nearest digit to give it a squeeze. Before you can even offer a breathless reasurance, he ceases running and dives from gunfire that seems to erupt from nowhere, laying you in a tiny maintenance crevice before hurling himself at the second delay he knows you don't have time for. The last thing you see before drifting off is the grief in his optics that you wish you'd been able to comfort...

·While his combat skills always make things quick, in this blur of pain and rage he's downright brutal, ending each foe swiftly but with absolute contempt for their existence clear in every torn limb. Hits to his own frame don't register at all. Bullets and blades mean nothing in the face of what he's about to lose, and the vengeance fueling his strength turns foes into scattered body parts more effectively than any grenade ever could. By the end of it all he's likely set a record for the swiftness of his takedown, but it matters as little as his multitude of bleeding wounds. All he can see is your now limp body as he pulls it from the hiding spot, and his vision narrows to only your faintly moving chest and his pedes moving one past the other through the carnage.

·There's a mass of activity in the technology wing, likely due to injuries as well as the many bots ordered to stand guard in the event of battle, but he doesn't hear the reaction his arrival triggers in the slightest. His sharp processor is reduced to one goal, and anything unrelated doesn't exist. At the sight of the crowded medical bay he starts to strategize. Ratchet appears in his vision, first focusing only on his obvious injuries and the alien blood he didn't know was spattered across his frame, before well trained optics catch sight of the tiny human limp in his hands.

·There's a rush of an explanation; they think one of the systems downed was the atmospheric generators, resulting in a loss of the oxygen the ship maintains for your needs. It's all the information Thunderclash needs to act. Brushing off any help for himself and encouraging the more egregiously wounded to be tended first, he requests only to be provided what you need. Busy tending the injured, medics still assist him getting a supply of oxygen going where they can, with Ratchet using his particular knowledge of human anatomy to ensure the ratio is correct for your biology while Thunderclash prepares it all. Dexterous hands set you on a medical slab where an oxygen mask and scanner are used to return your blood oxygen to normal, and just like that, he knows you'll eventually be okay...

·By the time you wake up your tiny frame has been moved to a private room, both to keep you from the chaos of crammed in bots and to give the two of you privacy from adoring admirers. He's beside you, his wounds patched but his frame still dirtied with blood, a sight that shocks you enough to force a gasp into your mask. Perking up the instant he hears you, the hulking mech is as close as the berth allows in a flash. A stream of questions about your wellbeing passes his lips before you can get a word in. Between the dried blood, the patched wounds, and the faint discoloration of his optics that suggests recent weeping... It's hard to know what to ask him, so you vaguely request a rundown of what happened.

·His face falls, and in between recounts of alien attacks and near death experiences there's overwhelming self depreciation. To hear him tell it the entire affair might as well be his fault. You've always known him to be humble, even critical of his actions, but this borders on self destructive. Worse, the crux of his crisis seems to be that he was motivated to save you not just by duty, but by his selfish desire to protect the one he loved so dearly and can't bare to lose. His own desires are inexcusable in these things, as he puts it, and could have hindered him at your expense. Shaky arms rise so that you can grab the nearest part of him, a digit once again, as you encourage him to stop tormenting himself. You owed him your life, several times over just for today alone, and there wasn't a bot in existence less selfish than he. The kindness of his spark was what you'd fallen in love with, and what you still loved now, because he was more than a legend to you. You loved Thunderclash the bot, not the expectation everyone else had built around him, and thus he'd always be enough just by being himself. Finally relaxing after everything, and his spark singing at your ability to become his rock when he needs one, he allows himself to just rest and exist as he is. Laying his helm on the berth beside you, he nuzzles close, allowing himself to feel simple gratitude to have and love you as you do him.

[wtfevenismypage]

Observer, not Profiler PT.2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: mentions of murder, mentions of child porn(for the case, doesn’t go into detail), mentions of corpses, probably a few curse words.

You watch as everyone separates, and you follow The three agents to a room with a round table and a board of pictures with dead women.

“what can you tell us about this man?”

Agent Aaron sets a file down on the table as Spencer gestures for you to sit down.

You open the file, looking at pictures of a man with short hair and a muscly build.

“His name is Maxwell, He’s thirty four. In this picture he had just finished... killing a woman. He probably had to force her away from a crowd because his social skills are lacking, he treats women like toys and men like competition. He’s a severe liar. He won’t just lie when it’s essential he’ll lie about anything for no reason. He’s killed before, but this time was for fun. He was bored.”

Agent Prentiss stares at you with her jaw on the floor, and your gaze drops to the floor.

“Okay that’s awesome. How do you do that?”

You shrug shyly before meeting her eyes.

“I’ve been able to do it ever since I was a little girl. I’m not sure why though. Don’t think I really want to know either...”

“He killed for fun?”

You nod at Aaron’s question, looking back down to avoid his steel cold stare.

“Okay, that got us much further than we could have gotten by ourselves, thank you Y/n.”

The scary agent says, returning to the victim board and analyzing everything.

-

-

-

-

It’s been hours. You’ve sat in this room for hours and they have nothing else. 

To say you’re tired was an extreme understatement. You’ve gone three days without sleep and another three days without eating. You’re body is screaming at you to go to sleep, to just pass out right then and there, but you know you can’t.

“Y/n, are you alright?”

You nod, staring at the pictures of the dead, mutilated women. You didn’t understand how someone could do this.

“I don’t understand how you guys do this job... Staring at dead bodies all the time... You guys gotta have some sort of super power to be able to stomach this...”

Emily stifles a laugh before setting a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it gently before patting it twice.

“You get over it eventually, but it always haunts you.”

You let out a quiet yawn before closing your eyes and turning away from the board, the dead body sticking on your eyelids.

“Hey, I’m going out to get food, what do you all want?”

JJ says, standing in the doorway as Spencer, Aaron and Emily request their food.

“What do you want Y/n?”

You look up shocked, not expecting the offer of food.

“Umm... I’ll uh... Anything is fine I guess... Thank you.”

She smiles and nods before walking out. You sit down on a chair, your feet screaming hallelujah at the feeling of finally resting.

Spencer sits down next to you, handing you a bottle of water which you accept gratefully.

“You need to sleep, how long has it been since you last slept?”

You let out a chuckle, rubbing your sore eyes.

“I don’t know...Maybe, two, three days?”

Aaron- Hotch, turns to you with furrowed brows and mock concern. 

“You need to rest. Reid, set up a cot for her in an empty office.”

You shake your head with lidded eyes.

“No no, I’m fine I’m-”

You’re cut off by your own yawn. A faint blush creeps up on your cheeks while you rest your head on the table.

“M’ fine.”

The world slowly fades out as they call out your name again, but you’re already out cold.

When you wake up, you’re in a small sleeping bag on the floor, a pillow comforting your head. You’re up in a bolt, looking around warily before remembering what had happened withing the last twenty four hours.

Oh yeah... The FBI is using me..

You walk to the door with a sigh, looking around at the somewhat empty police station, a few officers working the stations, but it’s practically empty.

A blonde woman in colorful clothes walks by, pausing when she sees you.

“You, with me, now.”

She continues speed-walking on after that, and you run after her, following right on her heels.

“The team went out on a wild goose chase after the unsub, I need you and your magic hands to help me get into this guy’s computer, it’s blocked like nothing I’ve seen before, together we should be able to get in.”

You cringe at the thought of hacking, you haven't since the incident, but this woman is in the FBI and you’re pretty sure it’s unwise to disobey her. 

“Yes ma’am.”

She smirks and turns to you, but doesn’t say anything as she leads you into a room with five computers.

“Alright, we have to be quick. This guy is gonna kill again in ten minutes. I have the team on the line, anything you find, anything at all, tell them.”

You nod and sit at one of the two wheely chairs, looking at the database of the killers computer.

“A hash tree data structure, this dude likes things in groups. He has a NoSQL object oriented database and heavy protection on everything, he’s spent a lot of time protecting his files. This isn’t gonna be easy and I’m really rusty.”

You begin typing in every word combo you can think of, typing as fast as possible.

“Just do the best you can.”

Hotchner says over the speaker, you listen, continuing with any word combo you can think of when remembering his face.

Six minutes pass and you and Penelope still have nothing.

“Can I see another picture of him?”

She tosses a file to you, which you yank open, looking at the photo’s of him.

“Try anything star wars related, specifically characters, maybe a villain of the series.”

You tell her before tossing the folder aside and using your own advice.

Finally, you hear that satisfying noise of success from Penelope’s computer.

“We’re in.”

She enter’s the password into the computer you’re manning, which leads you to a killer’s screen.

A mutilated woman is the background, and you flinch away.

“Oh god...”

You click onto google, but it’s no better, every tab is war and chaos and horrible things. Child porn seems to be popular with him.

“Go through his stuff, look for anywhere he might be.”

You ignore all of the destruction on his desk top, clicking through everything before discovering a location.

“Got it! Go to the daycare at the Starrmole mall!”

“Copy that, all units to the Starrmole mall.”

You close the computer tabs, looking away and turning to Penelope.

“We did it my wonder girl!”

You smile as she holds her hand out for a high five, and you happily smack her hand before sitting back.

“Y’know, you would be really helpful around the office, specifically our offices?”

You look at her, shocked. Was she really recommending that you join the FBI? You couldn’t even say the word without spiraling into a tic attack.

“W-what? You... You want me to... To...”

“I think you would be great at it. You could help me out here, You don’t have to go on the field, you and I could do some serious damage together. The job pays fairly well too!”

At seeing your conflicted face, she sighs before setting a hand on your shoulder.

“Just think about it, okay?”

You nod with furrowed brows before the two of you walk out, waiting for the rest of the station to arrive.

It could be a smart Idea, working for the government instead of against it. Plus, you could do what you love again without fear of being locked up, but then again, you would have to get over looking at dead bodies everyday, you had to be ready to see them at any time.

Instead of thinking about it any longer, you direct your focus to something, or someone, else.

How the hell am I not able to read him?

You think to yourself when the image of the young Doctor fills your brain. You didn’t understand how he managed to avoid your reading, but it made you incredibly curious.

“So, what can you tell me about Dr. Reid?”

You ask Penelope with a slight blush on your cheeks. She looks at you, eyes wide and Jaw on the floor.

“Do you like him?”

You shake your head no, you had just met him! Yeah sure, maybe he was cute, but you didn’t like him like that!

“No way! Not like that! I was just confused at why I couldn’t read him! I don’t like him like that!”

“Like who like what?”

You jump in the air at the new voice, the tall Reid apologizing before sitting down across you and Penelope.

“No one! Like no one like nothing!”

You say rather aggressively, making Reid raise his hands in faux surrender, a smile plastered on his face as he laughs.

“Sorry I asked. So are you thinking of joining the Bureau?”

Your head tilts in confusion as you look at him, how the hell did he know that? As if he could hear your thoughts, he gives an answer.

“Garcia forgot to hang up, so we heard the conversation. Well I heard, everyone else shut their devices off, but I was pretty far away so I just turned around and came back.”

You and Penelope nod, but you look away.

“I’m not sure... I just... I spent my entire life running, but you guys found me, and now I’m supposed to join the forces of good and fight crime? I’m just having a difficult time deciding.”

They look at you with an understanding look, they know you’re having a difficult time with all of this, suddenly being pushed to let down all of your walls now. They knew you hated being center of attention.

Damn profilers...

You almost laugh at your thoughts, but you can’t, because the rest of the profilers and the Police just walked in with a serial killer.

“Well, you might want to choose quickly. We leave first thing in the morning. If you want to join the Bureau, I can talk to Hotch about bringing you with us on the jet, if not, we’ll arrange another jet to take you to any city you want, and you can start living there.”

Your mouth hangs open, it was already ten p.m, and you only had until morning to figure this out? Fucking perfect.

“I’ll go talk to Hotch about it. Spencer, give the girl some space to think, alright?”

The two nod at each other before walking off, Garcia going to inform Hotch and Spencer going to talk to the killer.

“This is a fucking mess.”

-

-

-

-

-

You’ve spent the entire night thinking your options over, but you were still no closer to a choice than you were four hours ago. 

The night is silent. The entire office is asleep and you’re sipping on a cup of coffee, watching the stars as your debate marches on in your brain.

“Hey.”

It’s a deep voice, Derek, he sits in a chair next to you, plopping an arm on the back of your chair.

“Can’t sleep huh?”

You chuckle.

“That’s an oversimplification. I’m just trying to decide what the hell I’m going to do. If I join you, there are so many good things that’ll come out of it, but if I don’t-”

“You aren’t joining the FBI because you’re scared. You think you’re betraying yourself. I’ll tell you right now you aren’t betraying anyone. This is a chance to help yourself. To try something new. It’s a great job believe it or not, and I think you’ll fit right in with the team. Reid, Garcia, Emily, and I already think you’re great, but if you really don’t want to, nobodies making you okay?”

You nod, tears in your eyes as Derek brings you to a realization. You never even thought of it that way, but it made complete sense. Of course you held back because you didn’t want to betray yourself, you always did everything for your past self.

“Thank you Derek...”

Reid already thinks you’re great.

A smile crawls onto your face at the friendships that could be made. Just imagining working late nights with Dr. Reid made you happy.

“Does... Does Dr. Reid really think I’m great?”

He laughs before standing up and walking away.

That didn’t answer my question...

You think to yourself before returning your gaze to the sky. It was so bright, the stars were so easily seen at night. It was gorgeous, the way that the night sky was illuminated with constellations.

The rest of the night is quiet, you let yourself forget about the debate of the FBI job and you let yourself relax, listening to the hum of quiet jazz playing on the speakers.

When the rest of the police department wakes up, the FBI profilers included, they’re saying goodbye to the team and writing in their files. 

The team walks over to where you sit, looking at the sky as you sip on coffee.

“Well, have you made a decision?”

Hotch asks, you look down and spin around to face them,  glancing at their shoes nervously before speaking.

“Well, I have decided... And my decision is that...”

-

-

-

-

-

A/N: I gotta be honest, I didn't expect that many people to enjoy this story! Just so ya’ll know, Requests are open! If you would like to request a fic for Reid, hotch, morgan, emily, dad!rossi (No romance for rossi, sorry) or any marvel character, just go ahead and ask! Keep me busy guys!

Taglist:

@imsuperawkward @ithinkilovetruecrimetoomuch @l0ve-0f-my-life @hopebaker @spencerreidisbootiful @thatsonezesty13 @nightlygiggless @holybatflapexpert @aberrant-annie @wasabiwitteks

[prettyboy-asmo]

Brothers (+Diavolo and Solomon) reaction to GN! MC fainting

A request from @bigg-crybaby  HC for how the brothers + Diavolo and Solomon react to the MC fainting because of a diet/ ED.

TW: Discussion of EDs, Diets, disordered eating, fainting.

Note: Disordered eating is something I’ve struggled with in the past, so I know that like most things in life it’s experienced very differently for each individual. I also want to make a note that My messages/ask box is always open to anyone who might need to talk for whatever reason. (I also put all the tags i could think of for tw but if I missed one please let me know so I can correct it.)

Lucifer:

It happens one day when you join him in his office to work on your homework for RAD, you just want to be able to work in peace and don’t have the energy to listen to the usual bickering.

you stand up to grab something you’d left in your room and suddenly the room is tilting and oh boy, you think, because you know how this goes. 

Lucifer catches you before you hit the floor and sits you in the armchair, unsure of what to do.

Lowkey panicking but trying very hard to keep a semblance of calm. 

you don’t appear to be in any immediate danger, so he messages his brothers and asks if they noticed anything strange with you lately. as his brothers respond the pieces finally put themselves together. 

Mammon replies first- They were sleepin late today and when I woke em up they insisted on skippin breakfast to be on time. then comes Satan’s reply, they didn’t eat at lunch, they said they’d gotten some snacks between Classes from Beel and went to study instead. And finally, Beel, I didn’t see them at all this morning.

When you’re aware, you’re greeted by Lucifer’s concerned gaze. “MC,When is the last time you ate?” for a moment you expect Lucifer to be angry, but his expression remains concerned. “Please talk to me, MC,” 

Eventually, you admit that you last ate at Dinner the night before, finally telling him that you’re struggling- it’s a habit, You tell him, suddenly unable to meet his gaze, Sometimes I can’t even stand the thought of a meal.

He’s angry with himself for not noticing before now, and he swallows his pride and Admits he doesn’t really know how to help- but that doesn’t mean he won’t learn.

He makes a point to sit with you at meals- if it’s too much for you, eating around so many people, He’ll start taking you to his study or his room to eat with him. 

Lucifer is gentle about the whole thing, but not patronizing or babying. He’ll ask you to take an extra bite, or sit you down and tell you to eat, but he still treats you as an adult, besides his extra vigilance of your eating habits, he treats you no different then before- he knows you are anything but Fragile (Or at least, no more so than the average human is fragile to a demon.) 

He tells you that you can deal with this together, and he means it. Good days and Bad days both, he’s right there with you. 

Mammon:

You’re walking back to the house from RAD with him when you’re suddenly aware you’re very light headed. You sway once, hand trying to grip Mammon for stability, then tip forward as black edges around your vision. 

Mammon Catches you and is instantly in Protective Panic mode

He doesn’t know what to do in the slightest- he spends a few seconds weighing his options before turning in the direction of Purgatory Hall- the only other Human must have an idea, right? 

He doesn’t make it very far by the time you’re already stirring in his hold, a little out of it as he slows his movements, afraid to jostle you, but he’s rambling- “Ya can’t die on me, Human, alright? I’m your first man and I’m supposed to protect ya!” 

You tell Mammon you’re not dying, urging him to just take you back to the House of Lamentation. 

He hesitates but relents when you promise to explain things. Refuses to let you walk back though, he doesn’t want a repeat performance. 

You explain that you’d saw this diet going around- how being surrounded by incredibly fit and attractive demons spurred you to try it so that maybe you could feel a little better about things- but you hadn’t had breakfast, or lunch, and dinner last night- he knows you didn’t eat enough to fill or keep your energy up.

He’s heartbroken. “MC, ya don’t need to try any of that bullshit, ya hear? You’re perfect. And ya gotta eat to work! Humans especially!” 

He’s constantly checking that you’ve eaten enough. Even if you insist on only eating specific things, he always makes sure they’re available to you. Even when he’s not on dinner Duty he’ll make a specific dish on the side if it makes you feel more comfortable and keeps you healthy. 

Mammon becomes much more open with giving compliments, no longer hidden behind jabs. 

He might go a little overboard with his protectiveness/ checking in sometimes, but if you tell him he’ll back off after making you promise to tell him if you need him for anything at all.

Still lowkey keeps track of things, just to make sure you actually are okay, just doesn’t vocalize it as much. 

Leviathan:

You and Levi are playing games in his room when it happens. You’re exchanging your usual banter, both of you focused on the screen of the game when Levi notices you go quiet. 

You blink a couple of times, the controller in your hands feels heavier all of a sudden, and you can’t quite remember the right button combinations to press- or even focus on the game.

It all happens within seconds, your vision goes black and you drop the controller, the noise of the game and Levi’s panicked voice seemingly coming through a long tunnel. 

Levi Panics. He abandons his own controller and game, “MC? MC!?” he shakes your shoulder slightly, breathing a sigh of relief as you stir. 

 Your head is throbbing and you can feel the slight shake in your limbs

“You fainted,” Levi said, his frantic worry still evident in his voice, the way his hand lingers on your shoulder despite how adverse he usually is to physical affection, “Are you Okay? Have you been feeling sick?” 

I’m not sick, you say quietly, “I’m sorry,” His genuine concern stirs something in you, and you’re crying before you even realize what’s happening, “I’m sorry for scaring you.” 

“Wha- no, No don’t apologize!” You want to shake your head, but the lingering dizziness prevents you from doing so. “Do you know what happened? S-Should we get you a doctor or-” 

“No doctors,” you say quickly, “I- Uh, I haven’t eaten today,”  His confused expression draws the admittance out of you, “I didn’t feel like I should.” Oh. Oh. 

He understands a little bit, his own self esteem isn’t the best and he’s had his share of self deprecating thoughts but to see something like that manifest in you...he can’t stand it. 

He’ll help you in any way he can. He’ll even leave his room for every meal and go to RAD to have lunch with you everyday if that’s what you need. 

Makes a habit about asking if you’ve eaten that day. He’d even started carrying around little packages of snacks that you enjoy in case you haven’t and insist you at least share one with him

His worry for you is obvious, but not really suffocating. He understands the need for space, so as long as you can assure him you are actually alright, and that you’ll at least eat a little and that if you start having issues you’ll come to him, he won’t have an issue stepping back for a bit. 

Will still attend meals to make sure that you are to, and subtly watches to make sure you actually eat things from your plate.

Offers his room to you anytime you need. Is it easier for you to eat while you have something else to distract you? Dinner time Anime sessions it is. 

Satan:

You finish the book Satan had given you, realizing the other book he’d recommended for you is on the couch next to him. You stand just a little too fast and you curse your mistake as the familiar feeling of falling takes over. 

Surprisingly calm. Catches you seconds after he notices what’s happening. 

You become more aware in Satan's hold. He’s maneuvering you to his now empty spot on the couch, setting you down and saying something, you’re still a little fuzzy, but when his eyes finally meet yours the look of concern on his face is painfully obvious. 

“MC, What’s goin on?” His tone is calm, but there’s an edge, “That isn’t normal,” he says when you remain silent

“Don’t be mad”, you say and a whole new wave of concern washes through him. Are you sick? Injured? “I used to- I’m having trouble with...food.” 

It takes him a minute to understand. He sits next to you on the couch, and gently begins to question you. “Can you tell me why? Can I help?” He doesn’t push you to explain, but he does ask that regardless of what you tell him you let him try to help you. 

While he does research things, he always asks you if you think something would help, rather than suggesting it. He leaves it up to you to decide what you’re comfortable with. 

Will let you eat in his room or join you in your room if you’d rather eat away from people. 

He reads about ‘safe foods’ and asks if you have any. If you do, he makes sure there’s always some in the house (Even if he has to go to great lengths to hide it from Beel.) 

Doesn’t try to hide his concern, makes sure you always eat something but he makes sure not to overwhelm you. As small of steps as you want- he’ll be there for you. 

Asmodeus:

Asmo had begged you to go shopping with him. You honestly didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

You are just entering the third store when you notice your vision blur and darken at the edges, all the sounds seeming far away. 

When you come to, you’re in Asmo’s room, tucked under the blankets. Asmo perks up from a chair pulled closer to the bed, handing you a glass of water. He waits for you to finish your drink before he speaks, “I asked Solomon to check on you.” And what did he tell you? “You know that you’re perfect, right? I’ll remind you as much as you need to hear it.” 

He’s so genuine when he says it, your resolve to remain distant about the topic begins to crumble. You’re all so beautiful and I just feel..I’m just- I thought that maybe if I could lose some weight-

He cuts off your rambling there, ��You’re gorgeous, MC. Every part of you. You don’t need to change anything about yourself for anyone but yourself.” He pauses, his eyes searching your face for something before he continues, “And if you truly feel you must change, You can not endanger yourself to do so, do you understand?” 

He waits for your answer before saying anything else. He asks that you promise to come to him whenever you feel that way. 

He’s always been open with affection and compliments, but it intensifies- He’ll shower you in compliments while still being entirely genuine. 

If you seem in an off mood or you do come to him with concerns, he’ll offer a spa day or shopping trip. If you don’t want either that’s fine to- he wants to make you feel better so whatever it is you need, he’s got you. 

While he has full trust in you to come to him if you need him, he’s still keeping a close eye on you. He checks in often but it’s usually subtle enough that you don’t even think twice about it. Even when he’s more straightforward about it it never comes off as pushy or nosy or overwhelming, just genuine concern and curiosity. 

Assures you that he’s not going anywhere, through good days or bad, he wants to make sure you are healthy and happy. 

Beelzebub:

Knows something is up when you’re consistently offering him unfinished plates of food, but he doesn’t say anything because maybe he’s wrong? Humans don’t need as much food as he does, after all. 

But when you insist on joining him in running laps and after only one pass he sees you stop, eyes squeezed shut as you lean forward, trembling slightly- he’s by your side just in time to catch you before your legs give out. 

You regain focus in his arms, “MC.” He sounds confused and worried, brow furrowed as he speaks, “You haven’t been eating enough.” You can feel the flush on your face, unsure of what to say. “Are you ill?” 

Not physically, you say without thinking, and regret it when the furrow of his brow deepens, It happens sometimes. When I’m stressed. When I need to control something. When I feel… bad about myself. You try to explain. 

“I don’t completely understand.” he admits, “But I want to help you be safe. Can you help me understand?” So you explain it as well as you can to him, try to convey what it feels like for you. 

He gets a grasp on it eventually, and then his questions move on to how he can help. 

Offers you bites of his food more often, and no longer asks if you’re going to finish your plate. 

He won’t even take your offered plate if he thinks you’ve eaten too little of it, but he won’t outright press you to eat more. 

He’s always carried snacks around for himself but now he has all the snacks he knows you like to. He even manages not to eat them so he always has them for you. (He’s extremely proud of this, and you are rather touched when you find out from Belphie.) 

Even though he doesn’t fully understand he does everything he can to make things easier for you. 

Make sure you know that he wants you to be safe. He knows it’s not good for Humans to constantly skip meals or under eat, (He asks Solomon how much a human should be eating, just to make sure you are getting enough.)

If you tell him there’s certain food you feel better eating, he’ll avoid those during mealtimes until he’s certain you’ve had as much as you want. He’ll even avoid them during his late night snack runs that way you’ll always have the option to eat those if nothing else seems okay to eat. 

Belphegor:

He comes to your room pretty often looking for a nap buddy. It’s no different this time, except you’re at your desk, staring at your homework but not really doing anything. 

“MC,” you start a little, turning to Belphie, “You look like you could use a nap.” You think that sounds like a pretty good idea. You push your chair out and stand, but just a few steps towards your bed you wobble, stomach swooping and blinking rapidly to try and still the spinning room. 

Belphie steadies you, placing you on the bed gently as you finally seem to come back to yourself. “MC? Are you okay?” 

He doesn’t look outwardly panicked, but his heart is pounding and he’s trying to figure out what the hell that was. 

I need to eat, you admit, your hands are shaking in your lap, and you try to clench your fists to make it stop. I didn’t eat today. He knows you keep a stash of snacks in your room for Beel, so he grabs something out of that and hands it to you. 

He doesn’t really ask questions, he just sits next to you and waits to see if you say anything to him first. If you don’t tell him anything, then he will ask what’s going on. 

Whatever the reason, he doesn’t want to see you putting yourself through that. Makes you promise to talk to him if you need to. 

“Humans have to eat to stay healthy, MC. I don’t want something to happen to you.” 

Already used to carrying snacks around for Beel, just starts carrying more, in case you weren’t able to eat breakfast or can’t stomach a full meal. 

Subtle check ins. He’s not pushy but he can be slightly overwhelming sometimes. He wants to know that you’re okay and sometimes it’s almost like he’s looking for reassurance that you aren’t hiding something from him. If you tell him to step back a bit, though, he will. 

He asks you if you’ve eaten before you nap together. He loves naps and cuddles, but if you haven’t eaten they’ll have to wait until he makes sure you do. 

Solomon:

You and Solomon met at least once a week to study together. So that’s where you were, heading to Solomon’s room in purgatory hall. He’s just a couple steps behind you, and you’re telling him about the latest scheme Mammon tried to cook up when the stairs ahead of you tilt. 

Your hand latches onto the banister and you stop, waiting for the feeling to pass. But it doesn’t this time, instead you hear Solomon’s voice buried under the rush of blood in your ears and everything in your sight is blurry around the edges. . 

Solomon catches you, cursing to himself as he steadies you and then lifts you to carry you the rest of the way up the stairs. 

You wake up in Solomon’s bed, the Sorcerer sitting at the foot of it and simply watching you. 

“Is there something you’d like to talk about, MC?” His tone of voice tells you he already knows, and you decide there’s really no use in trying to hide anything from Solomon. 

It’s just a diet, you tell him, but he shuts that down quick, “Diets are not supposed to make you faint, MC. You’re smart enough to know that.” 

He’s not harsh, but he’s firm. It’s obvious he’s coming from a place of genuine concern and wants to make sure you aren’t endangering yourself. 

“You don’t need to diet, you know that, right MC?”

He starts messaging you to make sure you’ve eaten breakfast before you leave for RAD, and he eats his lunch with you more often- not that either of you mind. 

If he’s really concerned he might ask Asmo to check in with you, or make sure that you’re not skipping dinner. 

Will also invite you over to purgatory Hall for dinner or Lunch. (Made by Simeon, of course.) There might even be an increase in your study meetups. 

Despite all of this, he doesn’t feel suffocating. He listens to what you have to say, won’t make you eat anything you don’t want, just as long as you promise to eat something, even if it’s a little bit at a time. 

Diavolo: 

He invites you over to discuss the exchange program, and you see no reason to turn that down. Barbatos leads you to one of the sitting rooms where Diavolo is waiting, and when you enter he greets you in his usual cheerful manner. 

You can feel the beginning of an odd sensation in the back of your mind, and you’ve almost made it to the chair Diavolo offered you when grey edges in your vision and you sway- 

“MC.” You blink at the concern in Diavolo’s voice, taking a moment to recall what happened. The Lord of the Devildom is crouched in front of you, gaze searching your face, “MC,” he says again, “Barbatos said this would help.”  He holds out a glass of some sort of juice and waits for you to take it and drink a few sips before he continues. 

“Would it help if we brought more Human world food here?” he asks, and you feel bad that all you can really do is shrug. It’s a problem for me with human food, to. You admit under his gaze. It only prompts more questions but you answer them as best as you can. 

“MC, Please don’t think me unavailable if you need to talk to someone. I care about your health.” He continues to question you on if there is anything at all he can do to help. 

You run into him more at RAD, and he always seems to have something extra that Barbatos had made and insists you take it. “Even if you don’t want it now, you might want it later.” You appreciate it more than you can say, even if you don’t always eat whatever he gives you. 

Will also message you if he knows he doesn’t have time to see you in person that day. He doesn’t usually ask if you’ve eaten, but he’ll ask if you’re feeling okay. 

If you tell him that you’re having a hard time with things, whatever he had planned for that day will just have to wait. He’s more concerned with making sure you’re okay. 

He thinks about asking Lucifer to keep an eye on you, but he trusts you to come to him if you need help. 

He understands that he can’t fully understand what it is you feel, but does his best. If he’s concerned about something, or he thinks something might help he’ll bring it up to get your opinion. 

[rwbyvein]

Firen Lhain: Chapter 806: Clear the Air:  Part I / III

Ciel Soleil stood in front of General Ironwood's desk and saluted. Ironwood returned her salute. "At ease." he stated, and she stood at the parade position At-Ease. "First off all, this meeting is classified as Top Secret. You are not to share anything covered in this meeting with anyone other than myself, Specialist Winter Schnee, Doctor Pietro Polendina, Team RWBY, the remnants of Team JNPR, Professors Qrow Branwen and Taiyang Xiao Long. Is that understood?"

"Understood!" Ciel loudly affirmed.

"Second," General said, softer this time, "while I appreciate you are on track to become an Atlas Special Operations Command Operative, you are not yet part of the military. This is not a comment on your abilities, as you have proven quite loyal and exceptional."

"Yes, Sir!" Ciel loudly affirmed.

"My point being that any requests I make of you here are not orders, but requests, and you will have the full right to refuse without penalty. If you refuse, you will head right back to the track you were on."

"Understood, Sir." Ciel stated, "I do not see why I would refuse your request, Sir."

Ironwood breathed in deep before continuing. "Penny Polendina was the first robots capable of using Aura." He paused, and while Ciel seemed shocked, she was doing her best to hide it. "This is why you were selected to aid her, as we were not sure how well she could socialize. But, it turns out it was surprisingly well. At least if she met the right people. Now, PENNY's frame has been rebuilt, and the new unit refers to herself as Penthesilea. Her first act was to return to her friends, in a classified location. All communication with this location, and movement to and from are classified on the same lines as this meeting, understood?"

"Understood, Sir." Ciel.

"My request, and remember it is a request, not an order or a demand, is to proceed to this location and aid Penthesilea as much as you can. Reminder that is a request, and that refusal will in no way affect your path to becoming an Atlas Specialist."

"I am honoured, Sir." Ciel replied. "If I follow this request, how will my studies be affected?"

"You are already near graduation." Ironwood stated, "Professor Xiao Long is at the location, and Team RWBY and Team JNR are certified huntsmen. If you fulfill my request, I will take this as fulfilling all remaining graduation requirements. You will graduate with your current grade, which, I must say, is one of the best in the academy. You will, however, not receive any additional public honours for fulfilling this request, as it is secret."

"I would have your respect, Sir." Ciel stated, and Ironwood developed a weak smile, leaning forward.

"You would."

Ciel then stood to attention and saluted, "Then I accept, Sir."

"Thank you." Ironwood stated, "Prepare your things to depart for an unknown duration."

"Yes, Sir." Ciel stated, and saluted, and Ironwood returned her salute.

* * *

Winter Schnee walked into General Ironwood's office. She saluted and he returned the salute. "At-ease." he stated, and she stood At-Ease. "I would like to thank you for your prompt report."

"Of course, Sir."

"From now on, all communication, or reference to that location will remain classified at the highest level."

"Of course, Sir."

Ironwood then let out a smile, "And you still have leave to finish."

"But, Sir?" she asked.

"The investigation is still undergoing for your previous assignment. Once it's complete, I will need you to lead the assault. Until then, you are still on leave, and I recommend you spend time with your sister. At the very least, you can be there if something else happens."

"Yes... sir." she said.

"If you are returning there, I would ask you to take Ciel Soleil along with you."

"Yes, Sir." she eagerly replied.

* * *

Winter sat in the pilot seat with Ciel beside her. "So?" Winter asked her, "You are on tract to becoming a Specialist?"

"Yes." Ciel succinctly but eagerly replied.

"From what I understand?" Winter asked, "Your grades have been exemplary, and have been approached by General Ironwood before for assignments."

"Indeed." Ciel stated. "Though at the time I did not understand the full scope of what was being expected of me. I do hope I had not disappointed the general."

Winter let out a momentary smile followed by a quick, light blue flush that she was quickly able to quash. "General Ironwood is incredibly rational." Winter stated, "He will take everything into account, and the simple fact is that if he was disappointed, he would not have given you your assignment."

"Request." Ciel simply stated.

"Pardon?" Winter asked.

"General Ironwood repeatedly referred to it as a request, and explicitly stated my entry into the Atlas Special Operations Command Unit would not be affected. Ciel looked over to find Winter in the middle of a light blue flush that she once again quickly quashed. "Specialist?" Ciel asked.

"Sorry, just impressed by the General's acumen."

"Of course." Ciel stated.

* * *

Aurora walked up to the bed that Jaune was laying with, with Ruby and Blake by his sides. "Sir?" she asked.

"And I'm still a Sir." Jaune grumbled, "Yes, Aurora?"

"I have family news." she stated.

"Then?" Jaune asked, "If our in-laws don't mind watching the prisoner, let's get everyone together."

"Are you sure you're up for it? Blake asked.

"It's not like I have anywhere else to be." Jaune grumbled.

* * *

"Friend-Jaune?" Penthesilea asked, "Oh, Friend-Ruby, is it your turn to cuddle Friend-Jaune?"

"Yep." Ruby stated, "And if Jaune's staying in bed for the meeting, so am I."

"Will Friend-Jaune be?.." Penthesilea asked.

"He's staying." Blake stated, "I'm not giving up my bed warmer."

"Plus," Ruby added, "I'm pretty sure he still should stay in bed."

"There is that." Blake said with playfulness.

"Pen?" Jaune asked.

"Oh, yes, Friend-Jaune, we have all collected."

Jaune grumbled as he pulled himself up to the sitting, and the and sheet slid off of them. He pulled it up as Ruby and Blake sat up and snuggled into him. "So, what's up? I mean, report? Report."

"Yes, Sir." Aurora said with a bright smile. "For first item, radar can reasonably purchased for around $2,000 Lien. I have a shortlist of reputable suppliers and models."

"Uh-huh?" Jaune asked, "You pick." Aurora just stared at him with a blank expression of her tree-frog coloured face. Jaune looked between the others, with everyone deferring to him. He then looked back to Aurora, "I would trust you choice a lot more than mine."

"Oh, yeah, definitely." Ruby stated.

"Your acumen is excellent." Weiss stated.

"Unless Pen knows anything about it." Ruby stated.

"I am afraid that my and PENNY's collective runtime is currently under two years."

"Wait, what?" Yang asked.

"I was created to be Father's daughter." Penthesilea stated.

"But?" Ruby asked, and pushed the blanket away to make robotic movements, "Beep-bop-boop."

"I am not the one who designed my hardware." Penthesilea stated, "Nor did PENNY fully understand the full operation of her hardware."

"They're different?" Nora asked. "I mean, Penthesilea LOOKS different from Penny, but?.."

"My current frame was designed to reconfigure as the demands of combat change." Penthesilea stated.

"And, perchance, what exactly does that mean?" Weiss asked.

Well, for one." Penthesilea stated, and the wings reappeared, "I can have wings, gravitic and reaction-thrusters in my feet." she said, as the jets in her feet lit up, pushing her in to the air, "and I can summon weapons as I please." she stated, and he spear and shield appeared. They all disapperaed and she quickly dropped to the ground, not seeming to react to he impact.

"Please don't break our house?" Blake asked, causing Yang to snicker.

"Anyways?" Jaune asked.

"For the second, unfortunately it seems you can only have one llama with a herd, and they do not cooperate with guard dogs."

"WHAT?!" Nora asked.

"I did say unfortunately." Aurora replied.

"So?" Weiss asked, "We have to pick between guard dogs and a guard llama."

"It seems," Aurora continued, and everyone turned to her, "that if llamas lack a herd of their own, they will form one with whatever is white and fluffy around them."

"Sheep!" Ruby exclaimed.

"Indeed, Ms. Rose." Aurora stated.

"Wait?" Ruby asked, "Jaune gets Sir, but I get Ms.?"

"My mistress is also my mistress." Aurora simply stated.

"And wouldn't it be Misses Rose?" Yang asked, "I kind of want to be a Misses."

"If she was a Misses," Aurora replied, "It would be Misses Arc, and that would lead to extensive confusion."

"You could just call us by our names." Jaune stated.

"The effrontery?" Aurora asked.

"I think she likes being beneath us." Blake stated, and Yang started to snicker, but when she looked at Blake, Blake was giving her a more serious look.

"Wait, you're serious?" Yang asked.

"She did kind of tell us the thing." Ruby stated.

"For the record?" Aurora asked, and everyone looked at her, "I did."

"Isn't the equivalent?" Ren asked, "Madame?"

"It is." Weiss stated. "Following everyone's concerns, Aurora can refer to as Madame and then our given names."

"I guess that kind of puts a peg in it." Yang stated, "I kind of forgot what we were talking about. Wasn't it llamas, or something?"

"Super guard llamas!" Ruby exclaimed.

"We can't guarantee we'll get one with Aura, Darling." Weiss said to her.

"Llamas are surprsingly intelligent." Aurora stated, "If they trained with Aura users, they have been known to pick up Aura."

"Like Zwei, that adorable thing?" Weiss asked.

"SWEET!" Nora exclaimed.

"They do live for up to 30 years in captivity, giving individual guard llamas a a productive life of over 20 years, dramatically increasing the chances of it learning to use Aura."

"I think that settles it." Blake stated, and everyone looked at her, "It seems we would all like to see a guard llama."

"SSWWEEEETT!" Nora exclaimed. "Can I wrestle with it?"

"Yeah?" Jaune asked, "Just make sure you don't go overboard." He then turned to Ren.

"Of course." he said in reply.

[dalamjisung]

childlike love ✾ kim yugyeom

word count: 6909

genre: hospital!au, fluff

pairing: Pediatrician!Yugyeom x Pre-School Teacher!Reader

description: he’s a big baby and you wouldn’t mind taking care of him too. 

“Everybody inside!” One of the teachers call. “Let’s go, kids! We have a fun day ahead!”

You smile, watching the parents drop their kids in their classrooms. As per usual, you are waiting by the front door for your kids, having a quick word with each of the parents to calm them down. It is always the same, even though you’ve been teaching their kids for almost a year now– will they be okay? or call me if they need me! As a pre-school teacher, you are used to these kind of requests, and you only smile and assure them that everything will be okay.

“Okay,” You mutter, looking around the classroom and counting the children. “We’re only missing–“

“She’s here!”

Your head snaps to the side to see little Choi Minjae grabbing tightly onto a man’s neck as he runs into the school. Knowing for a fact that that is not her father nor her mother, you slowly approach the stranger, eyes trained on the little girl in his arms, looking for any sign of discomfort, but you see none. She looks pretty comfortable with him, so you smile, feeling a little more at ease.

“Good morning, Minjae-ah!” You say softly once she’s on the ground and next to you. Her shy giggle makes your heart warm up and you pat her head as she hugs your legs.

“Goo’ morning, Ms. Y/L/N,” She smiles and then looks back at the man. “Bye-bye, Uncle Yugyeom!”

He waves back and high-fives her with the promise of coming back to pick her up in five hours. 

“I’m sorry for barging in like that,” He says looking at you with a light blush tainting his cheeks. “Youngjae called me thirty minutes ago and told me was caught up in the hospital and his wife has been away on a business trip and–“

“It’s completely okay,” You smile, trying to calm the ranting man down. “Next time, however, could you just ask that either Mr. Choi or Mrs. Choi call the principle and let him know that there will be another guardian coming?”

“Of course!” He smiles. “I’ll ask him as soon as I leave here. I’m Yugyeom, by the way. Kim Yugyeom.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” You shake his hand and look in the classroom, noticing that the kids are starting to get antsy. “I have to go, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kim!”

He makes a face and laughs. “Yugyeom, please. I’m too young to be Mr. Kim.”

“Yugyeom, then,” You wave. “See you in a few hours when you come to pick Minjae up.”

“See you, teacher.”

You chuckle at the nickname and go inside, clapping your hands excitedly to get the children’s attention. It’s time to start the day. As always, the kids are incredible; there are a few fights here and there but nothing that interrupted with the flow of the classroom. What you love the most about teaching pre-school kids is seeing their development with basic understanding, starting to make sense of storytelling and memories. You love each of them with your whole heart, even if you had a few favorites. The bell signals the end of the school day and you smile, feeling exhausted but content. 

“Good bye Ms. Y/N!” Some kids shout as they run to their waiting parents. You wave and watch as they get picked up by their guardians, always on the lookout for anyone that seems strange to one of the kids. You are leaning on the door, watching everyone go, when you feel a weak pull on your pants.

“Ms. Y/N?” 

You look down to see Minjae hugging her yellow backpack tightly, eyes wide and confused.

“Yes?” You smile, crouching down to match her height. 

“Where is daddy?” She asks, voice dying down in the end. You can hear the sadness of being left behind and you pet her head lightly. 

“Daddy is working, Minjae-ah,” You say slowly. “Remember? Daddy brings babies to the world to make people happy! But your Uncle should be here soon, he said he’d come pick you up today.”

“Uncle Yugyeom?” She asks and you nod. “But Uncle Yugyeom works with daddy… so isn’t he busy, too?”

“Yugyeom is also a doctor?” To say you are surprised is an understatement. You knew that Minjae was smart, but her train of thought it a bit advanced for someone that’s only four. 

“Yes,” She nods and sits down on the floor, pulling on your hand until you are seated too. “He takes care of the babies daddy brings into the world.”

Oh, so he’s a pediatrician?

“That’s nice, isn’t it?” You get up and bring her some paper and crayons. “What do you want to be when you grow up, Minjae-ah?”

“I want to be a doctor!” She says firmly and you assumed that would be her response. Her father is a doctor and everyone in her life seems to work in the medicine area. “But not like daddy, I don’t like babies. I want to be a doctor like Uncle Mark and Uncle Jaebeom.”

“And what do these uncles do?” 

“They save people who are dying.”

You choke on air. “W-what?”

“I don’t want people to die, Ms. Y/N,” Minjae says with an odd softness to her voice. “So I want to save them.”

“That is very brave of you, Minjae,” You say and you hope, you really, really hope that in the future, when she is grown and haven’t thought of you in years, she’ll remember these words. “I’m really proud of you. I’m sure your parents and uncles are, too.”

“We are.”

Minjae is on her feet instantly, running to the tall man at the door. He is still wearing his white coat and you chuckle a bit, getting up from the floor, as he leans down to hug his niece; the hight difference making you coo in adorableness. 

“I’m sorry for being late,” He sighs, and looks at you. “A patient ran late and–“

“It’s completely fine,” You nod at him. “She is a wonderful kid and we had a good time while waiting.”

“I see that,” He points at the drawings on the ground, where colors are mixed and matched. “Minjae always has a good time with you.”

“Oh, did she say that?” You ask, looking at the child resting on his lap. She giggles and nods.

“I did, I did!” Her little arms wave around and you laugh. “Can we go, now? I’m hungry…”

“Of course!” Yugyeom nods. “Thank you again, Y/N.”

“No problem,” You smile, waving. “She’s always welcome.”

“Oh! I already talked to the principal, by the way,” He says with a big smile. “I am not sure exactly when Youngjae will need me to come pick her up so they put me down as a permanent guardian.”

“That’s great, thank you for talking to him,” You smile.

“No problem! See you whenever Youngjae is busy!”

As they walk away, you can’t help but smile widely, thinking of this odd man and how you just know you’ll see him again. You also think about how much you want to see him again and you shake your head, laughing at your own foolishness. 

No way a man like that is not already taken, you think starting to clean the classroom. And even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t choose me, that’s for sure.

                                                         ——————————————

The things about accidents is that you never see them coming, but somehow, it’s always your fault. It’s supposed to be a simple painting exercise; you tell the kids that they can draw whatever they want– family members, friends, animals, shapes. It’s all up to them, and later, you’d put them all on the wall to let everyone see each other’s work. 

Things go south when Jaemin, a very excited and energetic little boy, decides to grab the blue pain on the top shelf by himself. He’s usually like that and that’s why you always keep an eye on him, but today you are busy helping Mina with mixing blue and yellow to make the perfect green, and you don’t see Jaemin climbing on a chair and reaching for the heavy pot of paint. You make it fast enough to stop the whole thing from collapsing on top of the child, but he’s already crying from falling off the chair and hitting his head on the floor. In consequence, the cabinet falls on top of you, and you wince as pain shoots through your body, but you forget about it quick enough, pushing it back in its place and scooping Jaemin up in your arms. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, hands softly roaming around his head, looking for any sing of blood, and thankfully you find none. Still worried, you call for a substitute teacher for a while so that you can take Jaemin to the nurse. 

He’s still crying desperately once you get to the nurse’s office, but you don’t see the sweet old lady that is usually sitting by her desk; instead, there is a note of absence, and you can’t help but panic for a moment. 

“What the f–“ You stop yourself before you scare the little boy even further, and you almost run to the principal’s office. “Sir, I need the guardians list.”

“What happened?!” He asks, alarmed. Chanyeol is a very competent worker and he deeply cares for the children under the care of the employees in the school, but he’s never been good with emergencies. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh–“

“Chanyeol,” You breathe out softly, trying to calm both males in the room. “I need the guardians list. Now.”

“Yeah– okay!” He is moving as quick as possible and soon enough you find what you need. 

Kim Yugyeom.

The number is scribbled next to his name and you are quick to dial it, barely letting him speak before interrupting. 

“Hello, this is Kim Yugy–“

“Yugyeom!” You call in relief. “I am so sorry to call you during work hours, but we had an accident and the nurse is not here and–“

“What happened?” H asks, and you hear some ruffling on the other side of the line. 

“One of the kids fell on his head,” You mumble quickly, ashamed of yourself even though you know that it’s not your fault. “He won’t stop crying. I’m really sorry to be calling you, but Minjae mentioned you’re a pediatrician and the nurse is not here.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

He got there in seven, along with Jaemin’s mother. 

“What happened?” She asks rudely, looking at her crying son and then at you. Sighing, you pull her aside, allowing Yugyeom to rush to the crying kid. 

“We were painting and Jaemin tried to reach for something on a high shelf,” You start to explain, knowing that nothing you say will change the way that this mother is looking at you– it’s all your fault, her eyes say. “He didn’t call for me and instead decided to climb on a chair. The cabinet fell and I was able to stop it from falling on him, but he fell off the chair and seems to have hit his head on the floor…”

“And where were you while all of that happened?!” She shouts, finger pointing directly to your face. You understand the anger, she’s a mother after all, but the disrespect starts to get to you and you have to take a deep breath. 

“Ma’am,” You start calmly. “There are about fifteen kids in the classroom, and I try my best to watch over all of them, but it’s only me in there. I’m sorry that Jaemin got hurt, but I was helping other kids and–“

“You should’ve paid more attention to him!” She screams and at this point Chanyeol and Yugyeom are watching you two carefully. “He got hurt because of you!”

“Ma’am–“

“Is this what I pay this school for?!”

“You’re scaring your son.”

Everyone stops and looks at Yugyeom.

“Excuse me?” The mother mumbles, looking at her child as he hides behind the doctor’s legs.

“You are scaring your son,” Yugyeom repeats, voice soft yet serious. “You are deliberately disrespecting the woman he sees as authority in the classroom, and that he cherishes so much, and you are scaring him. I’ll have to ask you to control yourself.”

“And who the hell are you?!”

“Dr. Kim Yugyeom,” He offers her his card. “I know Ms. Y/N and she called me over to do an assessment of his condition. Your son is perfectly fine, ma’am, just scared. If it wasn’t for Ms. Y/N, however, I am not sure what could’ve happened.”

“Yu–“

“Now let me take a look at you,” He says, pulling you to his side and sitting you next to Jaemin. “I saw you flinching… please turn around and raise your shirt.”

“This is not appropriate in–“ You try to push him away but he’s bigger and stronger than you. 

“I am here as a doctor and you are my patient,” He whispers so that no one besides you can hear him. “Now please, a cabinet fell on your back. It must’ve hurt.”

“Is my teacher hurt, Doctor?” Jaemin asks grabbing your hand as you allow Yugyeom to slightly raise your shirt.

“She is, a little bit,” He probes your skin and you recoil in pain. “But she is a strong woman and she protected you.”

“She really did!” Jaemin says excitingly. “Ms. Y/N ran really fast, mommy! She didn’t let the things fall on me.”

“You have cuts and bruises all over your back,” Yugyeom says after cleaning the injuries with rubbing alcohol. “What the hell was on that cabinet?”

“Books, paint, and other stuff,” You wince once again and only allow yourself to breath normally when he puts your shirt down. 

“You’ll be fine, but you need to clean this once a day,” He sighs, turning you around to look at him. “Do you have anyone to help you?”

You hesitate, but end up nodding.

“Just in case your lying,” Yugyeom offers you his card and you take it. “You can call me. I promise I don’t bite.”

“But I might…” You whisper to yourself as he leaves, putting the card in your back pocket. 

                                                        ——————————————

You don’t hear from or see Kim Yugyeom for the next week or so. Cleaning your back with the disinfectant is probably the hardest part of your day, but you manage. You keep working, if your back is constantly hurting when you pick kids up or when they accidentally hit you as they run by; you refused to stop because of a stupid injury. 

It’s Friday and you just got home, and only after a steaming shower that you realize two things: you are craving ramen and you don’t have any at home. You quickly put on some shoes and make your way to the market nearby your apartment, walking slowly as you enjoy the cold air and the beautiful snow. You’ve always loved the winter and how comfortable the nights turned once it is cold; people are out on the street, huddled together, laughing as they enjoy warm snacks by the river. You smile sadly, overwhelmed with a sense of loneliness above everything else, and you enter the market. 

“Ramen, ramen, ramen…” You mumble to yourself, trying to find the right isle to turn into. 

“It’s the next isle,” Someone says from behind you and you quickly turn around, finding yourself face to face with Yugyeom carrying Minjae on his shoulders. “Hi.”

“Hello,” You say, amused with the view. “Here for ramen too?”

“Yeah, Minjae has been wanting some all day so…” He shrugs and the little girl giggles as she bounces on his shoulder. 

“Hi Ms. Y/N!” She shouts and you wave. “Uncle Yugyeom, can I have some strawberry milk?”

“We can go get it after you chose your ramen,” Yugyeom says and smiles at you, nodding at the selection with his chin. “Which one for you?”

You laugh and chooses the jjajangmyeon flavor, already giddy with excitement to get home and eat this with some snacks. 

“Good choice, good choice,” Yugyeom muses, a smirk playing on his lips. “But predictable.”

“Oh really?” You ask, squinting at him. His playful demeanor makes you join his antics. “What would you recommend then, Doctor?”

“Ah,” He looks up at Minjae and they do a weird exchange of glances, and they both look at you. “We all know nuclear ramen is much better.”

“My insides will melt if I eat nuclear ramen,” You gasp. “I can barely eat spicy tteokbokki!”

“Weak,” Minjae says, nodding to herself. 

“Hey!” You say, laughing at the four-year-old. 

“Uncle Mark told me that all the other uncles are weak because they can’t handle spicy food,” She explains. “And Uncle Mark is never wrong. That’s why he’s my favorite.”

“I thought I was your favorite?” Yugyeom gasps, removing her from his shoulders and carrying her in his lap. 

Minjae shake her head. “It’s Uncle Mark.”

“That’s gotta hurt,” You mumble, eyes wide in surprise with how daring your student is. “Really.”

“But I love you, too,” She says, patting his head and wiggling to be put down. “I’ll go get the milk!”

“Yah!” Yugyeom shouts, still in shock. “I cannot believe this!”

“Honestly,” You sigh, patting his shoulder in an understanding manner. “Me neither. She talks about you so much that I definitely thought you were the favorite…”

He nods, and looks at the hand on his shoulder, bitting his lip. 

“She talks about you, too, you know?”

You take a step back, retrieving the hand. “She does?”

“Oh yeah,” He laughs, and you love his laugh– it’s loud and vivid. “We all know about the pretty teacher.”

“The pretty teacher?” You echo, laughing incredulously. “Is that my official title?”

“Of course,” The two of you walk through the isles, looking for Minjae, and you see the way he looks at you sideways, hiding a smile. “It fits you.”

“I see,” You blush, looking down. “You fit your title, too.”

“And what’s that?”

“The big baby,” You giggle and walk ahead as you hear him gasping. “Let’s go, we need to find the small baby.”

“Yah!”

You leave, giggling like a teenager. The rest of what was supposed to be a quick trip to the market is surprisingly fun. You learn that Minjae is staying with Uncle Yugyeom for the weekend because it’s her parent’s wedding anniversary; you also learn that Yugyeom is putty in her hands, doing everything and anything that the child wants. What surprised you, though, is finding out that he is the youngest in his friend group, barely a year older than you– you thought he was way older than you, being a stablished doctor and all. 

“I just focused,” He says when you asked him how he managed. “The rest just kind of fell in place…”

“Daddy says Uncle Yugyeom is really alone, and that is why he has so much time to take care of other people,” Minjae tries to whisper it to you, but he heard it. You know he did; his eyes are fixed on the ground, a sad smile forming on his lips. “He has the biggest heart, according to daddy. As big as him!”

You don’t know what to say to that, not really knowing how to make this situation less awkward for the man standing right next to you. He sighs and motions to the cashier.

“Let’s go, Minjae,” He mumbles, and something about him is different– gone. “Say goodbye to Ms. Y/N, we have to go home.”

“Or,” You say quickly, before you have time to convince yourself that this is a really bad idea. “You could be less alone and make me less alone by coming over and having ramen with me.”

His brows shoot up, mouth agape. “W-what?”

“You and Minjae!” You clarify, blushing wildly. “Not just you– I’d never! I’m not… I just meant you and Minjae. Company. For dinner. Tonight.”

“Can we?” Minjae jumps around her uncle, excited. “Pretty please, Uncle Yugyeom, can we go?”

“Are you sure?” He mumbles, still red from the previous misunderstanding. “We don’t want to impose.”

“She said you are lonely,” You say pointing to the kid. “And to be honest, so am I… It’ll be fun, I promise I don’t bite.”

He smiles. “Alright then. Let’s go pay.”

It’s a fight trying to pay for your own food once Yugyeom sets his mind on paying for you. We’re already eating at your place, is his argument. The least I can do is pay for the food. You roll your eyes and let him, but you promise to pay next time.

“Next time?” He mumbles, avoiding Minjae hearing him. “I like the sound of that…”

“The sound of what?” Minjae asks from behind you two and you grab the groceries and walk ahead, trying to escape the responsibility of having to explain to the little girl what ‘flirting’ is.

“Of seeing the pretty teacher again,” Yugyeom winks at the kid. 

Minjae looks at you and then back at Yugyeom. 

“You like my uncle?” 

You choke on air. 

“You like my teacher?”

“Yes.”

“Stop egging her on!” You hiss, slapping his shoulder. 

“Then are you guys going to be like mommy and daddy?”

“Married?” You ask, still recovering from your shock. 

“No,” Minjae shakes her head. “In love.”

And sometimes, like right now, you really think you’ve been lied to and that Minjae is actually a genius. 

“I’m down,” Yugyeom says, picking her up. 

“Seriously?” You joke, guiding them to your apartment. “I’m down?”

He groans. “At least I told her something.”

You two bicker all the way back, joking and laughing together. The night is, overall, a success. Minjae had a great time and you and Yugyeom managed to get to know each other better; but everything has an end and soon you are saying goodbye. Laughing softly, you open the door for a tired Yugyeom and a sleeping Minjae, kissing him in the cheek before he leaves.

“Thanks for today,” You smile. “It was really fun.”

“Are you free next week?” The question is quick and airy and you laugh, knowing just how nervous he is.

“I am, why?” You tease. “I was wondering if you’d like to get some dinner?” He asks. “Just you and I. Not ramen. Real dinner.”

“I’d love to,” You nod. “I’ll text you, I have your number.”

“I have yours too,” He chuckles. “You called me, remember?”

It takes a while, you two not managing to stop talking, but he leaves and you drag yourself to bed, sleeping peacefully and dreaming about the family you’ve never had– one that eats ramen on a cold Friday night sitting on the kitchen floor and playing children’s games. 

                                                        ——————————————

One week is nothing. One week is nothing. One week is nothing. You repeat your mantra as many times as necessary to convince yourself that you are not anxious, not at all, nope. But the weekend feels like a week and the week feels like a month, and when Friday finally comes again, you even feel older. He doesn’t text you in the morning like he did on the other days, but it’s okay, you’ll see each other later. It’s with that mentality that you go through school hours, Minjae being delivered by her mom and picked up by her dad.

“Oh, good to see you again, Mr. Choi,” You smile at him, even though by now you are feeling dejected and confused. You’ve had no life signal from Yugyeom whatsoever, and you wonder if the date is still happening. 

“That sounds like a lie,” Youngjae points out. “Hoping someone else would pick her up?”

“I don’t know what–“

“Yugyeom told me,” He laughs, looking at you. “I think you two will work out pretty well, to be honest. He needs someone kind and caring in his life.”

“How do you know if I’m kind and caring?” You ask, looking at him suspiciously.

“A little birdie told me,” He points at his daughter as she packs her bag. “She adores you, and apparently, the night you guys had at your apartment was ‘the best night of her life.’ You raised the bar up for me and her mom, Y/N, I gotta say…”

You laugh. “I’m glad she enjoyed it.”

“Yeah, and so did Yugy,” Youngjae shrugs. “He’s been crazy busy today, so don’t feel bad if he has to reschedule. There was a really bad accident involving a middle school bus and they have him on call until everything is sorted out… He’s really sorry. He didn’t tell me anything, but I know my dongsaeng… he’s probably beating himself over the fact that he is too busy.”

“Ah, there’s no need for that,” You say, understanding the situation even though you feel a bit disappointed. “I understand how stressful it must be–“

“You know,” Youngjae looks at his watch and then at you again. “He’s probably going to work the night shift as well.”

“Oh,” You deflate. “That’s okay.”

“Which means he’ll probably skip dinner,” Youngjae continues, offering you a pointed look. 

“Oh.” You finally get it. “That’s not good.”

“It really isn’t,” Youngjae smiles and you laugh, impressed with the fakeness of his grin. “I’d go and bring him dinner, but I have to take care of Minjae tonight… oh, what will we do?”

“I guess I’ll just have to assume the responsibility,” You say, sighing in false defeat. 

“I guess you will.”

“Daddy!” Minjae runs to her father and jumps in his arms. “Bye-bye Ms. Y/N!”

“Bye Minjae!” You wave and then smile at her father. "Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You have some time to kill before dinner time, so you walk back to your apartment, already thinking of all the things in your fridge and what could you try and make for the overworked doctor. In the end, you end up ordering from a nearby place, deciding it’s a better idea to give him something good that someone else cooked than the burnt food you tried to whip up. 

The hospital is nearby and the taxi take advantage over the fact that traffic is not horrible. You anxiously bounce your leg as the nurses tell you to wait since he’s in a surgery and will be back shortly. They smile warmly at you, noticing the food in your hands and the nervous look on your face.

“Dr. Kim will be really thankful,” One of them say. “It’s been a really bad day.”

“I’ve heard,” You nod, deep in thought. “I don’t want to intrude, though, so maybe it would be better to leave this here with you?”

“He’ll surely appreciate the company, ma’am,” She winks at you. “Dr. Kim tends to get really emotional with severe cases like this, and unlike his hyungs, there is never anyone waiting for him in his office after a hard surgery or a bad consultation.”

“Ah… he seems lonely,” You mutter to yourself.

“He is,” The nurse smiles. “And it’s really sad to see such a good person alone.”

“It really is,” You sigh. “Would it be possible for me to wait in his office?”

Looking at both ways in the hallway, the nurse motions for you to follow her.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m doing this,” She giggles. “But Yugyeom deserves to have someone waiting for him, too.”

“Are you two friends?” You smile, thankful for her.

“I’m his main nurse,” She nods. “We’ve been working together for a while… friendship is bound to happen.”

“I’m glad he has you looking after him,” And you really are; it makes you feel less worried knowing that his coworkers are supporting him. 

“I have to go,” She looks at her phone. “He’s out of surgery, so he’ll be here any time now. Enjoy your meal!”

You wait. And wait. And wait. And just when you feel like you might bolt and leave him a note, the door slams open, a frustrated Yugyeom entering the room with red, puffy eyes and disheveled hair. His blue scrubs is wet with sweat and he is sniffling, hand furiously rubbing his eyes. 

“Oh my god, are you alright?” You shoot out of your chair and run to him, hands grabbing his and pulling them down next to his body. “Are you crying?”

Yugyeom blinks a couple of times and then looks at the food, and then back at you.

“Y/N?” Even his voice is gruff and used. “What are you doing here?”

“I–I heard about the accident,” You gulp, suddenly in the spotlight. “And I thought you’d skip dinner… so I brought you some.”

“I’m so sorry,” He sighs and his shoulders drop in disappointment. “I completely forgot to text you; it’s just been hectic today and I–“

“It’s okay!” You say a little too loud and he flinched. “It’s completely okay, just… just tell me, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Me?” He goes around his table, sitting down and opening a drawer. He pulls his phone, looking at himself in the camera. “Oh. No. I mean, yes, I’m okay; no, I haven’t been crying. I just didn’t have time to take my allergy medication and it started acting up in the middle of a surgery, so this is why I look like this. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” You smile relieved. “Hungry?”

His eyes are trained on you as you start pulling out the food, and before you can sit down he grabs your wrist, hands pulling you to him. One of his arms goes around your waist, holding you close, and the other holds your hand, and you only feel his tension once he rests his forehead on your stomach, your body frozen in between his open legs. Yugyeom sighs, and deposits your hand on his head, silently asking for scratches, like kids sometimes do. 

“Starving,” He mumbles. “But exhausted.”

“You need to eat,” You say softly, not wanting to ruin the intimate atmosphere in the room. “And then I’ll leave and you can nap.”

“Stay,” He yawns. “If you don’t mind, stay. I’ve been super excited for our date and now I just feel like shit that I couldn’t make it.”

“Says who?” You chuckle, pulling away and ignoring his whines. You sit in front of him. “This looks like a date to me.”

“You deserve better,” He’s so serious that you move a little, uncomfortable with the weight on your shoulders. “A lot better.”

“But I want this,” You giggle. “A take-out dinner with the big baby.”

“Must you refer to me that why?” He asks dramatically. 

“Yes,” You say and pushes some noodles in his direction. “Now eat.”

You don’t remember falling asleep in his tiny couch, but you will never forget waking up squished in his arms. 

                                                        ——————————————

I owe you a proper date. Let me take you out tomorrow.

Today is the tomorrow Yugyeom talked about and yet, nothing from him. You didn’t really expect much, but you expected something. You understand that his job is urgent and demanding, but so is Youngjae’s and he manages to balance social and work life. Because you don’t work during the weekends, it’s pretty much just you and Netflix today, and with the selfish anger that bubbles inside, you decide that Criminal Minds is just the right amount of violence for you. The torrential rain outside makes it so that you have the perfect mood for a chill Netflix night, even if that’s not what you wanted to begin with. 

Don’t be an idiot, Y/N, you think to yourself, walking to the kitchen to make some popcorn. You want something that no one can give you. 

As you make enough food for one, in your apartment big enough for one, you wonder just how much longer will you yearn for something that might not even exist. The Perfect Family is something that you’ve always wanted, ever since you were in middle school and your mom left; ever since you were in high school and your dad died; ever since you got to college and truly were completely alone. You had few friends, but you weren’t close enough to any of them to count on them when things got tough. But you always had the kids; you used to volunteer at a pre-school nearby and even when they’re small, kids are incredibly perceptive. They give love without expecting anything in return, and you love that. You love it so much you decided to become a pre-school teacher. 

The TV is playing but you can’t seem to process anything that’s happening, eyes focused on your phone in hopes of… what? A sign of life? A rejection? An excuse? Even you didn’t know. 

“Ah,” You sigh, pushing your hair back. “Forget it, Y/N, forget it.”

And then, right as you finally give up for good, your phone rings. 

Kim Yugyeom.

You scramble to pick up, not really caring about petty vengeance and making him wait. 

“Hello?” You sound airy and worried. 

“Y/N?” He calls, and you can hear the rain outside. “Thank god you picked up– can you open the door for me? I’m outside your building and there’s a code and it’s raining so hard.”

“You’re here?!” You shriek, running to the door, forgetting all about shoes, and running the three floors down the stairs, only to come face to face with a soaking wet Yugyeom. “Holy shit!”

He laughs, loudly, and waves through the glass door. You let him in, quickly pushing him to the stairs again, deciding it’s the fastest way, and into your apartment, where you shove him in the bathroom and gives him towels and your largest sweatpants and t-shirt. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” He chuckles, wet hands on your shoulder. “Calm down… I’m okay. It’s alright.”

“You’re going to get sick!” You frown. “Get out of those clothes, they are all– why are you wearing a suit?”

You finally notice everything you didn’t see before. His hands, pale white and shaking, but firmly holding onto what you assumed used to be a really beautiful flower bouquet, now only having a few flowers left; you notice his formal wear, his beautiful black suit and blue shirt; and you notice his smile, sad and embarrassed, eyes looking at you carefully.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” He laughs humorlessly. “I even let everyone in the hospital know that I’d be busy and they are to call the other doctors in case of emergency… but I wasn’t counting on getting caught in the rain on my way over. These are all ruined, now, I’m sorry.”

He gives you the flowers and you cover your mouth, trying to hide your shock.  

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Yugyeom sighs. “I seem to keep messing up when I’m with you. When I’m with you I feel like a child and I guess I just keep embarrassing myself further…”

“Well, you are the big baby,” You joke, looking at him whine and stomp his feet on the ground. “Thank you. For these. I doesn’t matter that they are all wet, or that you are all wet– what counts is the thought, and you had me in your mind all this time. Thank you.”

“That’s such a childlike response,” He mumbles, surely not for you to hear, but you do nonetheless. 

“Oh, really, Mr. I Feel Like A Child Next To You?” You squint. 

“That was supposed to be romantic!” 

“Stop whining and go take a shower,” You roll your eyes, sniffling a laugh. “I’ll go get something, but I’ll be right back.”

You run to and from the market, your umbrella barely holding on against the heavy rain. When you get back in your apartment, Yugyeom is sitting on the couch; the pants are too short and the t-shirt is too big, and you can’t help but giggle, thinking that he really does look like a kid. 

“Where did you go?” He follows you to the kitchen and you don’t answer, choosing to simply show him the packages of ramen, wiggling your brows. “Ah, you’re the best, Y/N!”

“Thank you, thank you.”

Cooking is fun; Yugyeom is right behind you, his front glued to your back and you are flustered– so flustered that you almost drop the boiling water all over yourself. After a worried lecture from Doctor Kim about being careful, he assumes the position of main chef and finishes making the simple ramen. As he is putting everything in the bowl, you decided to just fuck it and you allow yourself to circle his waist with your arms, hugging him to you. 

“Yah,” He says softly, putting both his hands over yours. “I need to finish here.”

“Just give me a minute,” You mumble, hiding your face in his back even though he can’t see you. “I’m happy.”

You feel him turn around. “Me too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” He smiles, grabbing your face and pulling it closer to his. “I like you.”

“I like you, too,” You giggle, blushing furiously. “Oh my god, we’re such children.”

“Makes sense,” He snorts. “We both spend all of our days with kids.”

“But we’re adults,” Your argue, getting on your tippy toes. 

“Thank god for that,” He smiles. “Now come here.”

He kisses you chastely, and you start to wonder just how innocent Yugyeom really is; but those thoughts soon vanish. He pulls you closer and that’s when he starts really kissing you; hie height overpowering you, body leaning over yours to get closer, as if that was possible. You are not sure how long you two make out for, but when you finally pull away, needing a pause to breath, the noodles are crumbling from how soggy they turned. 

“No!” You shout, pushing him away and moving to the food. “Our dinner…”

“We can order in,” He mumbles, pulling you back to him. “Now come back here.”

“Control yourself,” You look at him, avoiding his puckered lips. “You fooled me… you’re no child, you’re a horny teenager.”

“Are you serious?” He rests his head on top of yours, giving up and just hugging you. “You looked like you were enjoying it a lot, you know jus–”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “Stop it!”

“You’re so cute,” He pinches your cheeks. “Getting embarrassed with things like that!”

“You say as if you don’t get embarrassed,” You poke his nose and walk to the living room. “What should we order?”

“Sweet and sour pork?” He suggests, sitting next to you, and you nod excitingly. 

The rest of the night is a mix of kissing and talking. You learn all about Yugyeom hyungs and how close they all are, and in return, you tell him all about you; family, friends, past, present, and hopeful future. He nods and caresses your hand as you talk, and when you two fall asleep, once again in the couch, you feel happy and content. You feel safe.

                                                        ——————————————

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” You say, grabbing his hand and not letting him get out of the car.

“What do you mean?” He questions, smiling. “It’s the best idea.”

“Yugyeom, what if they hate me?” You whisper, looking at your boyfriend with wide eyes.

“… what?” He bursts out laughing. 

“I’m serious! What if they hate me? What if Minjae doesn’t like it? What if the other kids bully me?” You ramble on. 

“Y/N, these are just my friends,” He says, bringing your hand to his lips and giving it a kiss. “You don’t have to be nervous. They’ll love you. I mean, Youngjae and his wife already do.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, I’m so nervous,” You mumble to yourself, following him out of the car and inside the house.

“They’re here!”

You barely see her, but when Minjae jumps on you, you are ready to catch her instinctively. 

“Hi Ms. Y/N!” She shouts, arms around your neck.

“Hi, sweetie,” You smile, feeling yourself calm down. 

“I missed you!”

“We saw each other this morning,” You chuckle.

“Yeah, but now we can see each other more because you and Uncle Yugyeom are like mommy and daddy!” She says and you remember her previous words. “Can you sleep over? Can you babysit me? Can we play?”

She wiggles to be put down and grabs your hand, leading you through the house and introducing you to everyone. That’s Uncle Jaebeom and his wife, and that’s daddy and mommy, and that’s Uncle Bambam and his girlfriend, and that’s Uncle Jackson– his girlfriend couldn’t come because she is punching people.

“She’s a professional MMA fighter, Minjae-ah,” Jackson explains with a smile. “Not a gangster.”

“And this,” She tugs you to a tall man sitting next to a beautiful woman. “Is Uncle Mark! He’s my favorite, but I can share with you and he can be your favorite, too!”

“YAH!” 

You all look at Yugyeom, face red and frowning. 

“I’m her favorite!” He pouts. 

“Uncle Yugyeom,” Minjae sighs. “You’re such a big baby.”

They start to bicker and you smile, watching your boyfriend debating with a four-year-old, and thinking that you might have just found what you always wanted. 

This could be my family.

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

and this is the end of the general hospital series! I have to say, it’s a little bittersweet, but I’m sure I’ll come up with something even better for a next possible series ❤️ thank you to all of you who were with me on this journey >.< love you all and as always, let me know what you think! It means a lot!

[one-boring-person]

@theghostof-myndi I'm so sorry this has taken such a long time to write! I hope it was worth the wait, though!💛💛💛

Are You Paid To Say That?

Kevin Richter (Trapped In Silence) x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, mental illness/challenges

A/N: Im really sorry if this isn't as good as you were expecting, I find the characters quite difficult to write, but I've tried my best. I wasn't really too sure where to take this, so I hope thinks ok.💛💛

Masterlist

"How're things going with Kevin?" I inquire as I walk with Jennifer out of the building, pulling my coat tighter around my body as the icy winter air surrounds us, biting at my heated skin.

"Well, I thought they were going well, but he had another outburst today, so I think we might've been set back a bit." The shrink admits to me, adjusting the box in her arms, making the bits and bobs inside clatter against each other.

"Another outburst? How come?" I frown a bit, knowing that this particular patient can be violent at the best of times, concerned now for the older woman's safety.

"I'm not entirely sure this time. We were talking about meeting more people his age, when he mentioned something about seeing a girl around here...hang on, how old are you?" She asks, looking over at me curiously.

Lifting an eyebrow, I quickly respond.

"I'm seventeen."

Realisation seems to dawn on her face as she hears this, knowing that there are, in fact, no other younger workers in the institute, and definetly none that work with the more challenging patients.

"What?" I question when she continues to start at me in amazement.

"I think he was talking about you, (Y/n)." Jennifer reveals, frowning to herself as if thinking something over in her head.

"About me? He doesn't even know who I am, and I don't think he's ever seen me before." I protest, thinking back to the fragile, highly volatile boy currently residing in the Quiet Room.

"Maybe, but the description he gave matches you pretty well." She informs me, smiling gently at the look of genuine shock on my face, "I'll ask him more about it tomorrow."

"Ok, thank you." I respond, not knowing quite how to react to this information, waving a little as she walks off to her car, leaving me standing in the cold to mull over what I've heard.

*

Jennifer's hurried footsteps echo through the corridor as she approaches me, eyes intent on me, clearly needing to say something to me, prompting me to break off the conversation with the security guard I was having so that I can greet her. When she sees this, she speeds up a bit, hair blowing past her face with an air of importance.

"I was right, (Y/n), it is you that he meant." She blurts out as she reaches me, eyes filling with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy as she regards me.

"What do you mean? Who are we talking about?" I ask her, though I have a feeling I know where this is going.

"Kevin. I showed him a picture of you and he took it from me. He seemed pretty attached to it, and went ballistic when I asked him for it back." She informs me, leading me away from our original spot, back the way she came.

"Kevin? Are you sure? I might just look like someone he knows." I try to reason, feeling a dull sense of fear as she drags me down the corridor, my eyes wide at the idea of going to see the troubled boy.

"Oh, I don't think so, (Y/n). He's drawn out pictures of everyone he want to remember, and I've spoken to the remaining members of his family: there is no way you just remind him of someone. I've been working with him for a while now, I know his habits." She clarifies, leading me down a more secluded corridor, towards the main office, at which point my fear fades into curiosity.

"Are you sure?" I ask one last time, looking away guiltily when she sends me a pointed glance, "Sorry, you know better than I do. Where are we going?"

"Right here." She gestures with a smile to the door we've stopped outside of, knocking just below the sign determining the owner of the room: the head of the institute.

Eyeing her curiously, I remain silent as we wait for him to respond, following her hesitantly when his voice sounds from behind the door. Respectfully, I stand just by the door as she goes inside completely, waiting there as she speaks with Dr Tomlinson, staying quiet as I let the older members talk with each other.

"Jennifer? What do you need?" The doctor greets her, sending a cursory glance at me, before returning his eyes to her.

"I want someone to help me with Kevin's case." She states, excitement creeping into her voice at the thought, clearly eager to keep up with the therapy.

"You do?" Dr Tomlinson looks surprised, eyes widening at her words, my own quickly fixing on the back of Jennifer's head.

"I do. I think it could really help him socialise better, and he'd get to speak to someone other than me for once." She nods enthusiastically, smiling to herself, as if aware of somehow we're not at liberty to know.

"Ok. I guess I can ask around, though I doubt many people are rave enough-" The doctor starts, only to be cut off by Jennifer, who is shaking her head at his words.

"No, don't worry about that. I already have someone in mind." Confusion and curiosity flood me at this, my mind instantly trying configure out who she could be talking about.

"Oh? And who is that?"

"Well, it's (Y/n) of course."

It takes everything I have not to faint.

*

"Don't worry, (Y/n), you'll be fine. He's not as bad as everyone makes him out to be." Jennifer reassures me as we get ready to enter the therapy room.

Trembling in nerves, I shift from foot to foot as I think through what I'm about to do, well aware that this is only the second case I've ever worked on, and that he doesn't have the greatest reputation. On our way over, Jennifer had given me a rundown of what she knows of his backstory and old living conditions, explaining that she had managed to get him to talk and communicate, but also that he is highly volatile at times, my trepidation and dread just building up the closer we get to the room. Now that we're here, a cold sweat has broken out over my forehead and skin.

"I know, I'm sorry. I just haven't really done this too often." I confess, feeling it important she know that I'm not an experienced worker here, reminding her that I'm only a volunteer who helps out here and there.

"Oh, right, I forgot about that." She frowns, reconsidering as she recalls this, "If you don't feel ready, you don't have to come in. I'm not going to make you."

Taking a deep breath, I decline her offer, biting my lip as I then follow her into the room.

My eyes quickly find the hunched figure in the corner, his messy hair matted and dishevelled, skin pale around his face except under his eyes, where deep purple bags have formed, though the blue-green irises that briefly flick up to greet us are sharp and probing as anything, homing in on my presence instantly. His muscles go rigid, eyes remaining fixed on me even as Jennifer and I move furher into the room. Awkwardly, I hold eye contact for a few seconds, before dropping my gaze with a blush covering my cheeks.

"Good morning, Kevin. I brought along someone to help us with today's session, that ok? This is (Y/n), the girl in the photograph I gave you a week back." Jennifer introduces us, setting the box of items on the table in the centre as I gingerly step forwards, looking up again.

"Hi, Kevin. It's nice to meet you." I say to him, not expecting anything back as he keeps staring at me, only to feel slight fear when he suddenly surges to his feet, scrambling over to the table. Once there, he grabs Jennifer's box and starts rooting around in it, pulling out a sheet of paper and a pencil seconds later, his movements erratic and rushed. I watch in fascination as he seats himself and starts drawing something, expecting us to do the same.

Looking at each other, Jennifer and I do the same thing, a brief flare of surprise lighting inside me as Kevin moves to sit directly opposite me, rather than across from me like he was before. Quietly, I pick up a pen and paper and start sketching, listening to Jennifer as she makes conversation, answering the correct questions and interacting where necessary.

The hour passes quickly, by which point I've managed to finish the drawing I started, sitting back to look at it, before noticing that Kevin is, in fact, also watching me, eyes flicking downwards towards the sheet of paper, almost as if in questioning. With a smile, I push it over the table towards him, offering the drawing to him with little confidence. He picks it up off the table, holding it up so he can see it properly, finger tracing one of the lines, folding it and sticking it in his breastpocket without a second thought.

"Hey, Kevin. That's not yours to take." Jennifer reminds him, looking at me apologetically.

"Oh no, it's fine. You can keep it." I assure her, addressing the last part to him.

He nods at me, not making eye contact.

*

A few months on, and Kevin and I have actually managed a conversation, the boy no longer too shy or distrusting of me, feeling mostly comfortable around me when in therapy. Jennifer has yet to leave me alone with him, thankfully, though I've overheard her talking to Dr Tomlinson about Kevin requesting for me to have a session alone with him, something which I'm not entirely sure I'm comfortable with.

Even now, as we read through another of Jennifer's books, it surprises me when he shuffles over to sit beside me, his body incredibly close to mine, as if with the intention of touching each other, but not quite doing so yet. I have a copy of the book open in my lap, giving him a perfect view of the text, as well as my crotch, which draws a small squeak out of me when he goes to turn the page for me, his fingers gently brushing against my jeans, his hand retracting as quickly as I sink back into the seat, neither of us saying anything.

But even after this, it takes a good two months more for Jennifer to finally decide that I'll be safe on my own with him, as long as there are guards outside, and either Dr Tomlinson or herself nearby to help out in case anything goes wrong. At first, I'm sceptical, but eventually I realise that my presence in the room seems to be what keeps him calm and collected, meaning I'm the perfect candidate to look after him alone.

I was wrong to be worried.

A soon as I step into the room, Kevin has stepped up to me with a broad smile on his face, soemthing which always makes me happy to see, making me smile back at him as he eagerly leads me to a place on the floor in the corner, where he sits me down. Taking his place beside me, he rummages around in the breast pocket of his hoodie and pulls out a dog-eared piece of folded paper, silently handing it to me. Opening it, I feel my jaw drop at the sight of it: it's a portrait. Every aspect is drawn perfectly, giving it it's realistic quality, though it does surprise me that he'd draw me of all people, seeing as he knows Jennifer much better. In my head, I remember what she said about him drawing pictures of everyone he cares for.

"This is amazing, Kevin! Is it for me?"

He nods, a smile crossing his face as he shuffles closer, pressing the side of his body against mine.

'Thank you. I really appreciate this." I thank him, starting when I suddenly feel his cold fingers brush against mine. Absentmindedly, they trace their way into my palm, interlocking our fingers together as he moves ever closer. Smiling, I lean back furher and pat my chest, signalling for him to lay there, which he is only too happy to do, his arms wrapping tightly around me, face buried into my midriff as he holds me close to himself.

"I have a crush on you." He suddenly states, voice muffled through my shirt.

For a moment, I don't know what to say, shocked that he feels this way about me.

"Jenny said I should tell you." He testifies, snuggling closer, before pulling back slightly to nose at the bottom of my jaw.

"You have a crush on me?" I ask once more, biting my lip when he assents, "That's helpful, beacuse I have a crush on you, too." I decide just to spit it out, looking to him for a reaction.

"Really? You actually like me? Or are you just being paid to say that?"

"Kevin, I'm a volunteer. I don't get paid at all.

"So, you actually mean it?"

"I do."

[leechobsessed]

Gold Light

In which Ella regrets her decision to drink (relatable) and discovers this plague may be more serious than she originally thought.

Previous chapter can be found here. Masterlist here.

words: 2200

characters: Ella the Apprentice, Nazali Satrinava

content warning: brief mention of blood

The sun hadn’t yet made its way above the horizon when Ella’s eyes fluttered open. She groaned as she rolled over in the bed, wincing at the slight throb in her temples she knew had to be courtesy of the Salty Bitters from the night before.

Salty Bitters? She bolted upright in bed, remembering that she did not return to the shop alone, but it did seem she had slept alone. Thank the Gods.

She remembered leaving the Raven, and she remembered the alcohol really seeming to hit her by the time she and Julian had reached the door to her shop. Annoyingly, she couldn’t seem to recall anything else from the night before.

Julian. Where is Julian? Ella untangled herself from her sheets and left the bedroom quietly, vaguely aware that Julian insisted he would be fine sleeping on the chair in the living area, that she should be the one to sleep in the bed.

But when she emerged in the living area, she found she was still alone.

Julian had neatly folded the blanket she must have given him the night before, and set it on the chair, a single sheet of white paper resting on top of it. Ella picked up the note, squinting as she tried to decipher the familiar mess of handwriting on the page before her.

Ella,

Thank you for the hospitality last night. I really did have a good time, although in hindsight, we probably shouldn’t have opened that wine.

But I’m glad we did. I got to know you better because of it.

After what you showed me last night, I think we should meet at my clinic this morning. Take your time getting in.

- Julian

Ella reread the note again, squinting harder as if the memories of last night were hidden somewhere within the lines on the page. What did I show him last night? What did I tell him about myself? Where on earth did we get the wine?

Sighing, Ella tucked the note into her pocket and made her way back to the bedroom. As she straightened up, she wondered idly where Asra was. She had secretly been hoping he would be here when she stumbled home last night. But she knew it wasn’t unusual for him to go on trips, and she suspected he had been gone for quite some time. The living area no longer held the familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla, which suggested he had been gone for at least a week.

As she surveyed the rest of the room, she saw there was an empty bottle of wine and two glasses on the floor by the window, all of them knocked over on their side, a large puddle of dark red liquid on the worn wood of the floor near the mouth of the bottle.

Her joints groaned in protest as she lowered herself to the floor to wipe up the spilled wine. She picked up the bottle, turned it over and smiled as she noticed her aunt Vivian’s signature label. After handing the keys to the shop over to Ella, Vivian had proclaimed she was returning to her family’s vineyard in Elyria to make “the best damn wine you’ll ever taste.”

Ella shook her head, thinking back to the terrible first batches she was sent. Thank the gods she stopped trying to make red wine, she thought as she reached for the glasses. Suddenly, she froze, her eyes finding the puddle on the floor before slowly looking back at the bottle of wine. The bottle was indeed empty, but the label advertised a nice, oaky chardonnay. Not red wine.  

Is that…? She pulled her hair back and leaned forward, getting close enough to the liquid to smell the metallic tang of blood.

Ella sat straight up, her hands still holding her hair back from her face, her eyes still trained on the puddle. Releasing her brown waves, she surveyed her arms and legs, looking for any wounds she may have acquired in her inebriated state, and found nothing.

Confused, she set about cleaning up the mess, mentally reminding herself to ask Julian what the hell happened the night before.

Even though Julian had instructed her to take her time, Ella had never been one for waiting around. After the living area was cleaned, she freshened up quickly and checked to make sure the stove salamander had enough food. He stuck his tongue out playfully at her as she scratched gently under his chin and between his eyes.

Before leaving, she scribbled a quick note to Asra, letting him know she stopped by, she was safe, she missed him, and she would like to visit him the next time he’s home. After a final check around the shop, she sealed the shop’s door with a protection spell and headed out toward the clinic.

She had taken the trip to the clinic almost every day for a few weeks, but never from this direction. She got herself turned around only once before finding the familiar building, something she was quite proud of. Even though she had been in Vesuvia for almost a decade, she was still quite skilled at getting herself lost.

She didn’t see anyone when she entered the clinic, so she headed to the office to grab a coat and a mask. I’ll just check on the patients while I wait for Julian to get here.

She made her way down the stairs into the basement where the majority of the patients were. At the foot of the stairs, a nurse dressed head to toe in white handed her a stack of reports which she picked through while she walked down the hall.

Ella pulled her mask down over her face before heading into the first of the patient’s rooms. When she entered, she was surprised to see another figure, wearing a doctor's coat and mask, already in there. They weren’t tall enough to be Julian, and she wasn’t sure who else would be in his clinic. She stopped in the doorway, unsure if she should enter. The figure turned toward her as they heard the floorboards creak under her weight.

“Ella, is that you?”

The voice wasn’t familiar to her, and she wondered how the stranger recognized her with the mask on, but she nodded all the same. “I’m sorry, you are?”

“Doctor Satrinava. You can call me Nazali.”

Ella hadn’t met Doctor Nazali Satrinava before, but she had heard all about them from their apprentice. Isabel had more than a few good things to say about them, and had mentioned many times that Nazali was interested in discussing magical treatments with Ella.

“Oh, Doctor-- er, Nazali. It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Likewise.” They removed their gloves and made their way toward her. “Here, let’s go chat outside, let the patients rest.”

Once outside of the patient’s room, Nazali removed their mask, tucking it under their arm as they adjusted the scarf around their hair. Ella followed suit, struggling a bit more than her companion with untangling her hair from the straps. Nazali chuckled as they reached around Ella to help.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Of course. I grew up with many sisters, all of which had incredibly long hair. I’ve had to untangle worse situations than this.” They smiled kindly at Ella. “Were you looking for Julian?”

“Yes, I was. He asked me to meet him here this morning. It looks like I beat him here.”

Nazali nodded, clearing their throat. “Actually, he just left. He asked that I speak to you about incorporating magic into new treatment.”

Ella blinked owlishly at them. “Dr. Devorak asked… I’m sorry, Julian said he wants to use magic in treatment?”

“It would seem so. He said something about a demonstration you gave him last night that changed his mind on the matter.” Nazali’s lips twitched up in the corners as a blush spread across the bridge of Ella’s nose. “You must have been very convincing.”

She nodded slowly, unsure of how to tell the good doctor she had no clue what she did to convince Dr. Devorak that magic wasn’t all hocus pocus. She swallowed hard, trying to forget about the blood she found on her floor, hoping that had nothing to do with the demonstration.

“Must have been,” she finally managed.

Nazali chuckled before glancing down at the notebook in their hands. “Julian didn’t tell me much, but Isabel has told me that your talents lie in healing magic. I’d like to know what exactly it is you can do.”

They listened intently while Ella explained what she had been able to do in the past. She hadn’t had many opportunities to practice healing magic in quite a while, instead spending most of her time making potions that had similar, if not longer lasting, effects.

Nazali interrupted only a few times to ask a question or to request further clarification. Ella did her best to explain things as simply as she could, but made it absolutely clear that although she had been able to cure minor illnesses in the past, she could not guarantee she could do anything for anyone with the Red Plague.

“Each illness manifests in a different way. I’ve never seen a disease like this before, so I’m not sure I’ll be even close to successful on the first attempt.”

“What could happen if you try and you’re unsuccessful? Would it make anything worse for the patient? Or you?” Nazali asked.

“I don’t know,” Ella answered honestly. “But I’d like to try.”

They agreed they would start small; see if she could relieve the sick of the symptoms of fever, body aches, confusion. Approaching the first bed, Ella smoothed the woman’s hair back off her damp forehead, murmuring reassuring words to her as they stared at her, bloodshot eyes looking, but not seeing. Ella took a deep breath, focused on pooling her energy into her hands, and rested them on the woman’s chest.

She held her breath as she extended her magic into the woman’s body, moving her hands to rest them over the areas where the pull from the foul energy was the strongest. She extended her magic further, wrapping it around the dark, viscous energy of the plague, causing the woman on the bed to groan weakly.

It took some effort for even a small piece of the energy to break free, but when it did, the woman’s eyes found Ella’s, no longer glassy and disconnected. Ella smiled weakly, forgetting that the woman couldn’t see her face beneath the mask.

“Did it work?” Nazali asked, taking a step closer to the patient, who turned her head slowly to look at them. They placed a hand on the woman’s forehead for a moment before turning their gaze to Ella.

“I… I think so. I don’t know how long it will last.” Ella watched the woman look between them, her face already looking less flushed.

“Do you want to try again?”

One by one, Ella repeated the process with the remaining patients in the room. Each patient proved to be a struggle. The illness was so deep within them, that by the time she had finished with the last patient, she was beginning to feel slightly nauseous. Nazali steadied her as they led her outside into the fresh air to collect herself.

“Are you doing alright?” Nazali helped Ella sit shakily down on the steps of the clinic, lowering themselves down to sit next to her, their kind eyes rimmed with concern.

Ella inhaled deeply, shaking her head once. The mid morning air was cool and refreshing, and after a few more breaths she was able to respond. “I just need a moment.”

“Is this usually what happens after a healing?”

She hesitated before shaking her head again, her eyes fixed on her hands in front of her.

“Ella, maybe we should hold off for now. See how the patients do overnight, see how they feel in the morning, and we can try again tomorrow.” Ella opened her mouth to protest, but Nazali held their hand up. “I know you want to do more. But you’ve done enough for today.”

Nazali had a carriage bring Ella back to the palace, telling her that they would round on the rest of Julian’s patients for the day, and instructed her to go straight to bed. “Doctors orders,” they had said with a wink. They asked her to return to the clinic tomorrow with Isabel and Dr. Devorak, and they would all check on the patients together.

When she got back to the palace, her nausea had subsided, but the dizziness remained. She thought briefly about going to see Julian, but she didn’t have the energy, and she was afraid that the state she was in would discourage him from wanting to use magic in the future. Instead, she stumbled to her room, using the walls as support, and collapsed on the bed, her chest heaving from the effort.

The fact that she felt so… off, was more than a little concerning to Ella. She had never felt such a strong negative energy associated with an illness. It felt… evil. She knew it sounded ridiculous, but she didn’t know how else to put it.

Sighing, she curled up in her bed, pulling her pillow closer to her. And for the second time that day, Ella wished Asra was there.

[letarasstuff]

Minimal Loss - Maximal Stress

(A/N): This was requested by an anon and plays in the intern universe. It’s based on 4x3 “Mininal Loss”. I didn’t follow the exact plot, but the quint essence is there (you’ll see what I mean). I hope you enjoy it.

Summary: An intern goes along on a seemingly undangerous case with Emily and Spencer on a ranch under the lead of Benjamin Cyrus. What could go possibly wrong (well, everything ig)?

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse, guns, vomit, swear words, ususal Criminal Mind stuff

Wordcount: 2.9k

✨Masterlist✨ ________________________________

“Do you guys really think it’s a good idea to bring a child to an interview about child abuse?” Agent Lunde asks skeptically while steering the car towards the ranch, where the allegions originated from.

“(Y/N) is our intern and we thought she has to make some experience in the field and since this is the most peaceful case you can find within the BAU, it’s her opportunity”, Emily defends the team’s decision.

“Also, she is nearly the same age as the girls, so it’s easier for them to open up to her and she is incredibly bright, meaning she can help us deducing a profile”, Spencer adds. The teenager doesn’t acknowledge anything they say, too engrossed in listening to One Direction over her bluetooth earbuds.

Soon the quartet arrives at the Saptarian ranch. “I’m looking for Benjamin Cyrus.” “You found him”, answers the man, who sits in front of a chapel.

“He really is nicely placed. I feel like I looked like this in my math classes. I was like beautiful decoration, but had no use”, (Y/N) whispers to Emily. She in turn has a look of confusion on her face. “You aced math, you graduated with an A+ in it.” “Just because I have good grades doesn’t mean I’m not stupid. I mean, I’m educated, but stoopid.”

A little later she sits across from a blonde girl named Jessica, asking her questions about the 911 call. Her mother continuously steps into that conversation.

“Jessica, can you tell me, if anyone here were ever touched inappropriately?” “Is this really necessary? You are a child yourself, shouldn’t ask one of the other agents the questions?” Slowly the teenager’s patience is wearing down and Spencer can definitely see that from five meters away.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, but I’m perfectly capable of conducting this interview, if you stop interrupting me. I may be young, which doesn’t stand in my way of being an intern for CPS and still knowing my way around, so please step to me colleagues or something and let me do my job.” Hesitantly the mother gives the two girls their space.

As soon as she is out of earshot, Jessica begins to explain. “Nobody is touched in a way they shouldn’t be touched. Or is it wrong for a wife to share a bed with her husband.”

(Y/N) remembers Emily telling her to not judge anything anyone of the girls will say. But damn it, this girl is really hard not to judge.

“Wait wait wait. Let me get this straight: You are simping for that walking quote machine?” Okay, maybe she is judging. But just a little bit.

“If simping means deeply in love then yes, I am simping for Benjamin Cyrus, my husband.” At this point the other three agents get closer again. “Jessica, the state of Colorado demands parental consent. You aren’t married to him unles-'' The black haired woman cuts the young doctor off. “She did give consent.”

(Y/N) can barely contain the unsurprised “surprised” gasp leaving her mouth. But it would have been cut short nonetheless, since sudden gunfire erupted outside the school building.

Fairly quickly everybody is evacuated through the tunnels. As Cyrus tells the cult members to trust in god, the teenager turns to the agents. “This much to it’s safe for me here. Didn’t anybody check for weapons or something?” Flabbergasted because of the whole situation Spencer answers. “Yes, Garcia checked with the authorities and nothing was suspicious.”

Suddenly Lunde takes all the courage she has (maybe because a teenager she brought into this is in immediate danger like all the other kids) and goes up with the cult leader to speak to the shooting law enforcement officers. Shortly after the other three get the message of her death.

But they don’t have any time to think about her, since they all are shoved into the chapel.

While Cyrus holds a speech about trust in god in dangerous and trying times like this the BAU in Quantico learns about the shooting through the tv news report.

“HOTCH”, Morgan yells up to the Unit Chief’s office, probably giving everybody else a heart attack. Alarmed Aaron storms out into the bullpen followed by Rossi, who is attracted by the tumult. “Aren’t Prentiss and Reid on that ranch?” Derek asks, his eyebrows furrowing in worry.

Squinting at the screen, horror etches on the other agent’s face. “(Y/N) is also there”, he says, realizing that they sent a minor with zero field experience into a lava hot situation.

Suddenly the whole bullpen’s phones ring, which results in Hotch barking his first commands.

After a nightflight to Colorado the team sets up at the crime scene.

“Dave, I was appointed to determine the primary negotiator”, Aaron tells him after he pulls him to the side. “It makes sense. I trained most of the people here, if you want me I can give you a few recommendations.” But the Unit Chief shakes his head. “No, I want you to be the negotiator in this.”

Now it’s Rossi’s turn to shake his head. “Aaron, I can’t do it, I’m too emotionally involved.” “So are all of us and why should I take the student if I can have the teacher?” The older one sighs in resignation and accepts the offer. They don’t have the team nor reccourses for any mistakes in this.

As he goes to prepare for his task at hand, Hotch hears a man complaining loudly. “I demand to talk to know why I wasn't told that the FBI was sending undercover agents into the Saptarian ranch?” “The only thing you are in position to demand is a lawyer”, he says while stepping closer to the scene.

“Who the hell are you?” The man spits out into his direction. “I’m Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief. I’m the guy who is gonna tell the Attorney General of the United States whether to charge you with obstructing a federal investigation or negligent homicide.” “You can’t talk to me like that”.

Upon closing the little bit of space between both of them, Aaron stares him down. “Get off my crime scene.” Just a few seconds of the intense and pissed Hotch Stare are enough to chase that man down to his car and go on his way to Coward Island.

Meanwhile the first contact is made, Emily and Spencer tell (Y/N) in hushed voices what the situation means. “There are three groups here. The leader, in this case Cyrus. The hard die hard believers, the goons of him, and the followers”, Spencer explains.

“In a case like this we go for minimal loss. We try to get as many of the followers out as possible, because the rest won’t give up as long as they can breathe. At first we go with one or two people, children mostly, then with smaller groups and in the end we get out as many of these people we can. Soon, there will be the first supply delivery from our team, but it’s gonna be bugged, which means we know they are listening. Understood?” Emily adds.

Aside from the knowledge that there is a great possibility that they won’t come out alive of this one, (Y/N) is pretty calm. “Honestly, it’s pretty extra here. I mean I can’t even, look at the walls and the whole pseudo decoration. Why would anybody choose this willingly? But yeah, I understand.” Seeing that these phrases are a kind of a coping mechanism, the two agents aren’t too concerned about her right now. I mean, of course they are pretty much on edge because they all are in a hostage situation, but since the teenager doesn’t seem to be on the verge of a breakdown she has to be fine.

“Is there anything you want to know?” The black haired woman asks, stroking the younger one’s hair out of her face. “No, not right now. This is anything but basic, but I’ll hit you up if something shoots into my mind.”

When Rossi comes in to hand make the first delivery, he looks beyond worried. It seems like he got years older in the span of the last 24 hours. As he glances through the rows of people, he subtly acknowledges their presence and well being.

“How do we know this will be nothing like Waco?” (Y/N) asks out of the blue as all the members get a cup of wine. Surprised Emily turns towards her. “You know about Waco?” “Duh? I told you, I’m educated. So, how do we kno-” “And together we drank the poison.” “Oh well, I guess we do now. It’s nearly iconic how bad his acting is.” Now both of the agents look confused at her.

“What? Didn’t I tell you that I was a theater kid? Also, his goons are writing the reactions down, so it’s just a test to know who to separate from the group and who not.” Even in a situation like this a girl in a red and black flannel over a white graphic tee - it is a Doctor Who Tardis - astounds them.

Not long after this, the three of them are shoved into a small room, which looks sort of like an office.

“Which one of you is it?” Cyrus asks. Confused Prentiss, Reid and the intern look at him. When nobody speaks up he pulls out his gun. “One of you is an FBI agent. So who is it?”

In the short silence he points his weapon at (Y/N). “Oof. Dude, what the fu-” “She is a child. The FBI doesn’t recruit children. But she is a good leverage. So, if neither of you reveals their identity, I will blow her brain out.” This is the final point for the teenager to slowly freak out.

“It’s me. I’m the FBI agent”, Emily confesses. Seeing the young girl with panic in her eyes sets something off in her. Roughly she is taken away by two big guys.

“No no no! This can’t be right. Nobody of us is from the feds. It’s not her, you stupid piece of boom-” With a swift motion of his gun Cyrus knocks her out.

“Damn, this is an annoying one. I don’t know how you can even take her seriously.”

(Y/N) wakes up half an hour later in the chapel draped over two stools with her head in Spencer’s lap. He strokes her hair while his mind is running non stop looking for a solution to this situation. A groan tells him that she is awake.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” The young doctor asks in a soft voice. “If good means your head feels like it’s dancing samba without me, then I’m good.”

He smiles. “We are going to get out here, soon. I convinced Cyrus that we are on his side. He also won’t hurt Emily any further. I saw her earlier, he held a speech. She is fine, just a bit roughen up.”

To lie to the girl like that feels wrong to Reid, but he can see signs of a concussion by her behavior and doesn’t want to worry her more than she already is.

Three o’clock rolls closer and closer, which makes both of them more nervous. Because of the lack of communication they don’t know the tactic the team will use to come in. They can only hope that they all come out alive and in one piece.

Since they are in the chapel, their attention is solely on the cult leader. They don’t even notice all the women and children leaving. As (Y/N) and Spencer spot Cyrus with the remote for detonating the explosives, she mumbles “Let’s get this bread”.

When the leader sees Spencer trying to convince one of the die hard believers that he has a choice to change his mind, he punches the young doctor so hard in the gut that even (Y/N), whose vision is slightly blurred, feels the pain he endures.

“Hey Cyrus”, she calls out, “TBH I think all the shit you are doing here didn’t pass my vibe check. Also, the whole system is pretty whack.”

“You are a child, you don’t know anything. If god doesn’t want me to do any of this, he would stop me.” As Cyrus cocks his gun towards Spencer, Derek runs in and shoots him in the chest twice.

(Y/N) crosses her arms over her chest, says “Ok, Boomer” and rolls her eyes.

“Are you ok, princess?” Morgan asks, going over to her and examining the wound on the side of her head. “Never felt better now that there are two Derek Morgans to protect me.” Concerned he goes to say something else, but is cut short by Spencer shouting “RUN!”.

A look behind them shows Jessica short circuiting upon her husband’s death and grabbing the remote.

When the explosion erupts, Emily looks terrified at the remains of the chapel.

“Morgan! Reid! (Y/N)!” She shouts, followed by the other members and their calls after the three. A certain fear captures every single one of them. If only one of them is- No. Nobody can go through this thought. They are going to be fine. They are alive and-

“Thank god”, JJ breathes as she spots three limping figures. They slowly approach the group of four. “EMILY!” The teenager shouts relieved, though a little loud for the proximity between them. “SPENCER WOULDN’T REALLY TELL ME HOW YOU ARE! YOU LOOK TERRIBLE! THANK HARRY STYLES YOU ARE FINE!” Yes, the explosion definitely messed all of their hearings up, since Morgan and Reid also speak with the same volume.

Emily hugs her. “I’m okay. But you need to get checked out.” But the teenager vehemently shakes her head as she hugs Aaron. “I DON’T NEED TO”, when she sees her teammate’s faces, she reduces her loudness. “I am ok. But Spencer, he got a good blow to his guts. I think the Queen in England even felt that vibe check.”

As Derek escorted the young doctor to one of the awaiting ambulances, JJ also gently stirs the girl in the same direction. “Just let a doctor look over your head, it looks like a nasty cut and believe me, you want to get this checked out, Honey.” “But Jayje-” She begins to complain, but gets cut off by bile rising up her throat. In the next moment (Y/N) kneels on the floor, letting out anything she got in her system over the course of the past few days.

“I think this is nothing your body should do, Bambi”, Rossi adds up. Unwillingly the intern goes with the blonde mother to the EMTs. They decide to have a doctor looking over her and getting her x-rays done at the hospital.

A few hours and uncountable complaints from (Y/N) later, the team is back on the jet on their way home. She thanked Emily in a heartfelt moment in the hospital shortly after she got pain killers, which made her loopy, for saving her life by putting her own on the line by exposing her identity. Even Prentiss had tears in her eyes as she saw the young and innocent girl so frayed by the just occured events.

Unusual for Rossi, he takes a seat on the sofa, petting his lap as (Y/N) sits beside him. With pleasure she lays her head onto it, cuddling closer into the fuzzy blanket she got from Morgan.

A few minutes into the flight, Rossi just got into describing the interviews he conducted with Ted Bundy, Aaron motions him to make space. David excuses himself with the reasoning of getting a cup of tea for her.

“I’m sorry”, Hotch says as he runs his hands through his youngest employee’s hair. He is careful to not mess with the bandage she has on the side of her head. Confused (Y/N) looks up to him. “What for?” “For sending you into a situation, where you got seriously hurt.”

This makes the girl sit up, though her world once again begins to spin. “Aaron Hotchner, I hope you don’t mean that. You nor anybody else knew that this was going to happen. You only wanted for me to get as much experience as possible while this internship lasts and I tell you, with that story I’ll go viral on TikTok. Just because I got a medium severe concussion and a wound, which hopefully will leave a badass scar, doesn’t mean you have to apologize. But you can do me one favor.” “Anything.” “When I fall asleep, please make sure I don’t choke on my own vomit. The doctor told me it could happen, that’s why I am not allowed to fall asleep unsupervised. But I haven’t slept in three days and I think I'm beginning to feel uncomfy because of that.”

Smiling softly Hotch nods and lets the teenager take her original place in his lap. Minutes later she is fast asleep. But one thing is certain: As soon as she wakes up and feels any better, she is going to tell everybody who wants to listen about the one time where she got blown up by a fifteen years old girl, who was married to a cult leader. And nobody is gonna believe her tea. Except for Penelope, who greets (Y/N) with a hug and the promise to never let her out of her eyesight.

All works:

@agentshortstacc

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

Spencer Reid:

@calm-and-doctor

[emilianopavone]

★ - the most recent journal entry my muse has made

Emil is tempted to throw his journal away, to pitch it on the pyre they made of Rome and let it burn to ash in the treasured spark of forgiveness, but he tosses it in a filing box instead. One they tuck innocuously beside the shelves in Monty’s office along with the rest of it. The inscrutable notes from his time as an Institute employee, the paper copies of every file they smuggled out on one precious USB drive, and a vast collection of research spanning the Belvedere family tree to the Striga coven. A record of tragedy as necessary as it is regrettable, one they have to keep close at hand when they never know when they’ll need to unbury a piece of it. And it doesn’t take as long as he expects to need his journal again, three short bullets added in twice as many weeks.

Fried Onions

Scent memory, it turned out, was a hell of a thing, and Emil finds himself struck dumb when Baz asks if he wants to share his leftovers in the Oleander kitchen. A reheated plate of popcorn shrimp, fries, and onion rings that wafts through the room in a stifling aroma. It’s frustratingly mundane, leaving him more embarrassed than anxious when the subconscious fear creeps in. Eventually stumbling over an excuse that he’s just full instead of nauseous before escaping to the closest room with a lock, sinking onto the bathroom floor to catch a breath that shouldn’t be stolen. But panic recedes more quickly when there’s so much anger on its heels. That this isn’t done, that he can’t just turn it off, that the dam broke but the faucet is still leaking. That he has to pull out his journal, and that he knows it won’t be the last time. That night when he reaches for Montgomery instead of a bottle, he tries to count it as some sort of victory over the monsters left lurking in his mind.

Formaldehyde 

Like the rest of it, there’s no rhyme or reason to why that day is any different than the rest. The faint smell of chemicals and preservatives that sometimes follows Doctor Lacroix home is a familiar byproduct from the mortuary. Most shed with the lab coat he leaves at his office and the rest dumped in the hamper in exchange for comfortable sweaters, but that day something remains. Enough that when Monty slides his arms around his waist, dropping a kiss on his shoulder while he cooks, Emil finds himself freezing. Staring at the onions sizzling in the pan, wilting and browning and he wonders if that’s what Jiro looked like. Shriveling under a touch, maybe only a look, until he was a nearly unrecognizable husk on a table. He wonders if Monty will recognize him like that, all the life and beauty sucked out of him. He wonders if he’ll ever forget him like that, if when he thinks of his dead lover he won’t think of sun-kissed skin and the constellations he pressed into it, but just the hollow, ugly body on his table. And he wonders if it's sympathy or vanity that makes him think that’s incredibly unfair, but he doesn’t have a chance to decide before his attention is gently redirected. The familiar sensation of fingers pressing against his jaw to guide his gaze away from the unfocused middle space it had drifted to, a pair of concerned eyes looking back at him that he doesn’t have enough platitudes to soothe. He settles for a request instead: a shower that he won’t be joining him for.

Creed Cologne

It’s some sort of karmic revenge when a full blown panic attack hits in the middle of his shift. After all, it was just last week that Emil told his therapist he’d never once had one at work, that it was hard to spiral or disassociate or even feel the mild thrum of anxiety when his mind and hands were occupied with a hundred different things. It is an unexpected occupational perk and one that comes to a sudden, grinding halt on an otherwise uneventful Wednesday evening. Brakes slamming on the unmistakable scent of him. And just like that he’s there, slipping out of the shadows, gun to his head, voice ringing inside it. Focus. And he can’t focus on anything but the explosive realization that he’s here, somewhere unseen with a bullet he’s waiting to feel hit. Belatedly he thinks Monty would be disappointed with his fight or flight instinct, that it takes nearly a minute to set in, that he doesn’t choose the former, and that when he runs, it’s out the backdoor, pushing into the deserted alley behind the Voodoo that’s surely just an easier place to kill him. But maybe some rational part of his brain knows he’s not really running from Hugo, that he’s running from the inconvenience of trauma. A faucet that he can’t turn off and one he can’t afford to have leaking at work. Not when it leaves him with such a loose grip on reality that he’s losing swaths of time, seconds slipping by or minutes or more. Nothing differentiates one moment from another until there’s someone saying his name and the present snaps back, suddenly, violently, and with some strange mix of shock and relief. It’s Diertrich, standing hesitantly at the back door with his usual imperceptible expression, the neutral slant of his mouth betraying nothing but his eyes seem to be somewhere between concentration and confusion. Whatever he’s thinking doesn’t get voiced, instead there is an awkward acknowledgement that this is not in fact the bathroom and a slightly less awkward reply that it could be before they both make their way back inside. 

Later Emil tries to reason that it’s paranoia. A leaky faucet. The smoke and ash of a Roman pyre. So he adds the final bullet and tosses the journal back in the box with the rest of it. Regrettable but necessary and never far enough away. Because even after he closes the lid, the sensation of being watched lingers with the smell of expensive cologne.

[thorne93]

Inside the Criminal Mind (Part 30)

Prompt: You’re married to Dr. Spencer Reid of the BAU, and are a distinguished doctor yourself on the team. You’re sent down to Miami, Florida for teaching and as a side request from the FBI, to investigate a string of missing persons. When you think you’ve figured out who the unsub is, your life becomes more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

Word Count: 2819

Warnings: (throughout the fic –>) death, blood, gore, killings, language, disturbing mental notions, mentions of rapes/murder/etc (You know, Dexter and Criminal Minds related business)

Notes: Thank you so much to @arrow-guy​​​​​​, @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​, and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​ - without each of you, I couldn’t have finished, written, or properly navigated this story. Each of you helped me fish out details that were incredibly important to me. Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong​​​​​​ and @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​… Aesthetic by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​​​​​​

This is a crossover of Criminal Minds x Dexter. First time writing Dexter.

Also, the timeline is after Season 1 of Dexter, but during season 14-ish of Criminal minds into Season 15. Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While you and the rest of the BAU worked on the Bay Harbor case, Dexter and Doakes and several others went to another case where a step daughter was dead. Doakes wanted to believe the step father did it, and Dexter backed him up, although it was false. Doakes arrested the step father and continued to question him, even though Dexter put the report on his desk that proved otherwise. 

When the team took a break, you and Spencer went back to Dexter’s lab and started chatting before an older woman came into the room. 

“Oh, uh, Dexter, can I talk to you a moment?” she asked, tossing a glance your way.

“They’re fine, Camille,” he assured. 

She came in and sat down and explained that Doakes was chasing after the records that Dexter had wanted, and when she told him the same thing, he got angry and made her scared. Dexter vowed he would take care of it and she thanked him before leaving, nodding to you and your husband. 

“Doakes is really starting to piss me off,” Dexter muttered as he wheeled over his station. 

“Wait, you care that he threatened her?” Spence suddenly asked, his brows furrowing. 

“Of course?” he responded, confused. “She’s a good friend. She’s nice. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. She does her job and does it well. Doakes is just a fucking asshole trying to scare a nice woman.”

You gave a sympathetic smile before saying, “Well we should head back. See you later.” 

As the two of you walked back towards the conference room, Spencer quietly said, “I’m a little impressed at his compassion for that woman… Maybe I misunderstood him.” 

The next few minutes were spent going over the manifesto. Spencer offered psycholinguistics. But nothing really moved forward that day, thankfully.

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

Two days had passed since the manifesto came to light. All of you were analyzing each sentence when suddenly there was a commotion in the bullpen. All of you turned around to see what it was when you saw it was Dexter, getting slammed to the ground by Doakes. 

“What the fuck?” you hissed quietly before scrambling to get up out of your seat and go out through the doors and into the bullpen.

As soon as you got to him, Doakes was hitting him repeatedly. You went to pull Doakes off, but Batista and another detetive pulled Doakes off of Dexter before you could. As soon as he was off, you helped Dexter up, fawning all over him. 

“Are you alright?” you asked fervently, your hands on his chest. 

He nodded slightly, eyeing Doakes as if he truly feared him. 

“Shit, no you’re not alright, you’re bleeding.” You grabbed a tissue off the desk he was leaning against, dabbing at the blood. 

LaGuerta came out and ordered Doakes a suspension. He was escorted out and then you led Dexter back to his lab. 

“Let’s get this cleaned up,” you quietly said. 

Once he got back to his lab and he sat down, you began opening up the cotton swabs and peroxide. 

“So,” you started, working on the wound, “you wanna tell me what that was all about?”

“I’m trying to get Doakes out of here, and off my case, and make him look like the crazy fucker he is,” he explained. 

“Ah, I see. Well, I trust your judgement, even if you didn’t tell me about Olson.” You smirked down at him before grabbing gauze. 

“Sorry again.”

You waved him off. 

“How are you doing with the whole not killing thing?” you asked. “Aside from Olson.”

“Surprisingly well.” 

“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” you mused with a grin. 

“Thanks for being my savior,” he teased. 

You made a playful face at him. “Don’t make it a habit of getting your assed kicked. I won’t always be there.” 

He smiled and you two returned to your individual work. 

At this point Masuka was going over what he’d gotten from another linguist he sent the manifesto ff to. Batista was going over what he interpreted. Two other officers said the unsub was politically motivated. Then arguments started throughout the room before Rossi suddenly said, “This is what he wants.” 

Debra looked at your boss. “He wants a cluster fuck?” 

“He’s always been a private person, killing silently. Now suddenly he’s a media junkie? It doesn't fit the profile.” 

Everyone frowned at his revelation, realizing he was right. 

“But who would do that?” he prompted. 

“Law enforcement,” Luke responded. “They know what we are looking for.” 

With that, a heavy tension fell over the room. It snaked its way into your skin too. This meant you just pushed the investigation closer to yourself and Dex. 

“As of right now, this is a FBI central case. We’re going to investigate all eighteen cases with a fine tooth comb, which means that Miami PD - you’re under investigation. Full cooperation is an unspoken understanding here.”

“No offense, sir, uh, Agent Rossi, but if you do this, you risk alienating the force,” Batista said. 

“We go where the chase leads us,” he responded. 

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

That night, you and the guys were catching dinner at a local seafood place. 

“So much for that manifesto,” Dexter said before taking a swig of his beer, disappointment lacing his voice.

“I really thought it would work,” Spencer responded with a dejected tone.

At least they weren’t fighting. 

“What are we gonna do?” you asked desperately. 

“Well I know what I’m going to do,” Dexter said. 

“Another brilliant solo idea?” Spencer asked and you couldn’t tell if it was a teasing question or actually filled with malice. 

“Actually, I’m telling you what I’m doing so it’s not a solo idea,” Dexter shot back with a grin. “No, I think I’ve decided it’s actually best if I stay in the shadows. I don’t do well being proactive.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, I guess all your best work has always been hidden.”

“I agree,” Spence chimed in. “We should just react to whatever the case brings up.” 

Everyone agreed and Spencer suddenly said, “Also, Dexter you’re going to be called in. Rossi wants to discuss some bloodwork with you so, get a good night’s rest.” 

“Aww, Spencer is that some form of compassion I hear in your voice?” Dexter inquired, trying not to laugh.

“It’s a cautious warning to help you and protect my wife, nothing else,” he coolly replied. 

“You’re just a big softee,” Dexter replied. 

Spencer stared at him and said, “If you keep this shit up I will turn you in right now.”

“Spence,” you chided. 

Spencer relaxed and the three of you finished dinner before heading your separate ways to sleep. 

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

When Rossi pulled Dexter into the room to question him, your nerves were on fire. Rossi was a skilled man, albeit not as keen as you were at profiling. He was still very much brilliant and you were incredibly worried he would see through him. Dexter relied on charm and wit, but Rossi could always see through that, especially when it came to a high profile murder case. 

You sat in the bull pen trying not to think about it or watch them, but you were bouncing your leg and becoming restless. Spencer saw you and came over to sit next to you,putting his hand on your knee, to silently signal that you needed to stop being so fidgety. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” he assured quietly. “We need to focus on the cases, combing through them,” he reminded. 

You were nodding, about to respond when Batista and Deb found some lead. They announced they were going to see a citizen that took notes all the time, so they wanted to see if he had anything of value. You just shook your head, writing it off. What would some random citizen know? 

Unfortunately, that answer would come back to bite you later. 

When Dexter exited the interview, he was clearly unhappy and that made you swallow. Of course you knew Dexter would never hurt you, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a very eerie man when he was upset. 

“Your boss is very astute,” Dexter complimented as he sat down next to you and Spencer. 

“Yes, he is,” Spencer agreed, seeming uninterested. 

“Look at this fucking jackpot,” Debra said as she walked in, throwing a heavy box onto her desk. The three of you looked up to see Batista carrying one of his own, and dropping it on his desk. 

“Jackpot?” you asked, trying to sound professionally curious and not mortified. 

“This guy lives next to Rodrigo, he takes notes on every fucking thing. We get the joy of sorting through all this,” she informed, as if she were clever. 

“That will help, how?” Dexter asked. 

“Because he might have something on the night Rodrigo was killed. A description of the gy, the car, something to go on,” she explained. “Hey, Agent Reid, do you care to help read over these? Since you’re like super fast at this shit.” 

“Sure, give me a few moments to finish this case and I’ll help,” he obliged. 

You wanted to give him a look that begged him not to help, but you couldn’t. Spence had to pretend he was on the case, and furthermore he had to show he was a team player. It was absolutely exhausting trying to keep up with the appearances. 

As the day wrapped up, Dexter walked out with you. You and Dexter went to his place for a casual night in, while Spencer stayed behind at the station for another hour or so before going back to the hotel.  

Batista and the guys called asked to go out. Dexter confirmed with you if it was alright if he went. You said you weren’t his girlfriend so the two of you went out. He went bowling and you sat by and simply watched. It gave Batista and Masuka plenty of time to try and find out even more about you, but you just stayed focused on Dexter. 

As everyone came out of the alley, you and Dexter were laughing about something before you saw a guy run up behind Dexter. 

“Dex!” you shouted as he made his way around a car in front of you. 

Dexter tried to find him off with his bowling ball bag, but the guy just kept coming after him knife in hand. The guy was able to punch Dexter in the face before slicing at him, cutting his arm. You jumped into action without thinking. You kicked towards him, hitting his ribs but as you went to go to kick him again, he gathered himself quickly, jumped in his truck and sped off. 

The other Miami PD officers heard the commotion and came over, guns out. They checked on Dexter, seeing if he needed to be taken to a hospital. You assured them you’d take care of him.

You got behind the wheel of his car, Dexter in the passenger seat. 

“Do you need a hospital?” you asked. 

“No, I’m fine. Just need to patch it up.”

“Okay, we can do that at your place. Why did you lie to them? That guy didn’t grab for your watch at all.” 

He didn’t say anything though. He averted his gaze out the passenger window as you drove. 

“Are you fucking serious? You’re going to lie to me right now? After everything we’ve been through? Dex, what the hell. Who was that?” 

“It was my mother’s killer. Jiminez.” 

“Why was your mother’s killer after you? How did he know you’d be there?” 

“He must’ve followed me…” He sighed. “Look, a few weeks ago, I went to Naples. I found my mother’s killer, learned he was alive.” 

“You told me he was alive…. But you never told me you went to see him, why not?  What the fuck?” 

“My sponsor told me to do it. She said I should face him, talk to him, tell him what he took from me.”

“That’s the most idiotic idea I’ve ever heard. Do you hear yourself? And you also didn’t tell me? I thought we told each other everything. I’ve told you about my marital problems and everything else.”

“I know. I should've told you.” 

“So why didn’t you?” 

“I guess because I realized it was stupid the second I did it. I also didn’t want to add any more to your plate.” 

You bobbed your head side to side. “Well, I appreciate that, but now he knows where you bowl and he nearly stabbed you.”

You pulled into his apartment complex. You jumped out and grabbed his stuff before jogging up the stairs to unlock his door. You got inside and he sat on his bed, at your order, and you gathered the tools to clean up his cut. 

He took his shirt off and you came back into the bedroom sitting beside him on the bed. 

“Oh, well it’s not too deep,” you commented. You set to work on the wound. “So, you weren’t going to tell me about your mom’s killer, fine. I don’t like you keeping me in the dark, but that’s your personal business. So you obviously didn’t kill him, did you get anything from visiting him?” 

“No,” he affirmed.

“So what are you going to do? You can’t just have this guy stalking you.”

“You’re right. I’m going to kill him.”

“What? Dex… No, come on, you’ve made such good progress,” you begged, finishing cleaning the wound. 

He took his hand and put it on yours, getting you to stop working on him. He held your hand, staring at you. He started to speak softly, “Y/N, whether or not Harry made me what I am, I am what I am. I know I’m not a monster to you, and I’m starting to believe you, but for better or worse, I am a killer. The minute I let my guard down, I almost got killed. I have to kill him. It’s part closure, part who I am.” 

You nodded. “I understand. So… you’re going to kill him?”

You didn’t like it. You were somewhat hoping to cure Dexter of his desires, but he’d tried this route, and truth be told, you did understand. If you found the person responsible for killing someone you loved, you’d take the same revenge. You knew you had to be supportive of him in this. 

“I have to.”

“I want to be there, to help you, if you’ll have me. This is something big in your life and I’d like to help.” 

He stared at you. “I’d like that a lot, actually. I’d also like it if your husband came along.”

You pulled away from him, your hand and all. You were shocked. “What? Spencer? Why? Are you insane?” 

“Don’t you see? His issue with us is all in his head. He doesn’t know how we work, how I work. He needs to see us in action. Maybe then it would kill off all of his illusions. He’s made up this idea in his head that is probably far worse than what we actually do.” 

“This is insane. No! We can’t invite him!”

“You've told me yourself that the only person he loves as much as you is his mother Now, I’m trying to get revenge for my mother. He can understand that. When that woman had his mother held hostage, he strangled her. If this doesn’t bond us, nothing will.”

A sigh escaped you as you stood up and gathered the things to clean up. “It’s not the worst idea… I suppose you’re right. If showing him how we operate at any time would work, now would be the time.” 

“It’s the one case he could possibly completely sympathize with.”

You nodded. “Okay, I’ll ask him. You should be good, by the way.” 

“Thank you,” he gently said. “I’m glad you were with me tonight. If you weren’t there, he could’ve done a lot worse than a cut on the arm. He was behind me, I didn’t see him--” he shook his head, staring off as if he was already contemplating how to do it. 

“Well, I did, and that’s all that matters.” 

“What’s worse is you upstaged me in a fight,” he said with a bit of a smile. “I’m supposed to be the vigilant, tactful killer. It would appear that around you, I have a weak spot.” 

Bobbing your head side to side you mused, “Well, since I did protect you and warn you, maybe I’m not a blind spot, but a guardian angel.” You smiled at him warmly. “I warned you about everything in the case. I’ll always be on your side, helping you.” 

“Yeah, despite all the things that should’ve told you to run.” 

“I’d never do that to you.”

“I know.”

The two of you smiled at each other before wrapping up your evening and heading home to talk to Spencer about Dexter’s plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagging:

Forever Tag:

@essie1876​​​​​​​

@magpiegirl80​​​​​​​

@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked​​​​​​​

@iamwarrenspeace​​​

@marvel-imagines-yes-please​​​

@superwholocked527

@missinstantgratification​​​​

@thejemersoninferno​​​​​​​

@rda1989���​​​​​​

@munlis​​​​​​​

@thefridgeismybestie​​​​​​​

@bubblyanarocks3​​​​​​​

@igiveupicantthinkofausername​​​​​​​

@kaliforniacoastalteens​​​​​​​

@feelmyroarrrr​​​​​​​​

@kaeling

@friendlyneighbourhoodweirdo​​​​​​​

@damalseer​​​​​​​

@heyitscam99​​​​​​​

@yknott81​​​​​​​

@thelittlebigirl​​​​​​​

@glitterquadricorn​​​​​​​

@xxqueenofisolationxx

@little-dis-kaalista-pythonissama

@bittersweetunicorm​​​​​​​

@alyssaj23​​​​​​​

@sea040561​​​​​​​

@princess76179​​​​​​​

@thisismysecrethappyplace​​​​​​​

@sarahp879​​​​​​​

@malfoysqueen14​​​​​​​

@ellallheart​​​​​​​

@breezy1415​​​​​​​

@marvelmayo​​​​​​​

@paintballkid711​​​​​​​

Spencer Reid

@camigt1999​​​​​​​

@ultrarebelheart​​​​​​​

@lenawiinchester​​​​​​​

@esoltis280​

ITCM

@arganfics​​

[laynavile]

Hi! Heard prompts were open and I'm a bit obsessed with spideypool and their dynamics and your writing is sooo good, so I was wondering if you could write about them with maybe some roleplaying?) it can be any kind you want, make it as kinky as you want to, just pls with Peter as a bottom (I honestly can't see him as anything but) thank you so much for taking the time to take request!

First of thank you so much for the prompt, secondly 🥺🥺 thank you so much for thinking my writing is sooo good.

As soon as I read "roleplay" my brain said doctor/patient 🤷 I wrote over 2k for this prompt then scrapped it--I still have it for another time, maybe--and I rewrote it all.

Warnings : Doctor/Patient Roleplay, Size Kink (only a dash though), Come Eating (kinda? Like Wade licks Peter clean after)

Also posted on ao3 - Dr. Wilson will see you now

Enjoy 😌

"The doctor will see you now." Peter resists the urge to giggle at the silly voice Wade uses--this isn't supposed to be silly, it's supposed to be sexy.

Peter stands up from the sofa and walks down the hallway towards their bedroom, the door is open and everything looks so bright inside. The blankets have been stripped from the bed, all that's left is a single pillow--Peter had requested it be Wade's pillow so he could smell him--in a white pillowcase and a soft white fitted sheet and top sheet. If it weren't for the fact that the bed is king sized or the dresser and bedside tables--Peter could believe it was an exam room, maybe.

Wade isn't in the room, having ducked into the bathroom before Peter started down the hall, "Change into the gown and sit on the bed please, and the doctor will be in shortly." Wade half yells in that silly voice again.

Peter strips out of his jeans and t-shirt, leaving his boxers and socks on before pulling the hospital gown on, he feel a little weird--part of him is nervous, he's never really liked hospitals or doctors, another part feels silly because this all seems a little ridiculous, but mostly there is a nervous excitement pooling in his belly. He sits on the edge of the bed and waits for Dr. Wilson.

He sits there for maybe two minutes before Wade walks in. He has on a long white lab coat, a pair of dark red scrubs complete with a stethoscope around his neck--it's real too, Wade has instead on getting the real deal no matter the cost.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Parker, how are you doing today?" No more silly voice, just his normal voice if not a smidge deeper though.

"Hello, Dr. Wilson, I'm doing okay, just need my sports physical done for school, I really want to run track this year."

Wade puts on a pair of blue nitrile gloves, "Let's get to it then." He places the stethoscope onto Peter's back, "Take a couple deep breaths for me."

Peter breathes in and out a few times before Wade moves the stethoscope around on his back then to his chest. "Lungs and heart sound good."

Wade had purchased a whole set of doctors tools--a percussion hammer, an otoscope, laryngeal mirror, an opthalmoscope, a thermometer and a sphygmomanometer. Peter had asked how and why the hell he had purchased all of them and didn't even want to know how much Wade had paid for them to play. Wade had assured him the cost didn't matter and he wanted everything to be authentic.

Wade checks Peter's temperature next, then looks into his eyes--the whole time Peter can't stop thinking about how Wade has no fucking clue what he's even looking for--he checks Peter's ears and then his throat. "Hmm, I think I'm going to need to perform another test on your throat, seems a little tight in there, need to make sure nothing is swollen." Peter almost laughs.

Gloved fingers trail up Peter's calf and onto his thigh, before moving back down to his knee, "I need you to stay still for me, so I can check your reflexes." Wade picks up the percussion hammer and when Peter least expects it taps his knee, "Excellent." He does the same to the other knee.

Wade takes Peter's blood pressure and he almost complains then--those fucking cuffs get tight.

"I need you to remove your underwear now please, I need to perform a testicular exam as well as a prostate exam."

"Are those necessary for a sports physical?" They'd talked about this, about how it would become sexual and how Wade wanted Peter to ask questions and be apprehensive about the below the belt portion of the exam.

"Absolutely, we need to be sure there are no abnormalities, an unhealthy prostate can lead to urinary issues." And Peter knows that's actually true, he also knows that there is nothing wrong with any part of his body--another perk from the radioactive spider bite, he doesn't get sick.

"You are the doctor and you know best so I guess it's okay." Wade steps back and let's Peter stand. He pulls his underwear down, letting them slip down his legs onto the floor.

"Thank you, now if you would I need you to lie down on your back."

Peter's stomach churns as he lays down, he can smell Wade on the pillow and that comforts him. "Like this?" He asks softly.

"Just like that." Wade's gloved fingers touch his thigh first, sliding upward towards his soft cock. The gloves feel strange--foreign against the skin of his balls, Wade holds them between his fingers, pressing softly, rolling them in his hand. "Feels normal."

He traces the head of Peter's cock with one finger tip and hums.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, no need to worry, I just need to see." He lifts the gown, folding it up and over onto Peter's belly when the cool air of the apartment touches his cock, he shivers.

Wade takes Peter's soft shaft into his hand, fingers wrapped around it, "Tell me, Mr. Parker, have you experienced any difficulty in getting an erection?"

"No, not at all, but Dr. Wilson, what does that have to do with running track?"

"Sexual health is important, you're young, still developing, we need to make sure everything is working." Wade pauses, looks into Peter's eyes, silently asking if he's okay, Peter nods and Wade continues, "I'm going to need a semen sample."

"Y-you want me to jerk off?" He feigns confusion.

"If you'd rather, otherwise I can stimulate you and collect the sample that way."

"You want to do that? I-is that something you can do?" Peter's cock twitches in Wade's hand.

"After the prostate exam, if you'd like me too."

Peter blushes--he's not embarrassed to be doing this with Wade, he's embarrassed because they sound like a cheesy, bad porno. "Thank you, Dr. Wilson, that would be very helpful."

Wade smiles, and reaches over to the bedside table to grab something Peter hadn't noticed before, a white and blue tube of surgical lube. "I need you to bend your knees, feet flat onto the bed, and let your legs fall open naturally."

Peter moves, he feels so exposed to Wade, it excites him.

He squirts a small amount of the lube onto one of his gloved fingers, he rubs the lube against Peter's hole, before applying more lube to two of his fingers. "Try to relax, breathe slowly and evenly." He presses the tip of one finger inside Peter's tight hole.

He tries so hard to relax, but it feels so good and Wade has barely even penetrated him yet. His cock instantly begins to fill.

"Perfectly natural reaction." Wade says as he slides his finger further into Peter--he knows how much Peter can take and how quickly--after a few moments of adjusting Wade begins to work his second finger inside Peter.

He whines, totally involuntarily. "Tell me, Mr. Parker, are turned on by anal penetration?"

"Yes." He whispers.

“Can I tell you a secret, Mr. Parker?”

“Uh, sure.” He says, voice cracking slightly when Wade touches his prostate.

“It turns me on too, especially when I’ve got a gorgeous twink like you beneath me.”

Peter gasps, in fake shock but more so from the pressure Wade is applying to his prostate, his thumb pressing against Peter’s perineum. “Dr. Wilson, i-is that an appropriate thing to say to your patient?”

“Probably not, no, but I think you like it. Just look at how hard you are.” He picks the lube up with his free hand popping the flip cap and squeezing it directly onto Peter’s throbbing, drooling cock. He wraps his gloved fingers around Peter’s shaft--Peter’s hips jerk up chasing friction.

Wade pumps his fingers in and out, alternating between applying lighter and harder pressure against his prostate. Peter gets progressively louder the longer Wade strokes his cock, and fucks him with his fingers. “Mr. Parker I think we need to find a way to occupy your mouth, you’re getting a bit loud, we wouldn’t want to draw anyone’s attention, now would we? You’re liking this too much to stop now.”

Peter bears down on Wade’s fingers, hips jerking, “No, no, please don’t stop, Dr. Wilson. I can be quiet, I promise.” Peter begs, he doesn’t want Wade to stop.

“Next time you get loud, I’m gonna have to shove something in your mouth, Mr. Parker.”

This too is something they’d talked about, they both love when the other gets loud, they want to hear all the noises, but in this specific scene, Wade had suggested maybe they keep quieter, pretend there were other people in the office that could hear them and catch them--Peter had never really thought of himself as an exhibitionist, but the simple idea of other people hearing them, seeing them, catching them, turned him on more than he thought possible.

“I’ll be good, I promise, Dr. Wilson, oh, oh, fuck.” Peter tries so hard to stay quiet, but Wade is just too good, he knows exactly how to touch Peter to get him off. Peter practically writhes. He loses it when Wade pushes a third finger into him, his rim stretches and it burns a little, but the pressure of three fingers inside of him feels incredible. He wants more, and he wants it now, but he doesn’t want to upset Wade by ending this too quickly.

“Mr. Parker, what did I say?” Wade releases his cock, and pulls his fingers out of Peter, his hole clenches over and over trying to close onto something solid again.

“No, no, I’m sorry.”

Wade pulls the gloves off and tosses them, they land somewhere on the floor. He pulls his scrub pants down just enough that his cock springs free, Peter practically drools at the sight--Wade is big, like so fucking big that the first time they fucked Peter was convinced it was never going to fit, now he can get Wade’s entire cock down his throat. But it’s not just Wade’s size that makes Peter drool--a lot of people are turned off by Wade’s scars and while Peter isn’t fetishizing them, he finds them sexy, and it’s not just the way they make his skin look so unique, it’s the feeling of them, everyone always seems to think Wade’s scars will be rough and flaky or whatever, and yeah there are days where his skin gets extra dry and can crack and bleed and hurt really bad, but most days his skin is so soft, like silky almost, they’re raised up enough that Peter feels them constantly when they’re having sex and he loves it. Wade is always so self-conscious about them, Peter always tells him how beautiful he is, how handsome, how incredibly sexy.

Wade climbs onto the bed with Peter, next to his head, he nudges his cock head against Peter’s lips, leaving pearlescent smudges. “Open up, Mr. Parker.”

Peter’s lips part, Wade feeds his cock into Peter’s willing mouth. His tongue swirls around the head as it passes over his tongue.

When the head of his cock touches the back of Peter’s throat and he doesn’t gag, Wade praises him, “Good, very good, Mr. Parker. I don’t know why I was ever worried there might be something wrong with your mouth or throat.”

Peter doesn’t want to stop this, he really doesn’t but he’s getting impatient--he wants dicked down, and he wants it now.

Peter pushes Wade back, his cock pops out of Peter’s mouth--a string of saliva connects his lip to the tip. “Fuck, fuck, Wade, I’m sorry, chicken salad.”

They’d agreed on an outrageous safe word for this specific scene, normally they just used the colors, but for this they’d decided to have a different word as well to signify that they wanted to end the specific scenario but not end the sex.

Wade backs off, “No, baby boy, no need to apologize. That’s what the word is for, you okay though? Color?”

“Green, Wade, so fucking green. I need you to fuck me now.”

Wade kisses him before moving to strip, Peter grabs his wrist, stopping him.

“What are you doing, get your cock back here and fuck me.”

“Lemme get naked, Webs.”

“Nuh-uh. Just because I wanted to stop, doesn’t mean I want you to take the outfit off, it’s hot on you, besides, I sorta really wanna ruin it.”

“Say no more, baby boy.” Wade climbs between Peter’s legs, kneeling with his thighs on his calves, he pulls Peter down to him, lifting his legs up over Wade’s thighs to wrap around his hips. He grabs the surgical lube, spreading it over his spit slick cock.

“Hurry up.”

“Don’t rush perfection, baby boy.” Wade pushes inside and both moan.

Peter immediately starts trying to fuck himself down onto Wade’s cock, Wade grabs his hips, pulling him and pushing him--rhythm the opposite of his thrusts so that he never truly pulls out of Peter.

“Fuck, Wade.” Peter grabs at Wade, blunt fingernails bite into the muscular flesh of Wade’s biceps.

Wade’s thrusts become a bit erratic--he’s going to come, Peter’s sure of it.

“Come on, Wade, gimme your cum, fill me up.” He bears down. One of Peter’s hands leaves Wade’s bicep, to wrap around his neglected cock, his strokes are lazy and slow, he wants to feel Wade’s cum, hot inside of him before he orgams.

One, two, three, five, six, seven, ten, eleven, twelve, on the thirteenth thrust, Wade pushes in deep--he’s coming. Peter can feel it, hot and wet inside of him. Wade moans out a mixture of Peter’s name and fuck.

Peter starts stroking faster, Wade stills for a moment before picking up speed again, fucking into Peter quick and hard.

“Ah, ah, Wade, ‘m gonna come, fuck.” Peter’s thumb swipes across the head of his cock, he squeezes lightly, the first spurt makes it all the way to his chest. When all is said and done his hand and lower belly are quite messy. Wade hasn’t stopped thrusting, though now the movements are very small, he takes Peter’s messy hand into his own and begins licking it clean. Once his hand is sufficiently cleaned off, Wade slowly slides out of Peter, then down onto the bed, licking Peter’s chest and belly clean. He moves lower, gentle little kitten licks on the head of Peter’s spent cock, then lower still to Peter’s aching, puffy, hole--he laps hungrily at his spunk as it leaks out of Peter. He eases his tongue inside, making sure to get it all. Peter trembles beneath him, moaning half pleasured, half pained.

Wade sits up, looks at Peter, licks his lips, “Love you, baby boy.”

“Love you too, Wade, now get naked, and cuddle me.” Peter is somewhat grateful the hospital gown Wade had purchased was one with just ties on the back, he slips out of it easily.

Wade climbs off the bed, nearly falling flat on his face, he drops the lab coat to the floor, pulls the scrub top over his head and tosses it, he pushes the scrub pants down his legs and steps out of them. He crosses the room and pulls open one of the dresser drawers and pulls out a fleece blanket, he grabs Peter’s pillow from the chair in the corner and goes back to the bed, he lays Peter’s pillow next to his own, he lays down and drapes the blanket over them both. Peter snuggles up to him laying his head on Wade’s chest and yawns.

“Aw, did I tucker you out, Webs?”

Peter laughs, and yawns again. “I think so, doctor.”

Wade laughs before kissing the top of Peter’s head. “Get some rest, baby boy. Doctor’s orders.”

He’s just starting to fall asleep when suddenly, “Oh, shit, Wade, did I pass my sports physical?”

"Sure, baby, you passed."

"Good, oh and next time, I get be the doctor." Peter laughs, sleepily.

Wanna send me a prompt? Check my pinned post for details.

One more thing if anyone can figure out where the safe word came from, I will love you forever 😂

And a word of warning, I know fuck all about medical stuff so like quite inaccurate on that front, though all the tools mentioned are real, I did a little research.

[stateofloveandnegan]

Get Well Soon - David Budd

I’m sooo not happy with the ending but if y’all would like a second part, I'm more than happy to write it! just let me know in the comments or in an ask :)

Requested by: no one

Warning(s): mention of an attack/injuries

Masterlist

“Good morning, David.” I say with a kind smile as I pass his desk. He looks up and smiles, letting out a quick, “Mornin’.” And going back to what he was doing.

I let out a soft sigh when I reach my own desk, which is two rows ahead of David’s. David and I have been colleagues for a while now. I’ve been trying to get to know him little by little, but I’ve been stuck for a long time.

Every morning I wish him a good morning. Every end of the day, I wish him a good night. I want to get to know him better, but I’ve failed in doing so yet. He’s a complicated one, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but I have no idea how to get to know him better. He’s got to be the one to open up at least a little if he wants the same thing.

“(Y/N), could you please come by my office later?” my boss speaks up beside my desk, breaking my little daydream about David. I blink my eyes a couple of times before nodding, “Yes, sir. Of course.”

David looks up for a moment when he hears me speak, but just as our eyes meet, he looks back down. I gather my thoughts and start doing my job, pushing David to the back of my mind.

Work goes pretty smoothly, but also very slowly. When I’m done with what I had to do, I stand up and make my way towards my boss’ office. Just as I’m about to knock on the door, it swings open and I’m met with David’s bright blue eyes.

“David.” I say, a little surprised. David, too, seems surprised. “(Y/N).” he nods at me and passes me without saying another word. I grunt softly, slightly annoyed by how David always acts around me; so damned professional.

“Ah, (Y/N), come in.” my boss smiles and beckons me to come into the room. I close the door behind me on my way in. “Take a seat, I’ve got some exciting news.”

Curiosity enters my body, and I quickly take a seat. “I’ve got a job for you, but it’s a little different from what you usually do. It’s out on the field. Do you think you’re ready for that?”

My eyes widen, I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. Going out on the field was something I wanted to do as soon as I started working here, but I wasn’t allowed to immediately do so.

The excitement almost causes me to lose my professionalism, but I quickly regain myself; “Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

My boss lets out a soft chuckle, noticing how excited I am, even though I’m trying to hide it. “Here are the papers of the job. You’ll be out on the field for the entirety of this and next week, (Y/N). All the information you need is in here,” he slides the papers towards me. “If you have any questions, you can contact me.”

I scan the papers and nod as my boss finishes speaking, “Yes, sir. Thank you for giving me this opportunity.”

“No need to thank me, (Y/N). This is your chance to prove yourself worthy. Now, you’re dismissed.”

All that’s on my mind is my upcoming field trip, I’ve read the papers a good couple of times and I’m excited, but also a little nervous. I gather my stuff at the end of my shift and make my way out of the building, not even wishing David a good night. I simply don’t think about doing it, because there’s something else, something big, on my mind.

David notices, though. And for some reason he feels slightly disappointed. He doesn’t know where this feeling comes from, he never really paid much attention to what I said to him. Not because he didn’t like me as a person, or as a colleague, but he was a private person. He didn’t feel the need to have more contact with his colleagues than necessary.

The next morning, my new job starts and it’s very exciting, but also scary at times. There’s been attacks on a certain group of people and it’s our job to protect the group, as well as find the attackers and turn them in.

As the days go by, we’ve come close to attacks on multiple occasions, but fortunately, every time we were on time to stop it. “Ma’am, how much longer do you think it’s going to-”

A loud bang takes over and before I can even think of doing something to protect my clients, I’m knocked out of the world. Everything turns black and all I can feel is myself hitting something, very hard. But what it is, I have absolutely no idea.

My eyes shoot open and pain courses through my entire body as I regain consciousness. “Wha- fuck. What happened?” I ask, distress written across my features.

A young man, seeming somewhere in his twenties, tries to calm me down, gently resting his hand on my shoulder so I can’t get up. “Easy, miss (L/N). You’re in the hospital, there was an attack on you and your people.”

Now, horror enters my face, but the young man is quick to calm me, “A few people got hurt, but nobody is severely injured. Out of everyone, you’re the worst.” He smiles weakly.

The young doctor informs me about my injuries: two broken ribs, a concussion, a broken wrist, and a sprained ankle. I let out a grunt of frustration, but when he tells me I am allowed to rest at home, because they’ve done everything they could do for me, I let out a sigh of relief; if I have to time off work to heal, I’d much rather to it at home than at the hospital.

A couple of hours later, with help of my best friend, who’s also my neighbour, I’m back home. She had to pick me up with a wheelchair, otherwise they wouldn’t let me leave. But everyone knows I’m stubborn, as soon as I was out of sight, I got out of that thing and started walking on my own. Which wasn’t very smart, because I then realised that walking with the injuries I have, does hurt quite a lot.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay here?” Anne asks, to which I let out a chuckle. The chuckle turns into quiet fit of coughing as my ribs are hurting and my throat is sore. “I’m sure, Anne. If I need you, you’re right beside me, remember?”

Anne smiles and heaves out a sigh, “Yeah, okay, you’re right… don’t hesitate to call me as soon as you need something. I’ll be off, then.”

“Bye, dearest. I’ll see you soon.”

The days go by and Richard starts to get worried. He immediately noticed it when I didn’t show up at work the day me field work started. He overheard some colleagues talking about the job and let out a relieved sigh to find out I was okay.

But, then, when he heard about the attack and that a police officer was taken to the hospital with multiple injuries, he became worried sick. He was very hesitant to do so, but after thinking about it for two days, he finally walked up to a colleague he knew to be a friend of mine, and asked if I was alright. “She’s at home recovering, it’ll take another month or two before she’s allowed back.”

David sighed, a frown on his face. He would never admit it, but he missed my greetings every day, he missed seeing my face at work. Working up the courage, he asked our colleague for my address, who simply raised his eyebrows in surprise, but wrote the address down, nonetheless. David sent him a small smile before going back to his own desk, trying to think of what he would do now that he had my address.

A couple of days later, as I’m preparing lunch for myself, the doorbell rings. I furrow my brows in confusion; nobody ever really visits unless I made plans with someone. I shrug lightly to myself and limp, a little, over to the door. When I open the door, surprise enters my face. “David?”

He swallows and smiles a little awkwardly, “Hi, I just wanted to give you this.” I look at what he’s holding. It’s a basket with some stuff in it, and it’s incredibly endearing that he did that for me. The basket contains a tiny teddy bear, a super soft duvet, a nice tea mug with some special flavoured teabags in it, and last but not least, a small box of ‘get well soon’ chocolates.

My heart flutters at the gesture of it all, and at how amazing it looks. “That’s… that’s really sweet of you, David. Thank you so much. Would you like to come inside for a moment?”

I take step back so David can come in. He thinks about it for a moment before nodding and walking past me inside the house. “It smells nice in here.” He speaks uncertainly.

“I was just making some lunch. Would you like some as well? I’ve got plenty.” I offer, not sure why, but it just feels right.

For the first time, I spot a small smile on David’s face as he places the basket on the coffee table. “That would be nice.”

I walk back to the kitchen and, rather clumsily, grab some dishes. When I turn around, pain shoots through my ankle and I’m already mentally preparing for a fall, but I never hit the ground. David’s arms are quickly wound around my body.

“Shit.” I mutter, my ankle hurting a lot. “Everything alright?” David asks gently and I groan softly, “It’s my ankle…”

“Let’s sit you down.” he instructs as he helps me, practically carries me, to a chair at the dining table. The pain in my ankle is so heavy that I don’t even have time to feel embarrassed about the situation. “Where can I find some ice?”

I look up at David and point at the freezer, “In the freezer.”

For some reason, even though Richard has always convinced himself he’s better off without his colleagues as friends, he can’t help the happy feeling inside him. It’s as if an empty spot is now filled with… me.

When David comes back to me, he has an icepack, wrapped in a towel, in his hands. He sits down on the chair beside mine and carefully lifts my foot up to rest on his lap. “Tell me if it hurts.” he speaks softly before putting the icepack on my ankle. I wince softly, but soon it only feels better.

It’s silent for a while and I curse myself under my breath for being so stubborn. It’s only now that the pain in my chest also stirs up; obviously I still have two broken ribs. Even though they weren’t badly broken, and they’d only needed a week to heal, it still hurts a shit ton.

When I look up, David is already looking at me. His eyes and all his other features are soft; it’s something I’ve never seen on his face. “I owe you an apology, (Y/N).” he says and my brows furrow in confusion, “What do you mean?”

David sighs, his hands still gently holding my foot and the icepack. “From the start, you’ve been really kind to me. Yet, all I’ve been to you is cold and uninterested. I’m sorry for being like that.”

My heart warms at his words; So he did pay attention to me. “I got worried when you stopped showing up at work, but when I heard about your field work, I wasn’t worried anymore. I was disappointed, though. At first, I couldn’t figure out why, but then I realised it was because you weren’t at the office anymore.”

I swallow lightly, beginning to get a little nervous. This man has so much effect on me, and he doesn’t even realise it. “That’s why, when I heard about the attack, I immediately went to Brian and asked for your address.” David thinks about what he said and scolds himself quietly, “That sounds really creepy, doesn’t it? I’m not a creep, I promise.”

I chuckle quietly and shake my head, a light tint of red covering my cheeks. “I know you’re not a creep, David.”

A smile settles on his face and he continues, “I wanted to make sure you knew that, in fact, I do care about you. Even though we barely know each other. It’s kinda weird, I can’t really explain this feeling.”

“That’s alright, Dave. Because I know exactly what you mean.” I admit, sending him a smile.

David sits up a little more before speaking his next words, as if to gain more confidence. “If you’d like, I can make you some dinner tonight? I don’t think it would be smart if you’d walk about and did a lot of stuff yourself.”

My smile widens and I nod, sitting up a little as well. “I’d really like that. But I wouldn’t like to be a bother to you, David.”

David shakes his head and chuckles, “You’re no bother, (Y/N).”

He gently puts my foot down, it’s already feeling much, much, better than before. Without having me asking him to do something for me, he finishes the lunch I made for myself. He turns around and I smile, pointing at the cupboard that holds the plates.

He grabs two plates and splits the food on them, making sure there’s more on one of the two plates, because he thinks I need more to gain some strength.

“It’s delicious, did you make this yourself?” he asks once we’re both eating. I blush lightly at his words and nod, “Yeah, it’s a recipe I found a little while ago.”

It’s really nice, having David here with me. I gave up on trying to get to know him a little while, so I never expected to be having lunch with him right now.  After lunch, David cleans up the entire kitchen for me, and to say I’m surprised by his actions, is a big understatement.

“I’m gonna go do the grocery shopping for dinner now. I can be back at six?” he says as he helps me get to the sofa. “Yeah, that sounds good. Is there anything I can do to prepare?”

David smiles and shakes his head, “No need. I’ve got it.”

“Thank you for stopping by, the basket alone would’ve been more than enough. I really appreciate what you’re doing, David.” I say sincerely. David smiles and shrugs, “I’m just happy I’m finally getting to know you. I wish I would’ve let myself do that sooner.”

I sit down and David grabs his jacket, “See you tonight, (Y/N).” he says with a soft smile, leaning down and planting a soft kiss on my forehead, which catches me very much off-guard.

When David realises what he just did, a blush enters his face, and he coughs softly, as if to pretend he didn’t just do that. It just felt so natural to do, he thinks to himself. “Bye, Dave.” I say, my voice a little more high pitched than before.

He looks at me with those god damn blue eyes and smiles, nodding before walking off, closing the door behind him.

‘Does he see tonight as a date?’ I wonder. Soon, exhaustion catches up on me. Pain can drain all the energy from you. But I bet that David had something to do with it as well. Thinking about David, and about having dinner with him tonight, I fall asleep with a smile on my face. Only to be woken up a couple of hours later, by the ringing of the bell.

When I open the door, I’m met with a very good-looking David. A smile rests on his face and he’s holding a bag with what I think are the ingredients for whatever he’s going to make. “Hey, there.”

[lixuagi]

The Cure for Death - chapter 3

MC makes a fool of herself. Again.

For a few seconds, time seems to have stopped. Nobody knows what to do. -..-Specifically you, 069. Throw the kid in the well. He doesn’t deserve more than the others.- the panic pervades the little boy again and, this time, Julian too. -I can’t do that, sir– -DO IT! Or you’re going to have to sacrifice yourself.- all of this is happening because of me. It’s all my fault. –Come on, No.069. Or maybe you don’t want to change the opinion that the “saviour” of Vesuvia has of you? Don’t think that I didn’t notice your intentions. Romantic instinct manifests itself so quickly in you beasts… it’s repulsive.- Valdemar’s grin is so wide that it almost reaches their cheekbones. -So? Nothing, no reaction? All right. Those who are silent agree, after all. You’re both going to be killed. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, as opposed to you cowards.- I’m paralyzed as I watch the Questor grab the little boy by the arm. I thought it was all a farce of theirs. They didn’t look so cruel when they made me wear my uniform. Now I wish I never put it on. My goal is to save people, and not just regarding medical matters. I have to do something. I move towards them before Julian can put his life at even greater risk. -No! Leave the boy alone, please! Let him go back to his family!- I throw myself at their feet, clutching a flap of their coat tightly. -Oh? And why should I do that?- they stop their pace, while the little one kicks and squirms, but this does not seem to loosen their grip at all. –It’s my fault, not theirs! I’m the one who needs to pay. Please.- the last words are a whisper choked with despair. Julian quickly approaches, ready to stop me: -MC, no!– -Wait, 069. She could offer me an interesting exchange.- interrupts the Quaestor. -Go on.- -You can do what you want of me. You can fire me, or… or kill me, if that’s what’s needed to save that child and Julian. Take my life, too. I could never forgive myself for being the cause of the death of an innocent.- not again… -… Very well.- they open their hand, releasing the hostage. What?! No! You are crossing the line!- Julian’s cries are totally ignored. Valdemar’s focus is solely on my person, as they ponder how I should pay. –Everybody, get back to your work. Immediately.- this order, after a few seconds of shock, is executed promptly. –No. 069, bring our dear patient to the exit.- -But what will you do with MC?- -Oh, you’re really interested in her. This interest is going to be the next thing I’m going to destroy if you keep showing it like that. Now go, and don’t irritate me any further.- Julian is tempted to, but eventually he obeys, coming to the conclusion that it is better  for everyone’s safety. I remain on my knees, covered by the long shadow of my superior. After a few seconds in which they relish my total resignation, they decide that they’re is full of it. -Get up. I’m not going to hurt you. I need you whole and alive.- I put my hands on the ground, giving me a weak push to get back on my feet. –What are you going to do to me?- -On your rest hours you will allow me to study you.- it seems a fairly innocuous request compared to their previous threats. I nod, without even trying to explain to them that magic is a phenomenon that cannot be studied scientifically. Depriving them of this option could lead to more stringent measures. –Now go to your office. Judging by the state you were in after treating another infected patient, you should be close to fainting by now. And that’s not convenient.- they stretch a hand towards me and I instinctively back off. They look at me like I’ve done something incomprehensible and they let a key dangle from their fingers. I relax my shoulders and take it, being careful to avoid any other contact. We both have gloves, but they don’t help me feel safer from them. I quickly walk through the clinic, and  slip into the room marked with my number, under dozens of astonished glances that I have carefully avoided. I close the door behind me and slump onto it, finally letting free the tears I held before. With one hand I rummage in my bag until I come into contact with the smooth surface of the amulet, which I promptly clench to my chest. I almost feel like I’m hearing Asra’s voice. “MC, inhale and exhale. Inhaaale. And exhale. That’s it, just like that.” But when I look around, there’s no one there. It’s just memories. Instead of my best friend, there’s a bare cot. I’m struggling, overwhelmed by exhaustion. The absence of windows makes me lose the perception of time, and soon my vision darkens completely as I sink into sleep.

.

My dreams are confused, a mixture of blurred images and mingled voices. Slowly, I focus. I’m at an elegant dance, in a salon lit by crystal chandeliers and decorated with golden festoons. The music is distorted, slowed down, but around me the participants in their glitzy outfits don’t seem to notice. I, too, dance with them, dragged by an invisible force. Suddenly everything stops. The flames of the candles perish, and only the costumes and masks remain, slumped to the ground. The cold penetrates my bones. Something else pushes me. My eyes meet the empty ones of an animal skull, partly covered by a funeral ashy veil. The figure terrifies me more than it should as I start to shout, but from my lips no sound comes out. I can’t control my body or my will, as the gloomy mask gets smaller and smaller. It’s not it who’s walking away, it’s me, I notice as my back slams into a marble pillar. I can’t get away from it, I’m forced to stick to it, held still by invisible arms. I was sure that I was wearing a dress, but I feel a tickle on the nude of my ankles. Forcing me to lower my head is almost impossible, but I manage to succeed. A beetle is climbing my calf. It’s ruby-colored, it shines with it, as if it were filled with blood. It stops its march on my thigh, then sinks its little tusks in it. I let out a cry of pain, it hurts much more than I expected, the bite burns a lot and I feel the poison that the creature injected me propagate all over my leg. There comes another sting, this time on my hand. The exoskeletons that climb on my skin instantly become a myriad, and each of them wants its portion. A particularly painful wound tarnishes my view of vermillion.

.

I wake up and immediately snap to my seat, sweating and panting. I put my hands all over my body in search of any insect, the nightmare seemed so real that I could swear it really was. Fortunately, there is no trace of the creatures. I look for a clock, I could have either slept ten minutes or ten hours, but as I peer every corner of my dark room I notice a figure sitting at the foot of my bed. -Ah!- I jolt backwards, slamming my back against the wall. -Don’t worry No. 100, it’s me.- the more I blink, the more I focus on the Quaestor. Even if I was blind, the slightly hoarse and gloomy voice is impossible not to recognize. -For all the Arcana, Valdemar!-  I hug my knees to my chest, like I was trying to cover myself. Then I remember I never undressed and I try to assume a vaguely relaxed pose. -Why, yes, it’s me. I heard a noise from your room and suspecting that you and No. 069 had decided to secretly meet, I decided to come in.- I blush. Then why are they sitting on my bed? -Then I felt something was disturbing your sleep and I decided to try and watch you. It might be a feature that peoplewith your power share.- I’m shocked, I hope that they didn’t really read my mind to answer me. In doubt, I shout “I find you very sexy, Quaestor!” in my head, in an attempt to cause some kind of reaction. But that doesn’t happen and I feel incredibly stupid. I notice that they have a notebook in their hands where they have already taken, like any good doctor, unreadable notes. -Speaking of Julian, I mean… 069. It’s not what you think…- I mumble, while my cheeks are already starting to redden. Valdemar tilts their head in their strange mechanical manner, puzzled. Hmm? Could you explain yourself better, young nurse?- -I mean…- I keep my eyes down, torturing my fingers. I don’t care about him that way. We just met. I just liked talking to someone. I find it… reassuring.- Maybe opening me up a little bit more might soften them. And most of all, I don’t want Julian to be penalized because of me again. -Oh, you young people and your strange rituals. If that’s the case, are you implying that you don’t find me reassuring?- their thin lips stretch into a smile that’s not  friendly at all. I know the game they’re playing. Come on, MC, try to find something… nice in them. I scrutinize them carefully, unconsciously approaching my face to theirs, an action to which they do not react. As green as they are, they have a smooth skin. And their face is perfectly symmetrical. No, no. That’s not reassuring. Red irises, sharp teeth. Damn, everything about them screams “danger”! However, their face is so different from the norm that it is harmonious. If I were a demon, and I had a specific standard of beauty, I think the Quaestor would reflect it. -So?- they insist, by now my answer is making too much of a wait. Quick, say something that might be a good enough answer! I think my brain short-circuited, because the first thing I spit is, -It’s not like that, you’re very pretty.- and with that, I dug my own pit. As soon as I realize what I said, I cover my face with my hands, stammering apologies to profusion: -Sorry, I did not mean to…! I mean… I… ah! – they grab my wrists, carrying my arms on my lap. -This reaction is nothing short of interesting, let me observe it.- and this said, they proceed to embarrass me even more by approaching dangerously. The bastard is perfectly aware of their actions. -I’ve seen a lot of people in my life. Yet… farce or not, you retain a strange purity. Like a body immersed in formaldehyde, the years pass but…- they squint, occasionally batting the long eyelashes. -I have to admit, it’s a strange compliment…- I mutter turning my face, unable to sustain that penetrating gaze. When they decide they have put me in awe enough, they reassemble themselves, straightening their back and carrying their hands behind them. -Do you often speak in your sleep?- they ask, their head perpetually tilted. -No, as far as I know.- even if morally the Quaestor and I are polarly opposed, I trust their medical knowledge. Maybe one day they could, with some strange serum, make my energy infinite or share my power with others. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone with my same abilities next to me. Thinking about it, that question evokes something, it is undoubtedly a déjà-vu. Yes, I remember now. Shortly after the “accident” nightmares tormented me incessantly, sometimes even as a wake-up call. I was screaming in the middle of the night. I was repeating “sorry, I’m sorry” looped. Asra was always very scared and worried too much. I rub my forearm, I don’t have anyone here to take such care of me. Not that I need it, but I find certain attentions essential. A human cannot live without love. Maybe Valdemar isn’t human, that would explain their bizarre appearance and macabre behavior. -Now that I think about it, it happens to me in times of great stress.- -I wouldn’t have done that,- the doctor tells me, voice as flat as a summer lake. -What?- -I would never have been so reckless as to kill a healthy person and an employee of mine who is just as much healthy. That would have been just another futile and instinctive action.- astonished, I elaborate their words. That’s a nice reassurance. They may be sadistic, but they certainly wouldn’t do something counterproductive. -At most I would have dissected the child later to see what mutations your magic had caused to his organs.- I burst into laughter, taking it as a joke. -What’s wrong with you?- oh yes, stress is making me laugh more than I should. When I can calm down, my eyes are shiny. -You know, you have a special sense of humor, but I think the more I’m going to stay here, the more I’m going to understand it!- I smile, relieved. They would like to tell me that they were not joking at all, but for some reason, maybe even unknown to them, they do not. -Your emotions vary very quickly.- and with this they pin something on the notebook. I let the smile hover over my lips for a while longer. –No.100, I’d like you to answer a few questions now.- I barely stiffen up, immediately going back to feeling only a figure in a sea of death. An experiment, a freak show. I can’t ask them to call me by name, how could I phrase that? It wouldn’t be professional. -I noticed that your stress level increases very easily. It’s no good. For accurate answers we will simulate a relaxing situation. For example, I’ll call you by name.- what? No, that’s not possible. “Doctor, I find you very, very sexy, please examine me from head to toe.” No reaction. Either we’re extremely in tune and I’m not realizing it, or they’re very good at hiding the fact that they are a mind-reader. Yet my attempts to frame them have no effect! Let’s try something else… “Say that I can stop calling you Quaestor and that… I can call you Val.” The doctor’s face rises from the notebook to address me directly. -It should be optimal, like this. Maybe omit formal terms like “Quaestor”, but never do that in a work environment. Only during the study.- they didn’t say anything like, “Oh, call me Val,” though, so I’m probably making it up, I  have to be. -All right, doctor.- -Hm… still too rigid. Just Valdemar. I repeat, it’s just a simulation—and with that I’m standing up. I’ve had enough, this is the ultimate proof! -Oh, my God! You, I mean, you’ve heard everything!- -Are you delirious, MC?- -You heard that I think you’re… – I shut up, the confusion on the doctor’s face would be hilarious in another context. -I don’t understand.- -Stop pretending, damn it! I’ve been thinking about things and you’ve said them out loud!- -I call those coincidences.- they scrutinize me like I’m a psychopath. -It’s happened too many times for them to be coincidences!- -Either you’re predictable or maybe, and it’s just a theory, I’ve spent so much time studying behavior that even the desires and thoughts of others are not a mystery to me?- -… oh.- I slowly sit down. I still can’t believe it. I managed to make a fool of myself again. Who knows what opinion they have of me, after all my anomalous attitudes today. -Pure curiosity, what have you thought of me before, MC?- I do not know if it makes me blush more the question itself or hear my name uttered so melodically by such a contradictory and authoritarian figure. -Oh, I. Nothing… I really like your headgear.- -Excessive compliments are indicative of lying, and you’re a bad liar.- they aren’t wrong. I hope they don’t press more on the subject. -… going forward with the analysis. Have you ever suffered from particular pathologies…- I squint, focusing on him. I only have to try one last time. Think of something that would upset anyone, that would generate an emotion in any mind-reader, think, think…

“BOO!” … no reaction. On one hand I am relieved, on the other I am now sure that I’m a very stupid person.