#this went off on a bit of a tangent i hope it's still okay anon !! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

isagisyoichi · 3 years

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PINKY STAR (RUN) :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆

SYNOPSIS: isagi as your boyfriend

CHARACTERS INCLUDED: isagi yoichi my boyfriend of many several years

WARNINGS: swearing? i think idk i forget also yah pretend they all go to the same school and stuff. also horribly self indulgent if u couldn't already tell

A/N: if you remember my old one delete it from your memory it was literally so bad help anyways the re-up because my boyfriend deserves better. also i really like this one and i feel like it’s more in character for him :P lol i've had this in my drafts for like, ever <3 but also my last post for a while because i have ap exams and my sat soon :P

FOR: the anon that asked me where my original isagi bf hcs went :’)

after the initial awkwardness of being in a new relationship fades and you two become comfortable with each other, a relationship with isagi would be like dating your slightly awkward best friend who you make out with sometimes.

like, i don’t really see isagi being high maintenance, so i feel like a relationship with him would definitely be on the relaxed side, but still romantic, you know?

isagi’s inner monologue is so funny and he definitely lets his thoughts out to you. it makes you laugh to see your usually friendly-to-all boyfriend have his moments, too.

you guys are one of those couples that give each other a look when someone’s doing something weird in public #telepathicconnection <3

but, isagi’s really such a sweetie with you. i know user isagisyoichi may be slightly biased when they say this, but believe me when i say that isagi’s 100% boyfriend material.

walks you to class whenever he can. always either holding your hand as he listens attentively to you complaining about school.

writes down things he feels are important about you in a digital note entitled “y/n 💗,” so he can remember them in the future.

isagi's used to talking to all kinds of people, so even if you're not the most talkative, he can adjust with no problem.

and he’ll always entertain you about whatever stupid conversation you wanna have.

kinda basic with pet names. babe, baby, dork (he would, i don’t wanna hear it), are his usual rotation.

randomly compliments you/says these really romantic things out of nowhere because he can’t control himself and often blurts things out.

“yeah, of course, when we get married, i’ll-”

“when we get married?” you inquire as you cut isagi off. you two have never discussed marriage, just but the thought of isagi wanting to spend the rest of his life with you is enough to make your head spin.

isagi’s eyes go wide when he realizes what he’s said. damn his mouth that moves faster than his mind.

swallowing hard and taking a breath, isagi says, “y-yeah, when we get married,” further affirming his statement with a nod, albeit a bit of a nervous one.

now both of you guys are flustered LOL.

likes to sit his head in your lap and have you play with his hair, while you two talk or just sit in silence.

such a good listener, perfect person to rant about anything with. he’s very understanding, he’ll hold you if you need him to, wipe your tears if you’re crying, give you advice if you need it, just overall so sweet.

also always knows when you're sad because of his intuition. isagi encourages you to open up to him, but ultimately doesn’t force you, just lets you know that he’s always there for you <3

(that's kind of lie because isagi does pry a little LOL, but he means well)

takes care of you! nags you a little, tries his best to make sure you're not doing anything stupid, and if you are, that someone responsible (him) is watching you, looks after you when you’re sick, etc.

gives you his jacket when you’re cold (he’s been waiting to do that his whole life bro LMAOO), carries your things, always texts you good morning and good night, just overall sooo good to you.

but as soft as he is for you, isagi does have this tendency to get these random spouts of confidence, so sometimes he’ll say or do something really bold out of nowhere.

like, he’ll suddenly grab your waist and pull you closer to him, or he’ll kiss you out of the blue. the flustered expression that rests on your face for a change always makes him smirk *heart eyes*

in general, though, isagi's still kind of awkward sometimes regardless and does say or do things that make you go "???" and make him be like "why did i do that" LOL he's so cute though <333

he’s pretty basic with dates, usually opts for things like restaurants, walks in the parks, movie nights, or stuff like that, but they’re still really fun!

but, if you ever want to do something out of the norm, he wouldn't be opposed to it, either. but, you do have to tell him ‘cause he's not a mind reader lol.

(okay but, one time, isagi tried to watch a scary movie with you because he wanted to do that thing where he wraps his arm around you during the scary parts, but HE ended up being scared instead 😭)

isagi’s the type to put your name with a heart emoji or the date you guys started dating in his instagram bio LOL

y/n 💓 IHS Forward #10 ⚽️ *insert some soccer quote about grinding*

it’s a bit middle school, but you let it slide because you know he just wants to show you off <3

study sessions are normal between you two but, you guys always get bored or distracted halfway through and start watching youtube or something LOL.

it’s canon he’s a thigh man lol, so if he ever sees you wearing an oversized shirt, especially one of his, with shorts, isagi will literally short circuit in real life.

he keeps his hand on your thigh when you guys cuddle that day, tracing patterns on your skin, or just squeezing it every now and then.

in general, though, isagi likes poking at and playing with them whenever they're out <3

once, isagi wanted you to do that trend on tiktok where he sits between your thighs and stuff, but he had no idea how to bring it up LOL

so, isagi just watched tiktoks of it in front of you and hoped eventually you would get the hint 🙄

and you did, thanks to his incredible lack of subtly. he doesn’t even care when you giggle and tell him how bad he is at being slick, isagi got your thighs around him, he won!!!!!!

takes a picture (or two or three) to savor the moment.

(even though he could literally just ask you to do it again in the future, but whatever, i guess)

when you’re dating isagi, the team comes with him too LOL

they’re always snapchatting you pictures of isagi when they’re hanging out without you, with stupid captions like, “look how sad your boyfriend is without you 😞”

isagi’s not even sad in the picture, he’s just confused as to why they’re shoving a camera in his face 😭

isagi one hundred percent attempts to get you to run the mile with him during gym if you don’t already.

“babe, just try!” isagi pants, as he catches up to you and your friends, as you guys are still on your second lap.

admittedly, the effort is cute, but beloved, i hate to break it to you- i will not be doing anything of the sort.

he will sit down or walk around with you after you finish the mile, though. if he’s not already playing soccer lollll.

when he does choose to go with you, expect exclamations from the team about how isagi “abandoned us for his little relationship” 👎

isagi’s receiving love language is words of affirmation (also basically canon LOL) so, he really values the compliments you give him with his whole heart.

you could tell him how his hair looks nice in the morning, and isagi will think about it all day.

whether it be about how cute he is, or how talented of a player he is, isagi really is happiest when you praise him <3

speaking of soccer, isagi has this tendency to get lost in the moment and talk your head off about some soccer related tangent that probably makes no sense to you.

his eyes light up and his voice is just oozing with passion for what he does as he goes into detail about how he made this crazy goal at practice while you stare at him with the biggest heart eyes ever, adoring his dedication.

and of course when isagi realizes he was rambling, he apologizes profusely for “boring” you, like the gentleman he is.

but when you reassure him that he could never bore you and that you want nothing more than for him to go on, isagi begins to feels lightheaded due to his adoration for you <3

if you're the type to go all out when it supporting isagi at soccer- like make one of those corny signs, yell from the crowd, wear his spare jersey to games, isagi will physically have to withhold his heart from jumping out his chest.

he's a little embarrassed that you're doing all that for him, but the effort means soooo much to him.

and speaking of soccer, it would mean a lot to isagi if you not only supported him at games and stuff, but expressed an interest in learning more about soccer as a whole, too.

you know, learn a little more about the game on your own accord, ask him to teach you how to properly play, or even challenge him to a one on one, do stuff like that, and he’ll literally be head over heels for you. well, more than he already is.

(he always goes easy on you on your guys 1v1's and he thinks your efforts are adorable, no matter how much you may or may not suck)

he'd repay the effort and try to get interested in whatever your hobbies are!

also, you can get him to do almost anything if you pout and beg hard enough, you’re literally so hard to say no to in isagi’s eyes <3

isagi’s the type to not realize when other people are flirting with him LOL

he just thinks they’re being nice (unless they’re being straight up) and i don’t think he would really process it because he’s so focused on you romantically, if that makes sense.

once he realizes you’re jealous, isagi apologizes earnestly, reassuring you over and over again that you're everything he could ask for and that he would never intentionally try to hurt you and all that jazz.

although, i will admit, sometimes isagi’s kinda smug when you're jealous, especially when it’s over a dumb reason 👎

however, when he’s jealous i feel like it could go one of two ways-

on normal days, isagi would just stand there to “intimidate” the other person, maybe cough a little for emphasis until they go away lol.

but on days where he’s already mad/filled with adrenaline/or someone’s really not taking a hint and you’re visibly uncomfortable- oh boy, it’s like a switch flips in him.

has those same fiery eyes he has during the climax of a game. the energy he’s exuding is dead serious, and that alone is enough for the person bothering you to go away. not bad for a man that’s only 5’8 🥰

adding on, isagi doesn’t take any shit about you, ever. even if it’s from his friends. usually isagi’s very neutral and doesn’t actively try to start conflict, but there are some things he’ll always defend and you’re one of them.

isagi always listens/watches/reads/etc whatever you recommend him (on that note, please recommend him good anime because isagi’s out here willingly telling people his favorite anime is darling in the franxx), even if he doesn’t necessarily like it LOL

you could show isagi objectively, the worst song ever and he would be like “yeah, it was good babe!” (it was not)

also does the same thing when you bring him shopping with you, like he's absolutely NO HELP 😭

you could try on the ugliest sweater known to man and he’d like “you look nice 🙂” pls be honest isagi, you can say it’s hideous!!!!!!

but isagi’s also being somewhat truthful in his statement because he does genuinely think you look nice in everything <3

also loves when you wear his clothes- always feels a mixture between pride and slight shyness?

kinda lol idk but overall, isagi really is sooo happy you wanna show him off that much, especially when you're wearing something of his around his friends :')

he says “i love you” first, no doubt.

he’s a bit nervous when he does because he doesn’t know if you’ll reciprocate, but he really does love you and he feels like he physically can’t hold it in anymore.

“i promise you don’t have to say it back!” isagi reassures anxiously. “i know it’s a really big commitment, and if it’s too early for you right now-”

“i love you, too.”

#queued #blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock headcanons #bllk headcanons #isagi yoichi #isagi #isagi blue lock #isagi x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi headcanons #isagi fluff #isagi imagine

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homoose · 4 years

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Through the Smoke

Request: could you do spencer x bau reader where they aren't dating yet but they both feel for each other? where both spencer and reader are very closed off people and the whole team knows that. but after one rough case on the flight back, they're both just exhausted mentally and physically and seek comfort in each other. then spend the night at reader's apartment and kiss for the first time there. sorry if this is specific but thank you (:

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst with a happy ending

Warnings/Includes: typical CM stuff, cults, kidnapping, violence, etc.

Word count: 8.1k

Music recs: Through the Fire by Jake Etheridge and Margot Todd; scared by Jeremy Zucker

a/n: anon, I have no idea if this is what you were looking for, but this is where it went. It’s a generous rewrite of 300, substituting the reader for Garcia. Also this blog operates with the understanding that the season 14 jeid arc does not exist lmao. JJ is firmly in the “I love you as a brother” camp and I will not be taking questions at this time. Also, this is a reminder that my requests are open! send me some fresh ideas, head cannons, rambles, whatever!

———

“Metro PD and the Bureau have been made aware of the Believers and possible activity following their leader’s arrest,” Prentiss confirmed, looking out over the team mingling in the bullpen. “But taking Theo at his word—”

“We only arrested three. There’s probably more out there, but if they follow cult dynamics, they’ll break down on their own without the messiah,” Matt finished.

“Typical cults: you think it’s a cast of thousands when really it’s just four whackos sitting around in the dark,” Tara mused.

Prentiss smiled. “I think we deserve some decompression time, and Rossi’s kind enough to host.”

Rossi leaned over the railing and nodded. “And I have some top shelf wine picked just for the occasion.”

The team started gathering their belongings and heading towards the elevators. Y/N hesitated, looking toward the case file still sitting on her desk. Something about how this had all wrapped up just… didn’t sit right. Her nearly five years with the Critical Incident Response Group had given her an up close view of some of the most prolific cults in American history. She’d studied Jonestown, Waco, Ruby Ridge, Liberty Ranch; new cults emerged onto CIRG’s radar regularly. And there was something about The Believers that just didn’t add up.

Y/N began shuffling things around on her desk, trying to look busy. She caught Spencer and JJ out of the corner of her eye, talking quietly. They ended their conversation with a hug, lingering just a little longer than Y/N would have preferred. She shook her head to try to physically clear the thought from her brain. She knew that Spencer had been through a lifetime’s worth of trauma before she joined the team, and that JJ had been an integral support for him. Y/N was also aware that she had zero grounds to be concerned with any of Spencer’s relationships, romantic or otherwise.

“Y/N, you coming?” JJ asked, walking toward her desk. Spencer headed out of the bullpen and down the hall.

Y/N gave her a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a little bit. Just wanted to finish up a couple things here.”

“Well, don’t stay too late.” JJ pressed her lips together for a moment before adding, “Maybe you and Spence could drive together. He said he might not make it, but if he had some company...”

Y/N hoped her immediate flush wasn’t too obvious. After nearly a year in the unit, she finally felt like she had built some solid relationships with the team, and Spencer was no exception. She relished their card games on the jet, the laughs over too-sweet coffee, discussions about books and films and music. But she also adored the way his hair sometimes curled and fell into his eyes, his animated and rambling tangents, the way his hands traced over the tiny print of his books. Most of her adult life had been spent surrounded by men who would gather up her trust in their pitted hands and crush it on a whim. She’d kept her heart behind glass for a long while, but Spencer was slowly chipping away at the fragile panels. She was certain he had no idea that he was even holding the chisel; but just about everyone else seemed to have figured it out. JJ, with her hands clasped together and an eager smile, definitely had. Y/N smiled, too. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“So we’ll see you in a bit?” When Y/N nodded, JJ gave her a warm smile and headed out.

Turning back to the case file, Y/N pressed her fingers to her temple and looked over the documents. Some of the pieces fit together, but the whole case felt littered with gaps and holes. The tale that Theo had woven about The Believers seemed true enough— his parents were simply the suppliers of potential cult members. Although, she still couldn’t figure out the reason for the kidnapping and torture. There were much easier ways to recruit vulnerable people.

She flipped past the pages of written statements and read over the report from the warehouse raid. It was short— the take down of Merva was too easy. Why was he sitting alone in an empty warehouse with only two unarmed, sleeping followers as a defense? Where was the rest of the cult? Matt was correct that most cults fall apart without their leader; unless the loss of a leader was a possibility they’d already prepared for.

The burns on Quinn’s hands didn’t make sense, either. Why use the initiation ritual as a torture device? Shouldn’t that be saved for people who had accepted the invitation? And then there was the one coincidence that nagged at her the most: what were the chances that Theo just happened to be enrolled in Spencer's course? Why did Spencer seem to be at the center of the whole thing?

Y/N sighed as her phone lit up with a message from JJ. She realized she’d been poring over the file for twenty-five minutes, and she had to laugh. As the least experienced profiler on the team, what could she possibly see that the others hadn’t? She closed the case file and quickly packed up, grabbing her jacket and bag and making her way toward the elevator lobby. She paused at the glass doors, retrieving her phone and pulling up Spencer’s contact information. Her thumb hovered over the call button for a long moment before she huffed out a breath. If even JJ hadn’t been able to convince him to go, there was no way she’d be able to change his mind. Despite herself, she glanced down the hall, allowing herself one moment to imagine an alternate timeline where she asked him to come along with her— to Rossi’s, to the moon, anywhere.

With a sigh, Y/N pushed open the glass doors and saw Agent Meadows leading Quinn to the elevator. She pushed down the little red flag in the back of her mind. As she stepped onto the elevator, she smiled politely at the two agents.

“I knew you didn’t do it. I just knew,” Meadows said to Quinn. She turned to Y/N. “And I can’t tell you what a privilege it’s been working with the A-Team on this case.”

Something about the calm in her voice made Y/N uneasy. “Yeah, it’s— um. It’s a great team to be a part of.” Her phone lit up again, this time with a phone call from JJ. “Okay, okay,” she muttered under her breath. Y/N answered the call, half an ear still listening to Meadows speak to Quinn. “Hey, I’m just leaving now.”

“Are you still at the BAU?” JJ demanded, voice low.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. But I’m in the elevator,” Y/N answered.

“Listen, we’re pretty sure Quinn was converted,” JJ told her. Y/N’s heart dropped into her shoes. “I need you to make sure he doesn’t leave that building. We’re coming back now. Where’s Spence?”

Y/N took a breath to try to even out her voice before speaking again. “Mom, we already talked about this. I don’t know.”

JJ paused. “Is Quinn in the elevator with you?”

“Yep.” JJ spoke quietly to someone on the other end of the phone. Y/N watched as the elevator dinged to the floor of the parking garage. “I’m going to have to hang up, mom. I’m gonna lose you, but I’ll try to take care of it tonight, okay?”

“Y/N, we’re on our—” The call dropped as the elevator hit the basement level.

Y/N took a deep breath to steady her voice. “Ugh, lost her.” She glanced at Meadows and Quinn, forced a smile and shrugged. “Elevators, right?”

The elevator doors began to open and Y/N stepped out, surreptitiously reaching for her holster. She had just lifted the strap when she heard the crack of metal hitting bone. Her face hit the concrete before she realized it was her own skull that bore the impact. She watched as her gun skidded across the parking lot floor, the taste of iron flooding her mouth. “Fuck,” she muttered, wincing in pain and scrambling up off the ground as a gunshot went off.

She didn’t feel the impact of the bullet. She looked down at her body, expecting to see a blooming rose of blood. She stared dumbly for a second too long, before remembering that she needed to get to her gun. Her hand instinctively went to her nose as she stumbled forward, coming away wet with blood.

“Stop, Agent Y/L/N.”

She heard the sound of a gun cocking, and then another. She closed her eyes and ran through an internal stream of curses. Raising her hands up, she turned slowly around. An older white man stood to her left, his gun trained on her. Meadows walked slowly towards her, lowering her own weapon. Quinn leaned against the back of the elevator, clutching his abdomen and blood staining the front of his shirt.

“Surprise,” Meadows sang, a sick smile spreading across her face. She stopped in front of Y/N, sweeping her hand in the direction of the man. “Now, John’s going to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. Get in the car.”

Y/N glanced in the direction of the vehicle, a dark sedan, driver armed to the teeth as well. “The team knows something’s up. You won’t make it out of this garage alive.”

Meadows laughed, loud and unhinged. “Oh honey. They’re not looking for lil ol’ me. And they sure as hell won’t be looking for an ambulance.” Her smile returned. “Plus, I already erased 299 murders from the Bureau’s radar. What’s a couple more? Now, shut up... and get in the car.”

Y/N moved to the open car door, keeping her back as straight as possible and her chin up, refusing to show them any cowardice. The barrel of the gun jabbed her in the back as she lowered herself into the vehicle. The door slammed shut, and in a moment, the gun was back on her, the man sitting next to her in the backseat. Y/N waited for the car to pull out, still trying to make sense of it all. Meadows was a Believer? What did she mean by “erased” 299 murders? Why would she blow her cover to shoot Quinn? Did she think that he had figured her out? Or that Y/N had? If that was the case, why not just shoot her? Why wasn’t the car moving?

“Drop your gun, Agent Reid,” Meadows’ muffled voice penetrated the inside of the vehicle. Y/N’s heart began to race. John dug the gun further into her side.

“It’s been you the whole time,” Spencer deduced.

“Yes, it was. Quinn somehow figured it out first. Pity having to shoot him,” Meadows mocked. “But he can’t give me what I want. And you can.”

“What’s that?” Y/N’s brain scrambled to put the pieces together as she listened to the exchange. Spencer was at the heart of it after all. It was right there, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Meadows continued, “You and I are going to go upstairs and free my Messiah.”

“You’re in the heart of the FBI. As soon as the rest of my team figures out it’s you, you’ll be dead before you’re out the door.” Y/N hoped to god that he was right.

“Then we need to work quickly.”

“I’m not going to cooperate with you,” Spencer told her. “Might as well shoot me.” Y/N didn’t even have time to panic before the car shifted into drive.

“I have a better idea.” On Meadows’ cue, the driver squealed out of the parking space and into Spencer’s line of sight. His eyes fell on Y/N, hands nearly pressed against the window, John’s gun pointed at her head. “Now, what’s it gonna be? Because you can either join us, or she dies.”

Y/N tried to radiate her rage through her eyes and screamed, “Reid, just shoot her! Shoot her!” The last thing she saw before the second crack of steel against her skull was the hesitation in Spencer’s eyes.

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and she groaned at the pounding of her head, the rhythm of her heartbeat throbbing in the space behind her ears. She tried to lift her hand to check for blood, only to strain against the hold of a zip tie attached to the base of the chair. Instead, she surveyed the room around her. A warehouse, lots of shipping containers, and even more men— this time armed with assault rifles and machine guns. One stood at the entrance point of the small area she was being kept in.

She worked through her memory, putting the pieces together. Meadows was a Believer, had been for quite some time to pull all of this off. Quinn wasn’t special, he just got in the way of her real target. Ben Merva might have been the messiah, but Spencer Reid was clearly just as important to whatever mission they were carrying out. Every twisting thread of information somehow traced back to him: Theo in his class, Quinn’s attachment to him, Meadows’ demand that he be the one to free Merva.

“Good, you’re awake.” Meadows strode through the space with a laptop in hand. “I need your handiwork.”

Y/N stared at her. “Is that so?’

Meadows set the laptop on the barrel in front of Y/N and then leaned down to cut the zip tie. “Besides being my collateral for the good doctor, you’re also going to help me access CIRG’s surveillance data.”

“Fuck you.” Y/N spat on Meadows’ shoes. “I’m doing nothing for you.” Her head rolled back, eyes piercing daggers into Meadows. “You should just kill me now, because this is a waste of your time. And I’m sure you know the A-Team isn’t going to waste theirs.”

Meadows narrowed her eyes and gave a theatrical sigh. “I should’ve known you’d make this difficult.” She nodded to John, standing at the entranceway.

Y/N spat again, this time to rid her mouth of the taste of blood. She steeled herself for the next onslaught, compartmentalizing every emotion outside of her fury. Her mind raced to salvage and scrutinize the memories from her time in CIRG, trying desperately to identify what Meadows could be looking for in the surveillance reports. The Believers hadn’t even been on the Bureau’s radar. The reason had to be linked to their interest in Spencer… a piece of information that involved both Spencer Reid and the existing surveillance data. A single grain that could bring the whole damn bushel down.

She heard a scuffle at the entrance of the room and raised her head. Her heart jumped into her throat at the sight of Spencer, bloodied and bruised. John dragged him into the room, throwing him down onto his knees in front of Y/N. His eyes tracked over her face and clouded over with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

“Shit, Reid—”

“I’m fine—I’m sure it looks worse than it is,” he murmured. The concern in his eyes told Y/N she looked about as bad as she felt. “Are you all right?”

“I should’ve seen it. I should’ve known—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted. “This isn’t your fault. We all missed it.”

“What’s the end game here?” Y/N asked. “What’re they doing?”

“I’m going to be their last victim.” Spencer shook his head, barely able to keep himself upright. “I don’t know why, but I overheard them. There have been hundreds.”

Meadows stepped up behind Spencer, grinning at Y/N. “Have you changed your mind? I sure hope you have.” She raised her gun to his head. “Because if you don’t do what I want, I’ll blow his big, beautiful brains out.”

Spencer locked eyes with Y/N. She held his gaze for a moment, then tilted her head slightly as the gears started turning. The tie between Spencer and Benjamin was where it all unraveled. “No, I don’t think you will.”

Meadows’ grin faltered for less than a second, but it was long enough that Y/N knew she was right. “Is that right?” Meadows questioned.

“Yeah, it is.” She furrowed her brow, and Spencer looked at her. “You need him, don’t you? Alive.” Meadows’ tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Y/N was sure. “Because this isn’t just about Benjamin Merva. It’s about Benjamin Cyrus. It’s about Liberty Ranch.”

Meadows held her gaze for five seconds, then ten seconds. Y/N raised her chin, refusing to be the one to blink first. Meadows shifted the trajectory of her gun a foot to her right and fired off one shot. The breeze from the bullet shifted Y/N’s hair.

“You have two minutes to decide,” Meadows advised. The phone in her hand began ringing. “The next one won’t miss.” She answered the phone and stepped out.

Spencer spoke quickly. “Do whatever she’s asking. We have to get you out of here.”

“Reid, are your eyes broken?” Y/N snapped. “There’s a cult loyalist with a machine gun every five feet. You got a plan for that?”

“Listen to me.” His voice was calm, determined. “You’re right about them wanting me alive.”

The frustration bled through Y/N’s voice. “You should have just shot her.”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that.”

“You could’ve shot all three of them and ended this in the garage,” Y/N argued.

“And then I would have watched you die,” he said quietly. “That was never even an option.”

“I’m failing to see how that would have been any worse than this. Look at us.” She gestured wildly between them. She watched as the storm of emotion returned, a cyclone swirling in seas of gold and brown. “The team needs you. Spencer, I—” I need you. She reached a hand up, almost touching his face before dropping it back in her lap. He had found the chink in her carefully constructed armor; a fissure he’d fractured a little further with every smile, every look, every moment. All at once she knew she’d never be able to keep him out, no matter how much it might hurt.

“You’ve got one minute,” Meadows barked, hovering over them.

“Y/L/N, listen to me… Please...” Spencer’s voice was thick with tears. “Tell my mom—” The phone rang again, and Meadows stepped away to answer it. Spencer dropped to a whisper. His eyes flashed with urgency. “They’re taking me and Theo. We’ll distract them. The car we were in is right outside the door. We’re 18 minutes from Quantico. Turn left outside the parking lot, take a right at the light, you’ll recognize the rest. They stay off the highways.”

Y/N’s voice was frantic when she asked, “What about you?”

His eyes pleaded with her to respect what he was asking her to do. “I’ll delay them. Get the rest of the team back here. And do not worry about me.” John hauled up him off the floor.

“Time’s up.” Meadows, in a rare display of mercy, allowed them a hug.

Spencer leaned into her and Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She squeezed as hard as she could and whispered his name. She felt him take a deep breath into her hair, holding it for one impossibly long moment. Just before she released her hold on him, he mumbled, “It’s all happening. 10:23.” John dragged him back out the way they’d came.

“I gave you what you wanted.” Meadows ordered, “Get to it. Now.”

⧭⧭⧭

Y/N worked and waited, then watched and worried. Spencer spoke to Meadows. He was stalling her, offering a deal, boosting her ego, granting Y/N the opportunity to mentally prepare. But no matter how much time he gave her, she would never be prepared to leave him in that warehouse. He met her eyes across the movements of the operation and gave her an imperceptible nod before lunging forward to reach for John’s gun.

Chaos exploded throughout the warehouse. Theo ran in one direction, accosted by half a dozen Believers. Spencer and John tussled over the gun, one fighting for control and the other fighting the inevitable. Y/N sprinted, largely unnoticed, toward the huge sliding doors left slightly ajar. Bursting out into the night air, she immediately spotted one of the black sedans, unbelievably unlocked and with the keys in the ignition. She slammed the door behind her, turned the key, hesitated with her eyes on the door and her mind on Spencer for one moment too long. A single gunshot sounded from inside the warehouse.

Meadows raced out of the doorway, gun drawn. “Stop!” She pointed her gun at Y/N and there was nothing to do but step on the gas. Y/N had her eyes wide open as Meadows bounced off the windshield and onto the asphalt. She didn’t look back.

She drove. Left out of the parking lot. Just a dark, rural road—nothing particularly special or descript. She drove. Right at the stoplight. Then it was, just as Spencer said, familiar terrain. She wondered how it was possible to have seemed so far away— a world away— when it was right under their proverbial nose. She drove.

Her brain navigated of its own volition. Her mind couldn’t have been farther from the inside of the vehicle. She didn’t realize she’d arrived at the Bureau until she was attempting to pull into her usual parking spot, only to be met with her own abandoned car.

She turned the car off, left the keys in the ignition, and nearly floated out into the garage; up the elevator; across the cold floors of the lobby. Her body had walked this same path so many times before; it carried her without hesitation. She could hear the voices of the team, drifting through the open glass doors.

“She accepted their help knowing she would betray the government,” Tara deduced.

“Not every survivor wanted help,” JJ clarified.

Rossi continued, “We ran those who left the ranch and kept their names. A few relocated in rural Maryland and Virginia.”

“They could be helping now,” Luke suggested. “Any of them have large pieces of property?”

“A few,” Emily confirmed. Y/N turned the corner as she continued, “The Washington field office has started searches in Maryland. We’ll take the lead in Virginia.”

As she moved into the doorway, JJ’s eyes went wide and she rushed to Y/N’s side. “Oh my god, are you hurt?” She gently grabbed Y/N by the shoulders.

“It’s a warehouse in Hillcrest,” Y/N said flatly, eyes unfocused. “I can take you there, but we have to hurry. They hurt Reid; he looked— bad. He told me to r-run and take the car, but he’s still there.” Everyone headed for the doors except JJ and Garcia. “They won’t be there long, they have lots of trucks.” Y/N’s eyes locked on JJ, and for the first time since the whole ordeal started, she allowed herself to splinter, just a little. “I heard a gunshot. JJ, I heard a gunshot. I tried—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” JJ nodded, drawing her into a hug. “I know. I know you tr—”

“I left him there.” Her voice broke, but she couldn’t cry. Not yet. “I couldn’t get him. There was no way to save hi—”

“Stop,” JJ ordered, pulling out of the hug. “Y/N, look at me. You got out, you got back to us. If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t even know about the warehouse.”

“What if— what if I got him killed?” Y/N asked.

“You didn’t get anyone killed. Spence knew what he was doing.” JJ’s voice softened. “That’s what he does. He always figures things out before the rest of us. He has a plan and getting you back to Quantico was part of it.” She raised her eyebrows, making sure Y/N was listening. “And now we have to help him by putting the rest of it together.”

Y/N ran a hand over her face. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right.”

Garcia stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we’ll get Reid back.”

They cleaned the blood from her face and hair as best they could in the bathroom sink. JJ patched up the lacerations with steri-strips. Back in the conference room, Garcia insisted she should get screened for a concussion as Y/N rubbed the knot on the back of her head. “There’s no time. Reid said, ‘It’s all happening. 10:23.’”

“But it’s past that,” JJ considered.

“So what did he mean?” Garcia asked.

“Could be a clue here.” Rossi's voice came over the speakerphone from inside the warehouse. “They got sloppy since they left in a hurry.”

“Okay, well you can’t be that far behind them,” JJ insisted.

“I know,” Emily agreed. “But there’s easy access to three major highways, and we don’t know which way they went.”

“Right, but they’re in tractor trailers. That means we can track them through weigh stations.”

“Garcia?” Emily prompted.

“In order to do that, I’d need the transponder identification numbers,” Garcia answered.

“Which we have no way of knowing,” Rossi sighed. “Everything they used was almost definitely forged.”

“We’re going to do another sweep here, and then we’ll head back,” Emily said. “Try to map out the most likely routes they’d use to get out of dodge.”

JJ hung up and looked to Y/N. “What do you remember about the warehouse?”

Y/N pressed her fingers into her temples. “It was full of supplies. They were disguising them, but they had stockpiles of weapons and ammunition; non-perishables and other food items; water. Enough to be off the grid for at least a year.” Y/N leaned back in her chair. “But it wasn’t just about The Believers. I mean, we know they’re a reincarnation of the Separatarian Sect.” She looked at JJ and Garcia. “It was more than that, though. Reid was at the center of everything; he was the target all along. Merva is the messiah, but it somehow all comes back to Spence.”

“Makes sense. They blame him for the downfall of the Sect,” JJ supplied.

“Yeah.” Y/N cracked her knuckles. “But—and I can’t—I can’t really explain it, but Meadows really wanted to kill Reid right then. She was— she was irritated, more than anything else.”

“So what stopped her?” Garcia asked.

“That’s what I can’t figure out. She threatened me with it, with ‘blowing his brains out,’ but I— called her bluff. And she was pissed.” Y/N rapped her knuckles on the table. “I mean, really, really furious. Which tells me that, even though she wanted to, she couldn’t kill him.” She looked between the two of them. “Merva was pulling the strings, and he wouldn’t let her do it there.”

“So it matters where the final sacrifice takes place,” JJ concluded. “We’ve got to figure out where they’re going.”

⧭⧭⧭

They’d been rehashing the details over and over. Liberty Ranch, The Strangler investigation, The Believers, Meadows, Merva, Cyrus, 300 victims, the hyoid bones, all of it. About the only thing they knew for sure was how far the cult could get in the trucks. Spencer could have told them the exact square mileage, but the potential geographical range of the trucks was dauntingly large. Y/N tried not to panic as she stared at the map.

“If this is about a Believer's rebirth, babies are born with 300 bones,” JJ said. “And they’re taking the hyoids.”

“And the hyoids we had in evidence are missing, which means Merva needed them back,” Tara reasoned. “And that means they mean more to the end game than we thought.”

Y/N felt her patience waning. “But why did Reid need us to know it all happens at 10:23?” Y/N hated that her voice sounded snappy and desperate. “That’s got to be important. It’s the last thing he said to me.”

Matt put his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, you’re right. It means something to him. We’re trying to figure it out.”

“Yeah, well, we better figure it out soon.” Y/N shrugged off his hand, pushed back from her seat at the conference room table, and turned for the door. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Every minute they spent floating ideas was another mile between them and Spencer. Another moment closer to losing him. She shoved the bathroom door open, hurrying into the stall and emptying the contents of her stomach.

She slumped back against the side of the stall, head gently knocking into the cool metal. She needed to pull herself together. The team was always strongest when they did their group think sessions, building upon each other’s knowledge and perspectives and filling in the gaps. If they’d done more of that earlier— if she’d had the confidence to call it out as soon as she saw the holes, Spencer might not be locked in the back of a truck, hundreds of miles away.

Y/N hoisted herself off the ground and out of the stall. She braced her hands on the counter top and tried to breathe evenly. She turned on the water and splashed her face, tapping against her cheeks. With water dripping down the planes of her face, she stared herself down in the mirror, willing her tired brain to make that last connection, to find that missing thread. It was all about the Benjamins, and she had a feeling that Cyrus was the key.

Y/N rolled her shoulders back and made her way to the conference room. She listened to their rotating conversation, knowing that this team was the only group of people capable of getting Spencer back alive.

“We have confirmation that there’s been no activity in or around the old ranch,” Matt informed them, pocketing his phone.

“If this is about rebirth, they’ll choose a new place,” Luke posited, arms crossed.

Tara leaned over the table. “Given their adoration of Cyrus and his love for the country, he’d want them to stay within our borders.”

“But Benjamin Cyrus wasn’t his real name, and he wasn’t born into the Sect,” Y/N reminded them quietly. Everyone turned to look at her. She gave an apology grimace to Matt. He just shrugged and smiled, motioning her over to the table.

Garcia nodded. “Right, let’s see. Uh, he and his mom arrived there when he was a teenager. He was kicked out for molesting girls. And then he served time in prison in Kentucky.”

“And that’s where he found religion,” Y/N recalled, thinking back to the report she’d studied dozens of times. “So he was reborn as Benjamin Cyrus in Kentucky.” She closed her eyes and flipped through her mental file cabinet, looking for 10:23.

“That’s within the area,” Garcia confirmed. “Maybe that’s where they’re headed?”

“Find out what city he was born in or where he was in prison,” Luke said. “We’ll spread out from there.”

“He found religion,” Y/N repeated, mostly to herself. “Chapter ten, verse twenty-three. 10:23 isn’t a time.” Y/N shook her head and then dragged her hand through her hair. “It’s scripture.”

“Let’s get in the air; we can narrow down which verse and city before we land,” Emily instructed.

⧭⧭⧭

“We’re approaching Kentucky; the pilot needs to know where to touch down,” Rossi informed them.

The team was scattered throughout the jet, scrolling through scripture on their tablets, reading out verses. Y/N held her chin in her hand, eyes unfocused, dragging a net along the furthest corners of her mind.

“Hey guys, listen to this,” JJ said. “Matthew chapter ten, verse twenty-three: ‘When you are persecuted in one place, flee to another.’”

“They’re going to the next town,” Emily said.

“Flee to the next town. But which one?” asked Garcia.

“Their end game is also a new beginning,” Rossi explained. “Cyrus brought religion back to the cult. They’d honor that by wanting to start fresh.”

Y/N raised her head. “Like the Garden of Eden.”

“That’s how 300 fits,” Tara concluded. “That was the number of angels that protected the Garden of Eden. Are there any Edens in Kentucky?”

The sound of Garcia tapping across the keyboard came through the laptop. “Um, no, but there are two synonyms: Canaan and Arcadia.”

“Cyrus is the original messiah. Which one is closer to where he was born?” Y/N asked.

“Arcadia,” Garcia informed them.

Y/N stood up. “That’s where they’re going.”

“Garcia, pull land deeds. I’ll notify SWAT,” Emily instructed.

JJ grabbed Y/N’s hand. “We’re going to get him.”

Y/N met her eyes. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

⧭⧭⧭

The new compound proved easy to find. In the middle of nowhere but illuminated by hundreds of lights, there were rows and rows of tents. The team began strategizing, looking for the best route to Spencer.

Emily tried to convince Y/N, now showing clear concussion symptoms, to stay with the SUVs.

“With all due respect, there is no way in hell that I’m going to sit in this car while Reid gets sacrificed by a homicidal cult leader,” Y/N said. There was a hushed pause, the team exchanging knowing glances.

“Fair enough,” Emily conceded. “Matt and JJ, I want you on the left side. Luke and Tara, the right. Dave and Y/N, you’re with me. We’re clearing every tent; eliminate any threat that would give away your position.” She unholstered her gun and swept her eyes across the team. “Our objective is to extract Reid with minimal loss.”

As they approached the first line of tents, Y/N could faintly hear Spencer speaking. “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” Her heart hammered against her ribcage. “A time to be born and a time to die.” She could feel the blood rushing through her ears. “A time to weep and a time to pluck up that which has been planted.”

“Okay, he’s stalling,” Meadows snapped. “That’s enough!”

“All right. Let the sacrifice begin.” That was Merva now, riling up the followers. “Protect us from all harm.”

As Merva led The Believers in a monotone chant, Y/N tried to block it out. She scanned a tent, watched as SWAT took out a bodyguard, looked for Spencer. Rinse and repeat, again and again. It was taking too long.

“And we thank Our Guardian, who will protect this family now and always,” Merva’s voice rang out. “Spencer: keeper of provisions!” Y/N saw the gathering of followers, but she couldn’t see Spencer.

The SWAT commander stopped them. They had reached the final line of tents. He signaled to the leaders on each side. They were ready to strike.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the crowd. She could just barely make out some sort of hanging mobile, white u-shaped decorations suspended from string. The hyoids, she realized, a wave of nausea hitting her like a truck.

Merva continued, “You have given selflessly to others and will be rewarded by the highest honor we could bestow. Your blood will be our blood. Your life will fuel ours.”

A gunshot rang out. The followers gasped. There was a split second of calm before the bedlam. Y/N took a single breath. Then she heard Matt yell; saw John lift his rifle and be felled by a solo shot to the head; watched Luke take down another bodyguard directly after.

And then she saw him. Strapped down under a canopy of bones, Spencer was silent and unmoving. He didn’t struggle. He didn’t call out. And there was Merva, knife in hand— still trying to complete his mission.

She didn’t vacillate, barely breathed, just let her legs carry her forward. She heard Emily call out his name. When Merva turned, the curved blade of the knife poised at the column of Spencer's throat, Y/N’s trigger finger compressed. She felt the gun recoil, felt the force of the shot travel up her arm as she put a single bullet in his chest. As he fell, she didn’t stop, just stepped over him, knew one of the others would take care of it.

She tripped over the small platform Spencer was restrained on, stumbling and holstering her gun. Her hands moved over the straps, loosening the one over his waist, then the ones at his hands, finally pushing the leather from his head. He panted and muttered his thanks, but she didn’t dare speak, afraid that if she did, she’d never be able to stop. Instead, she flung her arms over his shoulders, pulling him down and close and over her heart. She wondered if he could feel the way it pummeled against her chest, because to her it felt like it might smash through at any moment. His arms came around her, chin resting on her shoulder, nose in her hair. She heard him inhale and hold his breath, a mirror of that last moment together in the warehouse. She held onto him as an overboard sailor holds a life ring: single-minded, unrelenting, desperate.

There was a touch on her opposite shoulder and Y/N swung around, adrenaline still racing through her veins. JJ put her hand out in a placating motion, and Y/N came back to herself, allowing JJ to step forward and help Spencer off the platform. Y/N let out a breath and reached a hand out to steady herself, only to flinch when it brushed one of the straps that had held Spencer down. Luke caught her on one side, Tara on the other. She grasped at them, her emotions teetering right along with her physical form. Luke pulled her out from under the macabre canopy and into a hug. Tara held her hand. For the first time since the parking garage, she let herself go.

⧭⧭⧭

The jet was quiet. The team was spread out around the cabin, each of them lost in their own heads. There was a tranquility over the space, one that only ever happened when unmitigated relief overwhelmed even the joy or fulfillment of a life saved.

Y/N sat in one of the single seats, across the aisle from where Spencer was settled. Tara and Luke had finally convinced her to get checked out by the EMTs, who had confirmed her concussion. She convinced herself that the fuzziness on the corners of her vision was just a symptom of that, not a product of the tears she was struggling to hold back.

The team each stopped by Spencer’s seat, patting his shoulder, squeezing his hand, or in Rossi’s case, gently ruffling his hair. They all spoke briefly in hushed, grateful tones. All except Y/N. She couldn’t formulate a sentence that seemed adequate. There was simultaneously too much and nothing to say. Everything felt contrived or insufficient or intemperate.

Spencer was safe. They hadn’t been too late. He was bruised and undoubtedly sore, but ultimately, he’d been through worse. So why was her heart still aching? Why couldn’t she catch her breath? She hadn’t spoken more than a few words since leaving the raid, so why did her throat feel like it was on fire? She closed her eyes, leaned her head back. She incessantly pressed her hands together, trying to crack her sore knuckles over and over again.

A pair of hands gently closed over her own, stopping the abuse, and she didn’t have to open her eyes to know who they belonged to. His thumbs stroked over the backs of her hands and she cursed the tears that spilled over her bottom lashes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t force her to look at him or acknowledge her shattering. He waited her out, rubbing a rhythm on her skin and steadying her without a word. She opened her eyes but couldn’t bring herself to look at him just yet. Instead she focused on their joined hands, reciprocating the gentle pulses he gave every so often.

She turned her head to wipe her wet cheeks on her shoulder as the landing announcement came over the cabin speaker. She did look at him then, and the emotion in his gaze left her feeling raw and exposed. Their hands reluctantly separated to buckle their seat belts. Y/N closed her eyes again, turning her face into the warmth of the early morning sun as the jet began its descent.

When they landed, everyone wearily shuffled off the plane, eager to get home to their beds. Penelope met them at the elevator, enveloping Spencer in a long hug, the rest of the team smiling at their embrace. They each moved through the bullpen, gathering their things and talking quietly. Y/N’s eyes paused on her bag, brought up from the parking garage by one of the team after she’d gone missing. They lingered for a long moment on the case file, still sitting where she’d left it hours ago, before she let herself let it go. She grabbed her bag and turned to see Spencer standing in the aisle, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on her.

“Hey,” she said dumbly.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Her hands wrung the straps of her bag. “How—how’re you holding up?”

“I’ve been worse.” He shrugged. “How’s your head?”

“I’ve been worse,” she agreed.

“That’s good. Because I think after all that, the least you could do is give me a ride home,” he joked.

Y/N knew he was trying to reassure her that he was fine, but she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. If anything, his attempts to provide comfort made her feel worse. Because she couldn’t forget the sound of the gunshot at the warehouse, the sight of the knife at his throat, the feeling of nearly losing someone whom she knew she could love if she just had more time. Too exhausted to hide her emotions, she could tell by the change in Spencer’s eyes that the pain was apparent on her face.

“Actually, you probably shouldn’t be driving, even if it’s just a mild concussion. Where are your keys?”

“It’s fine. I’m all ri—” Y/N started.

“I know I phrased that as a question, but I’m not really asking.” He held out his hand.

Normally she would have argued, but she just didn’t have the energy. Y/N dug into her bag, fishing out the keys and dropping them into his hand. He closed his fingers around them and jerked his head toward the door. “Come on,” he murmured. He waved to the rest of the team, and Y/N nodded, avoiding their eyes.

The ride in the elevator was silent. The walk to the car, too. They were pulling out of the garage before Spencer finally broke the silence.

“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” he asked. Y/N stayed quiet. “We all missed the connection to Liberty Ranch.”

“But I knew something was off, and I didn’t say anything. I— I almost came to find you before I left, and if I had just done that—”

“Y/N,” Spencer interrupted. “The plan was already in motion. Meadows and Merva would have just figured out another way to execute it.” His fingers tightened on the wheel. “And without you and the leads from the warehouse, the team might not have figured it out in time.”

Y/N opened her mouth before realizing she didn’t have a response. She didn’t even want to consider that possibility. She leaned her head against the window, pressing the thumb and fingers of one hand into her eyes to stave off the throbbing.

Graciously, Spencer let her remain in silence the rest of the ride to her apartment. There was so much to say, especially now; she didn’t know where to begin. And even after everything, she couldn’t stop herself from bringing up that wall— protecting herself from what she knew could hurt her more than any unsub.

They pulled onto her street, fairly empty at such an early hour. Spencer parked in front of her apartment, opening the car door and coming around the other side of the car. She expected him to give her the keys, but as she exited the car, he waited by the gate for her. “I’ll walk you up.”

Spencer opened the gate, allowing her to walk through before closing it behind them and following her up the sidewalk. “I need the keys,” she told him.

He shook his head as if to clear it. “Right, right.” He placed them into her outstretched hand, and she wondered if she imagined his fingers lingering over hers.

When they reached her door, she unlocked the deadbolt and swung the door open, stepping over the threshold. He waited outside, hands in his pockets. Y/N rolled her keys in her hand, and Spencer watched them.

“Um— thank you for—” Y/N started.

“I told Emily on the jet, and I’ll tell you now.” Spencer raised his eyes to meet hers. There was that look again, the one she couldn’t quite identify. “I’ve always had a hard time saying what I feel. And maybe sometimes it’s because I’m afraid of being disappointed. But sometimes it’s because the words I’m looking for don’t exist in the English language.”

“Spence—”

“Please just let me get this out,” he said. “There have been a couple moments over the past few months where I thought maybe we were sharing mamihlapinatapei.”

“Mamih what?” Y/N asked.

“Mamihlapinatapei.” He repeated, gesturing with his hands. “It’s a Yagan word that originates on the Tierra del Fuego archipelago off the southern tip of Argentina. It translates succinctly as ‘the wordless, meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something, but are both reluctant to do so.’”

“Oh.” Y/N felt a flush rising up in her cheeks.

Suddenly, Spencer couldn’t meet her eyes. “I, um—I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize our friendship or make things awkward at work. But last night, I… I just— I’ve had too many moments in my life where I thought it might be my last, and I hadn’t said all the things I needed to say.” He met her eyes again, and there was that familiar storm. “Last night I was out of time, and I hadn’t told you how I feel, and I realized that I wouldn’t get another chance, and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but I needed to—”

Y/N stepped forward, grabbed the front of his shirt, and crashed their mouths together. She tried to pour everything into the kiss: every blush, every worry, every laugh, every panicked moment, every mamihlapinatapei. Spencer cradled her face in his hands, opening his mouth and capturing her bottom lip, accepting everything she gave him. She wound one of her hands into his hair, pulling him impossibly closer and grounding herself to this new reality that almost wasn’t. The height of the kiss tapered off, and Y/N drew back, untangling her fingers from his hair and her heart from his grasp. Spencer watched her carefully, honey eyes uncertain.

“I do. Feel the same,” Y/N confirmed. Spencer’s lips twitched. “I’m not good at vulnerability. I’ve got a great track record of getting hurt.” Spencer grabbed her hand and opened his mouth, but Y/N continued, “But then I thought we might lose you, that time was out, and that I— I wouldn’t get the chance to see if you could be— if this could be more.” She gestured between them and then met his eyes again. “And I guess being vulnerable isn’t so bad in comparison. Because I think I could fall in love with you. I think maybe it’s already happening.” She held her breath and pressed her lips together, fighting the regret of saying too much.

“Actually, there’s a word for that, too.” Spencer smiled, warm and soft and genuine. “Forelsket. The origin is Norwegian, and it roughly translates to ‘the euphoria experienced as you begin to fall in love.’”

“Forelsket?” Y/N asked.

“Well, it’s more like forelsket,” Spencer corrected.

“Wow, okay, 187.” Y/N laughed for the first time in what felt like days. “Forelsket.”

“Better,” Spencer praised. “There’s also the Tagalog version, kilig.”

Y/N took a step closer to him and smoothed his shirt where her hands had wrinkled it. “Translation?”

“‘The sudden feeling of an inexplicable joy one gets when something romantic happens,’ or alternatively ‘the feeling of butterflies in your stomach.’” Spencer moved his hand to her waist and stepped over the threshold.

Y/N cupped his cheek in her hand, soothing the bruises and guiding him back to her. “Yeah. Sounds about right.”

#spencer reid #spencer x reader #spencer x y/n #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds #homoose writes

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messrmoonyy · 3 years

Note

number 3 from the physical touch list (hiding face in neck) for remadora please :)) (no pressure)

Not me neglecting previous prompts/requests because this one the one I got motivation for.

Prompt from this list.

I used this to do my spin on the aftermath of the Battle of the Seven Potters, Cause I like anxious overprotective Remus🙃😗✌🏻( I also changed like. The entire dialogue from the original scenes because why not ). Think battle of seven potters but add a little ✨spice and drama✨. I went off on a total tangent on this tbh. As I do with every prompt it seems. Anyway. Hope you like it my dear anon.

Pairing: Remus lupin x Nymphadora Tonks

Warnings: none

Check my masterlist for all my other writing!

She was late. Incredibly so. Her and Ron should have been one of the first pairs to arrive at The Burrow, he’d arranged for her to have one of the shortest routes. He’d not told her that of course but he was quite sure she’d known he’d gotten a little too tetchy and secretly spoken to Alastor. But he had a right to be over protective didn’t he? This was was his wife. The woman he had literally, and in every sense of the word, sworn his life to. Sworn his dying breath to protect her, care for her.

Yet he’d let her put herself in danger. He could have tried to persuade Alastor to let him and George go the same route as Dora and Ron, or at least in the similar direction. He knew he had to be focussed on the war effort, knew he had a duty to protect the children. But… he also had a duty to protect her. His wife. His Dora. And now for all he knew Bellatrix could have struck her down, her body lying lifeless in a field somewhere.

He wasn’t a particular calm man at the best of times, his stress had its own stress, but he had never felt worse than he did in that moment. He’d already practically attacked Harry, was in no way of any comfort to George and Molly. Or anyone else.

So he was waiting out of the way by the window, constantly looking up at the sky through the glass and waiting for her to materialise through the burrows guards, come skidding over and laugh at him for being anxious over nothing. But the sky remained clear of her vibrant hair and her joyful laugh. The stars practically mocking him as he waited.

“ she’s a tough one. She’ll be okay “ Kingsley had appeared at his side “ Bill and Fleur, Ron and Tonks. They’ll all be here soon. Stop fretting Remus “ Remus almost laughed at the sheer stupidity of telling him not to fret over her. As if he ever did anything else. He always worried for her safety, had done long before they had even become a couple. Waiting up for her to come home from late shifts at the ministry in the days she’d stay at Grimmauld, worrying about her when she’d turn up with a new bruise or gash from something. Marrying her had simply made him fret more.

He’d never felt so protective of anyone in his life, never thinking he ever would either. Yet here he was, constantly putting her first and wanting to do nothing but take care of her. She never left his mind, was his first priority forever and always. He didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if he ever lost her, if he ever failed to protect her.

“ Bill and Fleur were scheduled to arrive as one of the last. Dora and Ron should have been one of the first pairs here “ he said it slightly more harshly than intended and turned to apologise to his friend immediately after, but as he did there was the sound of something passing through the guards outside.

Remus charged outside, almost tripping over his own gangly limbs as he went. He froze to the spot in a mixture of shock and relief as Doras broom appeared in the sky, the bristles smoking and charred as she made an unsteady decent to the ground. She landed in a long skid,stumbling from the broom and directly into Remus’ arms. She practically fell into him and would have knocked him to the floor if he hadn’t been stiff as a board.

“ Remus “ she gasped, hugging him so tightly it took the air from his lungs. But he didn’t even care, he’d give his last breath if it meant dying with her there in his arms. Because she was alright. She was right. There “ was so worried about you. The death eaters and- fuck I know you’re really no good on a broom and you bloody hate flying at the best of times. Merlins balls I was so scared “ she rambled so fast Remus barely understood what she was saying to him.

His hand slipped into her hair in some attempt to hold her as close as he could, still trying to accept that she was really there. Safe. Alive. He had worried for nothing of course. He should have known. She was tough. So much tougher than he gave her credit for it seemed.

He gently pried her out of his grip slightly, needing to see her face just to make sure it really was her. That he wasn’t dreaming it.

“ where were you “ as had most of his words that evening, it came out a little harsh but she didn’t seem to care. She reached up to cup his face in a soothing manner that was the complete opposite of his previous words to her.

“ Bellatrix. Wants me dead just about as much as Voldy wants Harry. Missed our port key. But I’m fine. Ron’s fine. We’re fine. You’re fine? “ he could feel tears welling in his eyes and he felt a bit stupid, but he couldn’t help it. Words failed him and he simply just nodded and pulled her back into his arms “ fucking deatheaters “ she grumbled.

He pressed his face into the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent and letting it calm him. She smelt like the fresh air, her hair all wind tousled and the slightest hint of smoke. Probably from her charred broom. Her hand rubbed gentle circles into his back and it made him feel… small. Which was funny with how much smaller she actually was compared to him.

“ sweetheart… I’m fine “ she said softly, clearly reading his fear still evident on him “ Remus “

He lifted his head as her hand patted him lightly, but he couldn’t bare to part from her again just yet and his forehead dropped to hers.

“ I’m afraid I underestimated you once again, darling. I knew deep down you’d make it back to me, I’m getting far too old to be worrying like this “ he said with a hint of a smile.

“ oh don’t worry, you won’t get rid of me that easily. Take more than a few of old Voldys mental lackeys to take me out. You’re stuck with me now. Im going no where “ their faces were so close he could feel her cheeks shift as she smiled with her words. Her nose brushed against his before she pressed a kiss to his lips. He usually was rather strict on his avoidance of showing affection to his wife in front of well… anyone really. But he happily kissed her back, even if he did cut it off a little shorter than he truly wanted. Still wondering at the back of his mind if any of the order were secretly judging him. It’d never escape him no matter how hard he tried not to care about it.

As they pulled apart she then only seemed to notice that there was blood on his hands and his jacket. She took a step back, her hands suddenly searching for an injury.

" blood? Remus? " her hands were frantic as she yanked at his collar, pushed up his sleeves, searching for anywhere she could find an injury. He grabbed ahold of her hands and shook her slightly so that she would look at him, it was clearly her time to fret and not his.

" Dora. Dora relax. It's not mine. It's not my blood. George was hit.. don't worry he's alive. He's lost an ear but he's okay. So am I. Not my blood love, it's not mine " she couldn't seem to help herself then and dived for lips again, holding his face in her hands and kissing him harder than before. He still couldn’t help but be a little reluctant but kissed her back, his embarrassment of kissing her in front of others not mattering when they were both just thankful to be alive and with each other.

" I'm just so happy you're alive " she whispered when she pulled back, resting her forehead to his. He opened his mouth to say something else but suddenly she was yanked out of Remus' embrace and shoved away, her clumsy legs stumbling in the gravel and she fell quite ungraciously onto her ass with a grunt of pain. Remus immediately rushed to her side in confusion.

" what the fuck! " she shouted and Remus looked up to see that Kingsley had been the one to pull her away, his wand now pointed at her face.

" Kingsley! Lower your wand! " Remus immediately jumped to her defence, crouching beside her and placing a hand to her shoulder " Dora are you okay? Dora? "

" someone betrayed us we have to check everyone. You didn't even confirm her identity Lupin, she could have killed you. Look I didn’t mean to knock you down- we have to be certain you understand? "

" are you bloody mental?! " Dora yelled again, rubbing at her elbow that she’d clearly hurt on the way down.

" Kingsley... lower your wand she got Ron back safetly it's quite clearly- "

" we have to check " Kingsley said cutting off Molly, who had come outside with the commotion. Remus helped her back to her feet and then grabbed her hand, stepping in between her and kingsleys raised wand.

" lower. Your. wand. " his voice was commanding as he could muster, Kingsley was his friend. But Dora was his wife. And she came first. And he would put himself between her and a raised wand any and every time. No matter who was on the other end of it.

" Nymphadora Tonks gave me a present for my birthday last year. What was it?" Kingsley asked, ignoring Remus entirely, his wand still pointed at her as she was half hid behind Remus’ body.

" this is ridiculous! We're all turning on each other now? "

" answer the question " Kingsley ignored Remus again, which only made his blood boil more. He was already on edge that evening with the fear of losing his wife. This wasn’t helping to lower his stress levels.

" I know my own damned wife- "

" what was it! " Remus drew his own wand then at the increase in Kingsleys anger, pointing it in Kingsleys direction.

" Remus! "

" lower. Your wand. And step away from my wife " he demanded, not wanting to hurt Kingsley… but willing to if he had to.

" you don't even know if that is your wife"

" please! Stop the both of you! " Molly shouted.

" fucking hell " Dora said and held onto Remus hand harder, stepping better into view " I gave you a new set of quills because I charmed your last lot to throw them self out the window whenever you touched them. Happy? " Kingsley was quiet for a moment longer " now drop your wands. Both of you " Kingsley looked to Remus before finally lowering his wand. But Remus couldn’t. He felt betrayed almost, that someone he thought as a friend would do something like threaten the woman he loved.

Dora pressed gently on Remus' wrist to make him too lower his wand when he didn’t do it if his accord immediately " Remus. Lower your wand...Remus “

" this is exactly what Voldemort would want. To see us all turning on each other. We cannot let ourselves get paranoid like this " Remus said bitterly, wrapping an arm around his wife protectively and finally dropping his wand arm. He knew that Kingsley has been right to check in a way. He had needed to check. Though there were much better ways to go about it rather than pointing a wand at her head. To hold a wand to a witch or wizard was one of the most disrespectful things you could do.

" someone betrayed us "

" Dora and I are never out of each other's sight long enough for anyone to have made a switch or have her as their spy. And you know that. How dare you hold a wand to her head. How dare you " Remus was itching for an argument. And Dora could sense it, also so incredibly good at reading his emotions and thoughts before even he was.

" Remus " she said softly, lifting a hand to gently turn his face to look at her instead of glaring at Kingsley " Remus look at me " she ran her hand gently through his hair and he instantly seemed to relax. His own muscles losing tension without his consent at her touch. She had a knack at being one of the only people to get him to the calm down in almost an instant. Sirius and James had been the only other people he knew that could " relax. It's okay " she transported them into their own little bubble. As if the others were no longer in the burrow too and she kept him there, gently rubbing at his hand until his first unclenched and angry breaths returned to normal.

#messrmoonyy writes #enjoy! I loved writing this #god I’m just churning them out rn arent i? pat on the back to me #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #remadora #harry potter #remus x tonks #ronks #the marauders #lupin #tonks x lupin #tonks #remadora one shot #remadora fanfic

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moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

bad squirrel ↠ han jisung

genre: bad boy!jisung au, enemies to lovers au, high school au; humor word count: 2.8k warnings: so fluffy, swearing, mildly suggestive | gender-neutral reader request: yes (thank you for such a clearly imagined and fun request, anon!)

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

You’d never understood why Han Jisung had to be so loud.

Wasn’t the “bad boy” of the school supposed to be the quiet, brooding type? Not that Jisung didn’t do his fair share of lurking in corners doing gods knew what, sneaking out of the school to mysteriously reappear hours later, and drinking from a flask in the middle of class…. But he was just so damn loud. All the time! And because Jisung was loud in class, you strongly disliked him. Sure, he did his work (sometimes, like when the sun rose in the west) and had friends—two, to be exact: Chan and Changbin—but other than that, he kept to himself, yet was somehow loud. Jisung also strutted around the school like he owned it, looking much like a disgruntled raven.

As you were in the same year, you were intimately familiar with all his less-than wonderful propensities, and had listened to more gossip about him than you’d care to admit. Granted, that was simply to hear anything about him. You had a strange fascination with Jisung that somehow existed in tandem with your dislike—you couldn’t understand it. And, you commonly thought about him at the most random times; this also meant that you ranted to your best friend, Seungmin, far too often.

Jisung sat in the corner of the cafeteria with Chan and Changbin, and scribbled. He was always scribbling in a notebook he kept in his back pocket, and you wanted to know what he was writing—probably something like emo poetry. And today was no different. Occasionally, he’d look up and stare into the middle distance.

“Do you ever wonder what goes on inside his head?” you asked as you chewed a mouthful of your lunch. Seungmin saw where your gaze rested and rolled his eyes.

“No. Definitely not.”

“But would it be cool to—”

“Again, no,” Seungmin interrupted before you could careen off onto one of your tangents about the merits of this person or that. Except, this person featured all too commonly in those tangents, and Seungmin was tired of hearing it. “I don’t want to hear about the exact wave pattern in Han Jisung’s hair or how long you think he’d had that leather jacket. And I definitely don’t want to hear your thoughts on his skinny jeans.”

You smirked, turning back to the table in front of you on which you’d neatly arranged your lunch: grapes, almonds, a container of rice, and a mix of vegetables and fish. You hadn’t necessarily been planning to rant about Jisung, but now that Seungmin mentioned it…

“What do you think he does when he’s not in school?” you mused, chasing a bit of cabbage around the bottom of your lunch container with your chopsticks. “I mean, he seems to just exist in his own little world—I don’t think I��ve ever seen him with anyone except Minho and Chan, and even then, not that often.”

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Seungmin yawned, resting his chin on his hand. “Probably goes off to some corner and broods. That’s what guys like him do: brood and very obviously not talk about how emotionally distraught they are or whatever. But in a Byronic way—I don’t think Jisung has a violent bone in his body.”

You wiggled your eyebrows at your best friend, who was steadily losing patience with the whole conversation. “I can think of one bone that might be quite . . . angry and maybe violent but probably just hard. Good with forceful th—”

“I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT HAN JISUNG’S DICK, Y/N!” Seungmgin burst out, drawing stares from the other students seated at neighboring tables, including Jisung himself. You made to bang your head on the table, more embarrassed than you’d been in a long time.

Seungmin, meanwhile, couldn’t stop laughing. “Y-Y/N, oh my god, I’m sorry. Hey, don’t hit me!” This was because you had started playfully but insistently punching his thigh. “It’s fine,” Seungmin continued, trying to reassure you. “It’s not like I said anything that would— Oh shit, he’s coming over here.”

You tried to slide under the table, but only succeeded in getting yourself stuck before shimmying back into your seat. You looked up just in time to see Jisung slide into the seat opposite you and lean meaningfully on the table.

“So, Y/N,” he drawled, flashing a feline grin at you. “What exactly did I just hear?”

“I didn’t say anything, Han,” you retorted, nose aloofly in the air.

Jisung sighed. “Okay, okay, maybe you didn’t say anything, but Seungmin definitely did.” Seungmin spluttered and shook his head violently, really not wanting to be drawn into your squabble.

“So?” you said casually, still picking at your lunch. Meanwhile, your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. “So what if he said something?”

“Why would Seungmin say anything about me, though,” Jisung said. “It’s not like you two like me or anything.”

You just stared at Jisung. Why did he sound petulant? “No, we don’t. You didn’t hear anything, so go away!”

“Oh come on, Y/N,” Jisung wheedled. “I know you’re curious….”

“Han, what the hell?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Jisung protested, leaning back as his hands waved wildly.

“I—” you began, and gulped. “It’s just… You’re just this moody guy who walks around like he owns the place. And you wear tight skinny jeans that leave very little to the imagination. How could I not assume you at least think you have . . . um, yeah.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Seungmin moaned, and stuffed his fingers in his ears.

Jisung had leaned forward now and was staring at you intently. You looked away, even more embarrassed than before, and he sighed.

“Y/N, I’m not quite sure what to say, besides the fact that I like my tight pants.” He paused, then chuckled lightly and winked. “And that you clearly like my tight pants, too.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, and blurted. “Why are you even talking to us, Han?”

Jisung stopped as he rose from the table. “I was intrigued. Plus, you’re cute when you’re flustered.” Han winked, then turned and walked back to Chan and Changbin.

You just watched him go—casually appreciating the view—completely stunned. Had Han Jisung just said you were cute? Ugh?

“Y/N? Earth to Y/N!” Seungmin was shaking your shoulder. “Y/N, you might start drooling if you don’t watch out.”

Coming back to yourself, you hurriedly shut your mouth and demanded, “Did he just say I was cute?”

“How am I supposed to know? I had my fingers in my ears!” Seungmin exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Well, you are no help whatsoever,” you grumbled, and went back to eating your food.

Seungmin was silent for a moment, then said, “Do- Do you like him?”

You almost choked on your rice. “What?”

“Do you like him?” he repeated.

“The last time I checked, I definitely didn’t like Han Jisung. He annoys the hell out of me!”

Like the traitor he was, your best friend just made a ruminative noise and smiled down at his food.

↠↞

There was a park along the route you walked to and from school every day, and you liked to cut through to its other side as a short cut and to have some time in nature. Today, the leaves rustled loudly under your feet as you wove between the trees, distracting you sufficiently that you were completely wrapped up in your thoughts until your eye caught on a spot of black.

You stopped and squinted, brows furrowed ever so slightly. You couldn’t be sure, but that looked to be Han Jisung squatting under an oak at the edge of the park. Thinking the last thing you wanted was Jisung to see you spying—no, simply watching as you, too, strolled through the park—on him, you ducked behind a tree.

A few feet away from Jisung, assuming it was him, a squirrel sat on its haunches. It looked like he was talking to the squirrel, holding out his hand with a small pile of sunflower seeds resting in its center. As you watched, the squirrel, clearly used to this sort of thing, scurried forward and then away, its prize of seeds securely held in its mouth. This happened several times: the squirrel snatching a few seeds, stashing them around the other side of the tree, then coming back to retrieve more from Jisung’s hand. Strangest of all, you could have sworn you heard cooing along the lines of, “Aren’t you so good? Yes, you’re such a good little squirrel. Ooooh mhmm that tastes good, doesn’t it!”

Seeing the boy stand, you pulled your torso back behind the tree and peeked out as he walked away with a spring in his step. Yes, that was definitely Jisung.

Lost in your thoughts, you began to walk home. Feeding squirrels and talking to them was not “bad boy” behavior—of that much you were certain. So, did this mean that Jisung wasn’t as bad as you’d thought? Or was he slowly killing the squirrel by lacing the seeds with poison?

You shook your head, scolding yourself for such thoughts. But the fact remained: Han Jisung fed the squirrels and acted distinctly cute around them, and seemed to drop the persona he cultivated at school.

In a nutshell: you were confused.

The next day, you walked home the same way and at the same time, hoping you’d catch Jisung with the squirrel again. As you neared the edge of the park, sure enough, there was Jisung. You wrestled with your conscience for a moment, then walked the last meters to him and tapped him on the shoulder.

“What?!” Jisung exclaimed, shooting to his feet and almost hitting you in the nose with the back of his head. “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“I was walking home,” you said innocently, giving Jisung a bright smile.

The young man in front of you was shifting back and forth on his feet. “Did you see—“

“Did I see you talking to a squirrel?” You grinned now, crossing your arms. “Yes. Yes, I did, Han.” Jisung spluttered. “Not so bad a boy, are you?”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t be like that!” he begged. “Just because I wear all black, brood, and write emo poetry—“

“Hah! So you do write it!”

Jisung gave you a look. “Yes, I write poetry and song lyrics for my friends. What about it?”

“Oh, nothing,” you chirped.

“Can you-“ Jisung sighed. “Can you at least not tell anyone that I feed and talk to the squirrels? It’s, like, my own way of doing good, you know?”

“Sure, I won’t tell anybody. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

“Well, the more you know…” Jisung said and, yet again, winked at you before striding away. You admired the stark contrast between his black clothes and the oranges, yellows, and reds of the leaves on the ground.

↠↞

A couple of weeks later at the end of October, your English class was lucky enough to go on a weekend camping trip to experience the misty atmosphere in Shakespeare’s Macbeth. Part of you thought that your teacher was a bit odd for wanting them all to get spooked by mist, but you couldn’t argue with the fact that the foliage was beautiful. After a long day of traipsing through the forest to find the perfect lookout point for the next morning’s mist viewing, the class gathered around a fire to eat and talk.

The fire was warm in front of you where you sat on a conveniently placed log; if you'd been any closer, you would have definitely singed something. You'd been a bit stupid and hadn't brought a proper jacket, thinking the evenings would still be warm at the end of October, but oh how wrong you were. Your nose was cold and your hands were even colder, a fact you tried to hide by sitting on your hands. Soon, however, your shoulders and back felt the slight breeze the rustled the leaves surrounding the clearing.

Across the fire, Jisung tracked your every move with bright eyes. In truth, he’d been watching you all evening and noticed that you were now cold. He noticed a lot about you these days, really. You didn’t see him quietly staring, his black clothes turning him nearly invisible, but you knew he was there on the other side of the flames.

You jumped a little, shoulders shrugging as warmth settled around them, and looked around. On the log next to you sat Jisung, like the piece of the night sky come to earth.

“Better?” he asked casually.

“Y-yeah.”

The two of you sat there silently as your classmates gossiped and ate around you. Occasionally, you saw someone glance your way, then turn back to their friends as if Jisung’s stare repelled them. You’d expected to feel awkward around him, expected to feel some dark aura radiating off him, but it was easy to sit with Jisung. His leather jacket was wonderfully warm, it’s weight around your shoulders oddly comforting, and the faint smell of whatever soap Jisung used caught on the collar made you smile.

“Here,” Jisung said softly, holding out the flask that always hung at his hip. “Have a sip—it’ll warm you up.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me! I’m not going to drink, especially since we’re on a school trip,” you hissed.

“It’s just tea, Y/N,” Jisung said, tone affronted. “What did you think I had in here?”

“I- Tea is fine. Thanks.” You took the proffered flask and sipped what was perfectly brewed and sweetened black tea. The hot liquid sliding down your throat to your stomach was a delicious feeling. You returned the flask to Jisung, your fingers brushing as you did so.

The fire crackled, sparks flying up as sticks fell and broke apart. But these were not the only sparks that were flying around that fire. Between you and Jisung there seemed to be a thread of energy along which those other sparks danced, and, unexpectedly, you wanted to follow that thread to its end with the young man beside you.

Every now and then, you glanced at Jisung. And, every now and then, he glanced at you. After five tense minutes of this madness, you finally glanced at each other at the same time and smiled nervously.

“So,” Jisung began, “um…”

“Hmm?”

“May I say something?”

“I- Yeah, sure.”

Jisung took a deep breath, hands twisting in his lap. “Y/N, I have what’s got to be the biggest crush ever on you. And if you don’t return the feelings, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’ll never mention it again and I’ll make sure to leave you alone or whatever you want,” he said in a rush.

You wrapped Jisung’s jacket closer around yourself and turned slightly on the log to face him. The firelight danced in his eyes, the look in them soft and searching. His lips were parted slightly, as if to say something.

“It’s okay, Jisung,” you murmured, realizing that this was the first time you’d called him ‘Jisung’, at least to his face. “I think— I think I like you, too.”

Jisung’s face lit like the sun that would rise hours later with the dawn, his smile glorious. “Really?” he asked excitedly.

“Mhmm, I do.”

“That’s great,” Jisung breathed, and made to shift closer to you but stopped himself. “Um, so what now?”

“Want to cuddle?” You hardly believed that you’d just said that, but with Jisung’s jacket around you and him sitting so close, you couldn’t help it.

Jisung laughed and held out his arms to you, and you scooted closer to him so that you leaned against his as his arms went around you. After a couple minutes of shifting positions, the two of you settled. You could practically feel Jisung smiling behind you as you rested your head against his shoulder. Like your own, his heartbeat was faster than usual from nerves and excitement, which made you feel quite proud. You’d actually made the cool, seemingly confident bad boy of the school nervous.

Thinking you’d mess with him a little, you turned your face up to his and kissed his jaw. Jisung nearly jumped, which would have deposited both of you squarely on the cold ground, and then looked at you.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

“Won’t know until we try, right?” you replied.

Jisung needed no further prompting and brought his lips to yours, sending a current of warmth along that thread between you. You had to smile because, completely unexpectedly, you liked kissing Jisung. You liked it a lot and would be perfectly happy to continue kissing him all night long, if given the chance.

Drawing back from Jisung, you noticed your classmates staring at you and Jisung, and smirked back at them. Unlike you, they didn’t have a cute boy to kiss and cuddle with. They weren’t the chosen person for the Han Jisung.

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dokifluffs · 4 years

Text

Your Ex Wanting You Back | Ushijima, Bokuto, Kuroo

Pairing: Ushijima X Reader (gender neutral), Bokuto X Reader (gender neutral), Kuroo X Reader (gender neutral)

Genre: angsty, love

Request: “can i request a hc to your ex wanting you back while you’re with them..? for bokuto, kuroo, ushijima? tysm i love your writing” -anon

Author’s Note: omg I loved writing this sm and I added an angsty, bad relationship past with Y/N and the ex teheh. Thanks for requesting, anon! Hope you all enjoy!!

Warnings: implementations of manipulation of money (Ushijima), Black mailing (Bokuto), and verbal abuse (Kuroo) ((Also, their names is not THEM doing that to y/n, it’s what their y/n experienced with their ex))

Ushijima:

Arriving at the gym a bit early, you stood near the doors where the teams would be entering so you could wish Ushijima the best of luck

Though he didn’t really need it with his skill and raw strength but it was the thought that counts

The audience slowly began to take their seats, chatter filling up the spacious gym as the teams entered

You suddenly felt hands crawl up your sides, making a smile spread across your features

“Ush- you,” the smile faded when you turned around to find your ex instead of the loving boyfriend you were with

“Since you’re here, why don’t we catch up, hm?” He asked with his hands still on you, his fingers squeezing your side

This made you feel very uncomfortable since it brought up bitter memories you had with this guy

His lies came out as easy as breathing to him and it made you sick

The countless number of hours you wasted being with him, thinking he actually cared about you when all he cared about was using you for his own benefits

The cigarettes he was able to buy with the money he “borrowed”

All your emotions you thought you left behind you suddenly churned inside of you, making you feel sick seeing his face so close to your face once again

His Smokey breath right in your face

“Get off of me,” you demanded as you tried to pry his hands off of you but he was strong

It made you remember the grasp he had on you and how sour things ended between you two but it was for the best of course

“Don’t be like that, bab-“

“They said to stop.”

A strong latch was held onto his wrist forcing him to release you

“Hey, who do you-“ the words stopped from his lips as he turned around to look up, seeing the Ushijima

He looked down to him with his stoic eyes as well as his team looking from behind their captain with their piercing and intimidating eyes

Y/n protection squad has arrived

He knew exactly who this man before you was

Those nights he held you close in his arms to soothe you of your sadness and the pain he inflicted on you

Ushijima usually felt neutral to everyone but he was disgusted by him

“Don’t come near them again,” his voice low as his rumbled in his throat

With that said, the guy scrambled off and his team continued into the gym to follow their warm ups while Ushijima stayed behind

“Are you okay?” He asked placing a hand to your shoulder

“Yeah, thanks,” you gave him a relieved smile as you took his hand from your shoulder into yours

“Good luck today. Win another one,” you said as you pressed a kiss to the back of his hand

His lips pulled into a thin smile as he nodded before joining the rest of the team with their stretches

Bokuto (ft. Akaashi):

The sun was hot as it beamed down on you and a few of the other managers from other teams as you all took your turns to fill up the water bottles for the teams

The gym felt hotter on the inside since there was poor air circulation and it didn’t mix well with five high school volleyball teams playing for almost the entire day

But it was all for the better to help their skills as players and bonds as a team

You chatted with the other managers about the teams until it was finally your turn to fill up the water bottles for your team, Fukurodani

“You guys don’t have to wait for me,” you said as you waved off to them as they carried their water caddies, bringing them back to the sweltering gym

As you turned, back toward the faucet, you were met with a sudden chest that made you fall back, knocking some of your bottles to the ground

“Y/N, what a coincidence to see you here,” the silky voice of your ex made chills run up your spine as he squatted down to your level

“You looks so cute with that expression on your face,” his hand holding your jaw with his sinful eyes looking into your eyes, taking in the shaken look over your features

You shook out of his grasp, picking up the water bottles all around you so you could fill up your bottles and be on your way

You could hear your heart racing in your chest and the cold feel of fear spreading in your chest making goosebumps rise over your skin in the heat

“Do you want to model again for me?” He asked dangerously close to your ear

“Please go away,” you moved away, trying your best to fill up the bottles

“Oh come on, those pictures I took of you were beautiful,” his voice sensual in your ears, it brought up all the shameful memories

How were you so naive you didn’t realize how wrong things were before it got so bad

“What do you think you’re doing here,” the sound of Bokuto’s voice pulled you out of the dark as he grabbed the guy’s shoulder from behind, forcefully pushing him away from you

The guy was rendered useless seeing Bokuto with Akaashi behind him knowing he wouldn’t win if he got into a fight

“I strongly suggest you leave,” Akaashi spoke straightforwardly

“Tch, whatever” he spit as he carried on his way, away from the three of you

You let out a visibly relieving sigh as you looked up to the sky to blink away the tears you felt stinging at your eyes

“I’m here,” Bokuto’s voice was much softer with you along with his touch as he took you into his arms despite how sweaty he was

But you didn’t care

He was the one in your life, not that revolting excuse of a human

Akaashi and Bokuto helped you finish filling the bottles and carried them back to the team, cheering you up by telling you the weird dance the Karasuno team as they chanted about meat for some reason

Kuroo (ft. Kenma):

The sky was a beautiful mix of golds and rich oranges as the sun was on its journey to set beyond the horizon, making way for the early night

You walked with Kenma and Kuroo as the three of you walked to the convenience store for some drinks after their practice

You listened intently in the good atmosphere around with your best friends and your love, Kuroo as he told you about how funny Lev was when he failed syncing with Kenma’s sets

This got Kenma to sigh, going on a little tangent as he continued to walk and play on his device

Your bright laughter lifted their energy a bit more and Kuroo loved your laugh

It made it felt like nothing could go wrong in the world

You waited outside the store as the two went in to get drinks and you watched the horizon, taking a picture of the golden sunset, your eyes wide at the beauty of nature

“I see you’re still taking those stupid pictures,” the sound of scoffing was right in your ear

You flinched automatically away from the voice as you turned to see him again

And it suddenly felt like a wound was opening in your chest. A wound you thought closed when Kuroo helped mend it

How was he able to rip it open it easily

“Aw, don’t give me that look, Y/N. I’ve missed you,” he said as he slowly took steps toward you as you instinctively stepped backs the words you wanted to say to him stuck in your throat

But what did you want to say when he was always able to turn the words back to you, the venom rolling off his tongue

“Haven’t you missed me too?” He asked, his face dangerously close to yours as he backed you against a telephone pole on the side of the street, one arm over your head while his other tucked in his pocket

“I know you have,” he purred, smirking devilishly as the hand that was resting above your head cane down to stroke your face

“Don’t touch them,” Kuroo spoke with a sweet sound in his voice, a smile on his face but you could feel his anger

You had told him and called him countless times when you woke up at night cause of he words your ex had seared into your mind about you

All were false but words had a way with sticking

The hold he had on the guy’s hand was almost bone crushing as he controlled his temper around the guy who had hurt you so badly

He never wanted to see him and he never wanted to see you so sad

He wanted to see the smile you were able to show him after a long time

“Oh? And what’re you gonna do?” He mistakingly asked

“I’ll show you something to be scared of, you piece of trash,” Kuroo cursed as he squeezed the guy’s hand until his knuckles were white, his entire demeanor different as he sent a death glare at the guy

“Alright, alright,” he finally piped up, trying to hide the clear pain Kuroo was putting on his hand

Kuroo let him go and watched him go off, sending him a glare when he looked back, standing in front of you so he couldn’t even see you

“Let’s go home,” his aura lighter around you as he handed you a drink nonchalantly, holding you close with his arm wrapped around your shoulders protectively

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (send me an ask if you wanna be added): @yams046 @mazey-chan @sunboikyo00

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alectoperdita · 3 years

Note

i have no idea if i dreamt i sent you something like this already, and or, that you don’t answer these types of asks; either way i’m so sorry and feel free to ignore !

but i just wanted to let you know i read side deck at the beginning of this year and i still continue to think about it every single day.

jounouchi and kaiba have meant the absolute world to me since i was a child and have boosted my confidence 100% since indulging in it again now that i’m an adult.

it’s been a stressful, lonely few years, still trying to grow up and not have a crisis about it every five seconds. but reading side deck brought me this new hope and comfort that everything is going to be okay, and i just really want to thank you for writing it.

i didn’t know how much reading that fic would’ve impacted me later on and i have yet to read any other joukai fics as good as sd or any of your other works.

i went off on a bit of a tangent there, haha ! sorry again. but truly, from the bottom of my heart, your writing is soso amazing and i’m happy i get to experience this side of the ygo fandom/joukai :))

Oh anon, I'm going to cry...

Being an adult is one hell of a trial. The pandemic hasn't helped either. Hang in there. I hope it gets less lonely and stressful for you soon. Just know that everyone, including you, is doing their individual best, whatever that may be. We all have to take heart and comfort from what joys we can find. It's an honor to hear that a fanfic I wrote is one such thing.

Thank you so much for this heartfelt message, and I hope it can continue to provide some measure of comfort and hope for you. <3

#replies #fic: Side Deck #for reference I am more inclined to answer these types of asks privately #but since this is anon that's not an option #I've been struggling with a crisis of confidence for the past two week #so this and every other comment I've received in the meanwhile has helped more than you'll ever know #sadly this weekend has somehow been even worse due to rl circumstances

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jpegjade · 4 years

Text

Going Swimming - Spencer

HELLO DOUBLE UPLOAD DAY. so i decided to finish this one while I was on a break to eat lunch. It is a bit shorter compared to my other ones. I think this is fluff. im calling it fluff bc nothing dramatic happens.

Request: Hey! I thought it would be really cute for a story where Spencer and y/n have been dating for a bit, but he’s never really seen her without makeup before because she’s insecure without it. Maybe he does something to help show her how beautiful she rlly is! I love your writing, thank you so much for being you!

((also: thank you lovely anon. you touched my heart.))

___________________

You and Spencer had been together for 2 blissful months. Even when he was gone, he talked to you as much as he could, calling you each time he was in the hotel room or texting you when he had good news. He always wanted to share what he could with you, even if it was vague without any details. He could never share the details but he loved telling you that he successfully talked someone down. Those were his favorite days.

Today was an off day so the two of you spent it lounging around at his apartment. You liked his apartment, it was full of so many interesting books and you were on a mission to read them all while you guys were still together. So far, things were going well and you couldn’t imagine any reason that you couldn’t get through all of them.

“Do you want to go to the pool?” Spencer asked. He was only wearing swim trunks and a towel around his shoulders. Damn he looked good like that.

“Pool?” You asked, wondering what got into him. It was a nice day to say it was summer but you wondered where he would have access to a pool.

“The apartment complex built one and it’s finally complete.” He smiled.

“Oh.” You thought about it, you really did. “No, that’s okay.” You said, going back to some book about mathematics and physics.

“Are you sure? It will be fun.” Spencer said, getting a little down.

“Spence, I don’t have a bathing suit.” You said, trying to avoid the idea.

“You look good in your bra and bottoms, I promise.” He smirked, walking over to you.

Your body took up the whole couch since you were stretched out with your legs up on the other seats so he sat near you on the floor.

“I don’t want to swim, baby. But I can sit poolside and watch you swim, if you’re that set on swimming.” You smiled, kissing him on the forehead.

“It’s not fun without you, y/n.” He said, pouting.

Spencer tried to come up with an answer to all of your points but he couldn’t come up with anything. He sighed, turning so his back was leaning on the couch. While one hand held the book, the other hand naturally went to play with Spencer's hair. He sighed again, this time a little louder before turning back around.

“I’ve never seen you without make-up.” Spencer said, studying your face.

“Okay?” You looked up from the book that was giving you a headache. The concepts were going over your head.

“Why?” Spencer was just wondering innocently. He was inquisitive so it was natural that he would ask questions he didn’t have the answers to, which was rare.

“Because?” You said. It wasn’t something you were defensive over because you knew he was only asking since he was curious.

“Because why?” He said, scrunching his eyebrows a little.

“Because I just feel more comfortable with it on. If I’m going out in public, I’d prefer to have my best face forward.” You looked back down at the book, satisfied with your answer.

“Do you feel like you have to put it on for me? Or is it more for yourself?” Spencer turned his body completely to look at you, criss crossing his legs and putting his hands in the gap. You thought he looked like a 5-year-old who was waiting for nap time.

“No, it’s not you. Well it’s you a little bit but it’s just how I am. I grew up like this and it stuck.” You said, shrugging your shoulders.

“Oh.” Spencer wasn’t getting it and you could see it on his face. “What do you mean?”

“When I was growing up, I learned the hard way that people think you’re prettier when you look perfect. While girls were putting on makeup, I liked being natural. For a while, no one cared. Then I started to notice that people only wanted you if you wore make-up, dressed a certain way, acted like you didn’t care about anything. I got bullied into wearing make-up, basically.” You paused to collect your thoughts.

“When I got older, I noticed that boys only liked me when I had make-up on. Even just a simple look was better than showing my natural face. So I decided that I would just look my best at all times so nobody could catch me on an off-day. Even when I’m lounging at home, I wear something because I don’t like my reflection otherwise. I’d rather be perfect.” You finished.

Spencer was quiet for a moment. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

“So… Why do you feel the need to wear it around me?” He asked, wondering how he played into everything.

“Because I just like to look perfect around you. I like knowing that I’m my best for you.” You said, looking at your feet. It came out in such a quiet voice, you weren’t sure he heard you.

“I know it’s not my place and my opinion doesn’t matter but I think you’re perfect already… There’s very few things that could dissuade me from my opinion about you and whether or not you wear makeup is not one of them. I think that your experiences with selfish, superficial people has given you a tainted view of the world and I understand. Generally speaking, the golden ratio does seem to exist. It’s a very western culture way of thinking but being conventionally attractive is valued greatly and anyone who is not up to that standard isn’t-”

“Spencer, I love hearing you talk but you’re going to stop being helpful if you continue down the path you’re on.” You said, looking over at him. He didn’t even realize he was going off on a tangent.

“Right. My point is that I appreciate you as you are, with or without makeup. I can only hope that during the course of our relationship, you become comfortable enough to show me another side of you that I haven’t seen because I would like to give that face a multitude of kisses. I always want to kiss you but I’m scared of messing up your hard work so I restrain myself a lot of the time. Garcia has shown me makeup videos on the Tube website about how long it takes and how much the stuff is and all the different designs and stuff and I admire the hard work that goes into the process. But I want you to know that you don’t have to look perfect when you’re perfect as you are to me.” He said, grinning.

“You promise you won’t judge me?” You said, finally looking up at him.

“I promise I won’t judge or change my mind about you.” Spencer smiled.

“Okay. Maybe next time.” You said standing up to grab a different book.

“I have one more question.” Spencer said, standing up. He lost his balance and fell forward onto the couch.

“Go ahead, babe.” You grabbed The iliad.

“Can I try that stuff you put under your eyes to hide dark circles? Mine are getting out of control.” He said standing up and walking over to where you stood, in front of the bookcase.

“I don’t have your color but we can try it just for fun. But I have to say, you with dark circles is really hot. I’m attracted to guys who look like they haven't slept in a millenia.” You chuckled.

“Oh really? Well maybe I don’t need it, in that case.” Spencer smirked. “One last question.”

“Just ask, baby.” You smiled.

“Can I kiss you? You’re wearing my favorite lip gloss, the minty one, and I’ve been dying to kiss you all day.” Spencer hovered just above your face, your noses barely touching.

“You don’t have to ask.”

________________

tag list:

@dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal

#spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #cm #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine

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iheardarumorxxx · 4 years

Text

Midnight Sun, Chapter 9 - Port Angeles

Right. I remember this chapter from Twilight. I also have heard quite a bit about this chapter. This is gonna be a ride.

Eddie starts off this chapter saying that he used to be the ‘responsible’ one. I would like to remind everyone that Edward Anthony Masen Cullen spent a few years eating people he percieved to be horrible criminals because he didn’t like animal blood and was being a whiny baby. But go off, Eddie.

SM is still trying to paint Jessica as a rude bitch and I still don’t buy it. It is extremely clear to anyone with eyeballs that Mike has a thing for Bella, and it is pretty obvious that this date he’s going on with Jessica is because Bella said no. So her thoughts come off as insecure. She’s a teenage girl, so I think insecure is a pretty standard thing. Not always, but SM has painted these kids as the stereotypical teens, so.

Basically, I still don’t buy the attempt to make Jessica seem evil.

Bella has wandered off to go get that book she wanted, and Eddie is simply freaking out because he let his daughter out of his sight for one minute and she wandered off. He’s about half a second away from considering getting a leash to put on her. Seriously, though, that’s how this reads. A parent frantic because they lost their child in a crowded store or park. We all know she’s gonna get a serious scolding for this one. Maybe even grounded.

a volly of snarls erupted from my throat

Okay, we’re still not to the big rant about vampire instincts in this universe, yet, but I want you guys to remember this for later. It absolutely aides in the point I plan to make there. Also a ‘volly’ of snarls. That sounds so forced and I genuinely laughed out loud when I read it. Anyway, Eddie has found Bella and she is with the Evil Bad Guys Who Have Ill Intentions.

I would see how he enjoyed the hunt when he was the pray. I would see what he thought of my style of hunting.

Technically a spoiler because it hasn’t happened yet in this book, but not because we’ve seen it in Twilight. Eddie literally does not do anything to this Lanny guy or his friends. He gets out of the car, makes a mean face at them, and then gets back in the car and drives off. Maybe SM has Eddie go back out and hunt them later after he drops Bella off, but that doesn’t fit in with his squeaky clean good boy persona that Daddy Carlisle puts on him, so I doubt it. The scene as we know it comes off as very ‘man, if my girlfriend wasn’t here I’d kick your ass’. Because Eddie is a lot of bloated, puffed up talk.

When SM uses dialogue tags like ‘ordered’ to describe how Eddie says things, it just really hammers home that point I’ve been making about red flags. Even if it’s practical, like him telling Bella to put on a seat belt, especially since Pires bend the will of cars to their inane and idotic physics.

We went on a tangent about one of Eddie’s kills from his Vampire Batman days, and like honestly? I watch a lot of Criminal Minds. I see a lot of this kind of stuff, and it is absolutely awful that people like that exist in the world. I’m not saying that they shouldn’t be stopped. HOWEVER, this idea Eddie has that he was playing a good guy by taking justice into his own hands, I don’t jive with that. Now, I am aware of how faulty the criminal justice system is, especially with victims of sexual assault and domestic violence. I’ve lived that, myself. But if Eddie is so comfortable taking another life, no matter how he tries to justify it, he is no better than the people who he’s deciding to kill for their crimes.

a highly justifiable murder

See, this. This is why I don’t buy that SM’s Cullens are the paragons of good that she is constantly trying to say they are. There is no such thing as a justifiable murder, no matter what. Solving heinous acts with heinous acts simply perpetuates a cycle of heinous acts.

I wasn’t giving her a chance to say no.

This is a trend that will continue throughout the entire series. I will point you to all of the times that Edward never gave Bella a choice in a matter, including leaving her in New Moon, and DISMANTLING HER CAR ENGINE IN ECLIPSE SO THAT SHE COULDN’T GO SEE HER FRIEND. That one in particular rubs me the wrong way for reasons, but we won’t do that here. Just know that Edward never actually lets Bella make a choice in this series, and even when he pretends to, he does everything in his power to make the outcome go his way.

And now we’re at the restaruant. I’ve heard some stuff about this scene and god, can I not WAIT, but for now, let’s just talk about the one off waitress character. She is clearly only here to be a rival to Bella for this scene. Brief, unimportant, underdeveloped. And honestly? One off characters don’t actually need that development, not really, but what I can’t stand about this one is that she is literally only here, both in this book and in Twilight, so that SM can puff up how clearly Bella is so much better than she is. Because, you see, Eddie doesn’t find the pretty hostess attractive, he only has eyes for Bella. Her entire point is so that Edward can look at Bella, and therefore, the audience as Bella is their SI for this world, and go on about how much better and prettier and more perfect she is than this woman. It’s just gross.

“Do I dazzle you?”

This is still, in my personal opinion, the best and most iconic line in a series full of iconic lines. Eddie the Dazzle Machine. Charming the pants off people when he’s trying to scare the shit out of them. It’s hilarious, and so fuckin’ romance novel cliche, and I love it.

This restaurant is apparently a real place in the real Port Angeles. And from what I understand, at least when the Twilight craze was in full swing back in 2008, they got a lot of extra business and a lot more people ordering the mushroom ravioli. Even put something about Twilight on their menu. Good for them, taking advantage of that free marketing. I have never been to Port Angeles, and am allergic to mushrooms, so I can’t say I’ve experienced the dish, but if any of you have, please let me know if it’s worth the hype.

Its so funny that right now, Eddie is worried about Bella being cold and going into shock, while Bella is over there huffing the fumes off his jacket like it’s a paint can, and he can’t even tell that that’s what she’s doing. The girl is doing everything short of just shoving her whole face in it and inhaling, but he’s too thick to get it.

And here we are folks. The meat and potatoes of this chapter. The big comparison. The reason the cover has a pomegranete on it. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen has the absolute GALL to compare Bella, the boring, walking video game avatar to Persephone. Lets break down Persephone for a second here. There’s a lot to break down, but let’s stick to the basics, for fear that this rant gets wickedly out of hand before I can stop it. Persephone radiates optimism and hope. Persephone is soft, sweet, but has a temper that could kill a man. Persephone is sympathetic. When in the ever loving FUCK has Isabella Swan ever shown any of those characteristics? She is NEVER optimistic about anything. She fucking exists in a constant cloud of negative thought and assuming the worst. She isn’t hopeful about ANYTHING, not even her future with her PRECIOUS Eddie because she’s always questioning his intentions and feelings for her. She is not sympathetic in the slightest, no matter what SM tries to shove down my throat. She treats her friends like shit, she manipulates and lies her way through conversations so she doesn’t have to deal with them, she compares Mike to a FUCKING DOG. Bella is not comparable to Persephone, and it’s fucking beyond ham-fisted, it’s fucking EGREGIOUS to try to make that comparison.

I could see more of an argument for comparing Eddie to Hades, since, ya know, Hades fucking stole Persephone to be his wife and most stories about Hades paint him as kind of a moody, brooding dickbag, but I’m still calling fucking foul on this attempt at comparison, SM. No dice.

Moving on.

Eddie describing Bella’s skin as ‘velvety’ gives me war flashbacks to those grocery store checkout novels with Fabio on the cover that my mom used to read. Eghhh.

So, Bella touches Eddie’s hand and it’s described in a way that gives me very G-rated sex vibes. Which just makes me wanna tell them to get a room because they’re in public right now, and also don’t do that in front of Bella’s salad ravioli.

Eddie is still being super controling and weird about Bella eating, and honestly, I super wish that Bella had had the good sense to get the hell out of there with Jess and Angela. Or that she would have the good sense now to excuse herself, find someone on staff, ask to borrow a phone, and call her dad. Because this guy is literally throwing out every red flag that exists. I know I say this a lot, but if Bella were a normal girl, she would not be charmed by this guy, she would be freaking creeped out and trying to get away from him. He isn’t even subtle about his creep factor or charming enough to play it off.

Edward thinking he has any edge at all is like white bread thinking it’s the right kind of bread for a hamburger.

Anyway, chapter ends with Eddie paying the bill and the pair getting in the car to head home. And the drama chord of the last sentence that’s supposed to play in your head when you read it falls flat. They’re on the way back to Forks and Eddie is chomping at the bit to hear Bella’s latest theory that we know from Twilight isn’t actually a theory so much as she heard a story from Jacob and then did some searching on some shitty Angelfire website. Or Geocities. Either way. And then she just went ahead and had a big old prophetic dream about it.

Next time, we get the awkward car ride home and more. Thanks for hanging around guys. As always, feel free to message me (though, please note to anyone who has sent me anon messages that are rude or angry because I’m making fun of this book, I’m gonna ignore you.), recommend what books I should put on my list for my next recap series, and feel free to buy me a snack using the CashApp tag in my bio.

See you next time, babes.

#sierra recaps stuff #midnight sun #midnight sun spoilers #midnight sun recap #twilight #ms chapter 9

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omnivorousshipper · 4 years

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Shobbs: Adventures in Rescuing

This was requested by anon here

Summary: In the middle of the night, Deckard receives a phone call. Apparently, Hobbs had gotten himself into a sticky situation and it's up to Deckard to save him. He just hopes he's not too late

Deckard leaned back into his plush armchair, carefully balancing his tablet on the arm of the chair as he tucked his legs under him. Once settled, he spread a blanket over himself, picked up his tablet, and readjusted the reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. On the end table next to him sat a steaming cup of tea, heavily doused with honey.

This was one of the first nights Deckard had had to himself. No MI6 agents knocking on his door, no little siblings bugging him for attention, and no bad guys trying to kill him. Deckard didn’t mind his chaotic lifestyle, but sometimes it was nice to have a little break and catch up on some reading.

Reaching for his cup of tea, his hand stilled when he heard his phone go off.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Deckard sighed and let his head fall back for a moment before lifting it once again to look down at his phone, which laid next to the cup. For a second, Deckard considered ignoring the call, but knowing who he was related to, he decided that would be a bad idea.

His hand moved towards the phone slowly, almost as if he was about to pick up a venomous snake. Finally, his fingers wrapped around the cool metal and strong vibrations as the phone kept ringing. Looking at the screen, Deckard raised an eyebrow.

Unknown number.

Nobody, other than the people already stored in his phone, should have his number. Whoever it was calling him had a lot of explaining to do. Rolling his eyes, he finally picked up after a few rings, and gruffly answered.

“Shaw.”

“Oh thank god, I never thought you’d answer. Let me tell you, hearing your voice, it’s like hearing an angel’s. No. Like hearing God’s voice himself. Well, if you believe in stuff like that. Myself, not so much. I like believing in stuff I can touch, you know? Like chimichangas-”

Deckard hung up.

And his phone immediately started ringing again.

Even though he knew it was going to be a bad idea, Deckard sighed and picked up again. But before the other person could talk, Deckard growled out a warning.

“If you don’t get to the point right this second, I will find you and force feed you your own bollocks.”

There was a beat of silence before the other person started speaking, much slower and subdued this time.

“Okay, yeah. Totally understand.”

“Now, who the bloody hell are and what do you want?”

“Agent Locke, CIA,” the other man answered happily. “And let me just say, it’s an honor to finally be able to talk to you Deckard. Can I call you Deckard? Great! So, I have a favor to ask of you!”

Taking the phone away from his ear, Deckard rubbed the bridge of his nose, nearly dislodging his glasses. He knew he should hang up. It would be the easiest and simplest way to avoid a headache. But if the man was actually CIA and was able to contact him, something must be up.

Bringing the phone back up to his ear, Deckard was able to hear the tail end of Locke’s tangent.

“-but they said no, even though I told them it was a good idea. Why does nobody listen to me? I get results! I get things done! So what if there’s a little blood spilled along the way? It’s part of the job!”

“What the bloody hell are you talking about?” Deckard sighed, feeling his patience close to snapping.

“Your good ol’ buddy, Luke Hobbs of course! Although, he prefers to be called Rebbeca. I came up with that name, you know? He loves it ‘cause we’re best friends and-”

“What about Hobbs, you absolute tit?” Deckard hissed.

“See, that’s where you come in. I sent him after a few baddies in Belgium and all we’ve gotten from him in the last twenty-four hours is radio silence,” Locke blurted out, not seeming to take a breath at all as he relayed the information to Deckard. “And I don’t have any guys in Belgium to help him out, you know, with waffles and chocolate being the only things in Belgium. So, I was hoping you’d go in and help him out?”

Deckard had to resist the urge to rub the bridge of his nose again. And then gave up and rubbed his temple instead.

“You mean to tell me, the CIA doesn’t have anyone who can help an agent who could possibly be taken hostage?”

“Yeah,” Locke sheepishly responded. “That’s basically it.”

“All of you Americans are idiots,” Deckard grumbled.

“And talking about idiot Americans, Hobbs still needs help. Probably. If he’s not already dead,” Locke tagged on at the end.

“Jesus Christ, man!” Deckard nearly yelped. The way Locke just casually mentioned Hobbs’ possibly being dead had Deckard straightening his back and knocking his book to the ground. The idea of Hobbs being surrounded by enemies and taking his last breath made something inside Deckard twist painfully. Nobody deserved a death like that, especially a man like Hobbs.

“So, what do you say?”

“Send me the files on the guys he was tracking. I’ll see what I can do,” Deckard finally said, a note of resignation in his voice.

The next few hours went by in a blur after that. Deckard had rushed to get dressed, collect his gear and weapons, and all the documents he would need to get into Belgium in the middle of the night. Taking one of his least flashy cars, he sped down the Channel Tunnel while he listened to his phone read out the files on the guys Hobbs was tasked to take down.

Hobbs had gone after a guy named Mark Hulmes, the nephew of Lewis Hulmes, one of the most notorious mob bosses in all of Brussels. Apparently the younger Hulmes had been branching out and had tried buying some high end weapons from the black market, sending red flags to the CIA. And it seemed like they had a valid reason to be concerned if Hulmes got his hands on those weapons. The man had been involved in a multitude of violent crimes, including attempted murder, but because his uncle had strong connections with the judge, the younger Hulmes got off with only a few months of probation.

Deckard had never really been in contact with the criminal underworld of Brussels, but he knew Hulmes’ types. He was a ticking time bomb.

One that might have a mouthy DSS agent in his grasp.

Deckard knew Hobbs could handle himself, but from the way Locke put it, it seemed like Hobbs went in alone. And while the man was an absolute powerhouse by himself, Deckard knew that it could take only one lucky shot to take someone down. He just hoped that that didn’t happen to Hobbs and the man was just laying low.

“You better be alive, Hobbs, or else I’m going to kick your sorry arse,” Deckard mumbled to himself, gripping the steering wheel hard, his knuckles going white..

The next few hours went by slowly, with Deckard stiffly sitting and pushing his luck with the speed limit and local police. He couldn’t help the images that would pop into his head every few minutes. From Hobbs beaten and bruised, to him screaming in pain, to his lifeless bo-

“He’s fine,” Deckard firmly told himself. “If he could survive Brixton, he can survive some back alley punk from Brussels.”

The statement only marginally helped him feel better, but didn’t stop the darker thoughts from creeping back in.

The sun was peeking over the horizon when Deckard finally reached the row of abandoned warehouses that the Hulmes family owned and no doubt did most of their dirty business. The buildings were on their last legs, looking as if a strong wind would knock them down. There were weeds growing up the sides of them, while every window was shattered and allowed the elements to enter the buildings.

After a few loops around the place, Deckard was able to spot a few cars parked around one in particular, while all the others stood empty. Parking behind the one that appeared to be inhabited, Deckard started to grab as many guns, ammo, and other weapons that he could. And it being him, he was able to carry quite a bit.

He had no idea how many men would be inside, only a rough estimate from the eight or so cars he saw parked in front. It took him several minutes to gear up, but finally he shut the trunk of his car, armed to the teeth. Holding his custom handgun, the SVI Infinity, he sneaked around the warehouse, looking for a different entrance other than the front door.

“That’ll work,” Deckard smirked, spotting a firescape on the side of the building and allowing him access to the second floor. It was severely rusted and missing several rungs, and creaked horribly when Deckard started to climb up it. Taking his time, he listened carefully to the noises coming from inside.

He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but from the shouts and loud, boisterous laughter, it made the hair on the back of Deckard’s neck stand on end. People like Hulmes didn’t laugh when things were funny, but when something was in pain. That thought made Deckard quicken his pace, not caring if the deteriorating metal underneath him made noise; he needed to get to Hobbs.

The door at the top was just as rusted as the rest of the firescape and almost fell apart in Deckard’s hands as he shoved it open. It creaked loudly, making Deckard freeze in fear of being discovered. He couldn’t risk Hobbs’ life before he had even verified if the man was even in this building. Luckily, the shouts from down below didn’t stop, and Deckard could feel his heart slow.

Carefully entering the building, Deckard crouched near the railing of the platform that made up the second level of the building. And immediately, Deckard could feel rage boil up from his gut and spreading through his veins. Because down below, he could see Hobbs.

The large man was chained to a chair, surrounded by a group of various men, all who were circling the DSS agent and shouting taunts at him. Deckard felt himself jerk forward as he watched one of the men down below move quickly, his hand shooting out to punch Hobbs across the face.

“Look, boys! He’s not so tough anymore!” The man shouted, shrill laughter leaving him and bouncing off the concrete walls of the warehouse. “And to think anyone was ever scared of this worthless piece of shit!”

Hobbs didn’t react from the hit or insults. Instead, his head rolled so his chin was sitting on his chest, his whole body saging into the chair.

Deckard felt his finger twitch on the trigger of his gun as a spike of panic went through him. Hobbs was obviously unconscious and would no doubt need medical assistance soon. Clenching his jaw, Deckard raised his gun with both hands, leveling it at the group of men.

“Try it again, you arseholes,” he growled.

And like he predicted, another man broke away from the circle and was leveling a kick towards Hobbs’ head. With ease, Deckard tracked the man’s movements and before his foot was even halfway in the air, Deckard was pulling the trigger.

Chaos exploded underneath Deckard as the rest of the men started shouting and screaming from their friend’s brains spilled all over the floor and the resounding crack of Deckard’s gun echoed off the walls. Deckard sent out several more shots as the group below him ran around like headless chickens, all of them scrambling to grab their own guns.

“Up there!” One of the men shouted, pointing up at Deckard.

“Shit,” Deckard hissed out, and quickly stood up from his crouch and ran towards the stairs leading down to the lower floor and to Hobbs. He could hear several bullets ricocheting off the guardrail next to him. Ducking, he grabbed a different gun and easily raised it to shoot the men who were running up the stairs, trying to get to him.

Their bodies fell, making him have to jump over them and down the last few steps. He was immediately met with a baseball coming straight for his head. Dropping down, Deckard balanced on one foot and a hand on the ground, and sent a sweeping kick to his attacker’s legs, making the man hit the ground hard. Quick as lightning, Deckard moved over the man and hit him over the head hard with the butt of his gun, knocking the man out.

Jumping to his feet, Deckard kept charging forward, meeting another wave of Hulmes’ lackies head on. He ducked and weaved between them, easily dodging their fumbling limbs as they tried to fend him off. Every single one of them dropped to the ground, either from a vicious punch, a swift kick, or well placed bullet.

Panting, Deckard took on every person who came at him, and soon enough, the crowd of minions was thinning and leaving only about ten minions and Hulmes himself.

“Hey, arsehole!”

Shoving a guy off him, Deckard whipped his head around at the voice.

And felt his heart stop.

Standing behind Hobbs, holding a knife to his neck, was Hulmes.

“That’s right! If you don’t want me slitting this rat bastard’s throat open, then you better give right now, you piece of shit!” Hulmes shouted, the knife he was holding pressing further into Hobbs’ skin and making a line of blood to appear. “Drop you guns!”

Baring his teeth, Deckard let his current handgun fall from his hand and raised both hands to show his surrender. Two of Hulmes’ minions grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms tight behind his back. Ignoring the spike of pain that shot up his shoulders, Deckard let the men drag him towards where Hulmes and Hobbs were.

Now that he was much closer, Deckard felt another wave of rage wash over him as he took in the state Hobbs was in. He was clearly unconscious, his head hanging limp in Hulmes’ hold. There was a mess of bruises all over his face, while Deckard could see several cuts and gashes scattered all over his body, all of them slowly bleeding and soaking his clothing. The only thing keeping Deckard’s anger from spilling over was the fact that Hobbs’ chest was steadily moving up and down.

“That’s right,” Hulmes sneered. “One wrong move from you and I’ll cut your DSS buddy up.”

Deckard didn’t say anything, but felt a thrill of amusement go through him when Hulmes’ expression fell slightly at the glare Deckard was sending him.

“You two” Hulmes waved to some of his remaining men. “Search him and strip him of all of his weapons.”

Staying still, Deckard let the minions grab gun after gun off him, and couldn’t hold back the smug smirk that grew larger and larger as a formable sized pile started to form.

“Not so tough now are you, without all of your guns,” Hulmes taunted, his voice filled with faux confidence. Deckard could clearly see his hand shaking from where it still held a knife to Hobbs’ throat.

“I don’t need any gun to take you or your boys down,” Deckard said in a bored tone. Hulmes’ face scrunched up in confusion and fury. He shoved Hobbs’ head away from him, and stormed up to Deckard, shoving the knife so close to Deckard, he could just about feel the tip of it brushing against his nose.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but let me tell you, I won’t be bullied by some wannabe-”

While Hulmes was talking, Deckard subtly twisted his hand and was able to slip his watch off. With a hard thrust backwards, he was able to break the hold on his arms and snap his arm out to hit Hulmes across the face with his watch.

“Fuck!” Hulmes screeched and stumbled away.

The men who had been holding Deckard’s arms were staring at him in shock, not knowing what had just happened. Using their confusion, Deckard lunged toward them, with his watch wrapped around his knuckles, so the watch face was on the top of his fit. He heard a satisfying crunch as his fist landed on the first minion’s face. The second one went down just as quickly, still too stuck in his own confusion and fear as he watched Deckard take down his buddy.

The last few minions came at him fast and hard, but it was too easy to duck down, grab a gun and face them head on. The fight only lasted less than a minute, with each minion falling one after another. When the final body hit the floor, Deckard watched it disinterestedly, before looking up and tracking the room for Hulmes. The man was running straight for the main entrance.

Lifting his pistol, Deckard took aim and a final shot boomed through the warehouse as Hulmes’ body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

Deckard didn’t bother watching the body hit the floor, as he was already turning towards Hobbs and rushing towards his still slumped body. Gently, Deckard grabbed Hobbs’ head, each hand on a cheek.

“Hobbs. Hobbs! Can you hear me?” Deckard tried not to let the panic he was feeling slip into his voice. Still trying to be gentle, he patted Hobbs’ cheek, trying to get the man to wake up. “Hobbs!”

“Nnngh,” Hobbs finally groaned after a minute of nudging. His dark eyes blinked open, blurrily looking up at Deckard.

“Hobbs, thank Christ,” Deckard breathed out, cradling Hobbs’ head. He looked into the other man’s rapidly closing eyes, trying to see if his pupils were the same size.

“What…?” Hobbs slurred and promptly passed out again.

“Fuck sakes,” Deckard sighed out. “How the bloody hell am I supposed to drag you out of here, you giant?”

~~~

Luke’s not sure what woke him up; it could have been several things: the blinding light streaming in from the window, the loud voices he could hear not too far away, or the massive spiking pain that was going through his body. Well, it was definitely more in his head than anywhere else. Rubbing his head, Luke carefully levered himself up right, and took in the room around him.

It was a standard hotel room: outdated wallpaper, a bed, a dresser, a door to a bathroom, a door to the outside, and on the bed, Deckard Shaw.

Wait. What?!

Luke had to do a double take and whipped his head to look down at the man sleeping next to him. Laying next to Luke, the smaller man was curled up tight, still above the covers, with a hand stretched out towards Luke, almost as if he wanted to grab him.

What is he doing here? Wait, what am I doing here? What happened? Luke wondered to himself.

Frankly, even trying to remember more than his name hurt his head, but he tried to think back to the last twenty-four hours. One of Hulmes’ men had found him sneaking into one of the warehouses the mob family owned, and had been dragged inside, where he met Hulmes face to face. But, after that, things got hazy. Luke could easily remember the pain, the questions Hulmes spit in his face as he kicked or punched Luke repeatedly. He remembered passing out and the rest was a blank.

Keeping an eye on the ex-assassin still in the bed, Luke slowly swung his feet off the bed, trying to ignore how the world was spinning.

“Hobbs?” A voice rasped behind him.

Cursing under his breath, Luke turned and saw Shaw slowly sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah?” Luke asked, keeping his voice level. He watched with narrowed as eyes as Shaw nimbly rolled off the bed onto his feet and rounded the bed to face Luke. Without thinking, Luke’s back straightened and he leaned back when Shaw was in front of him. The other man ignored him and was immediately grabbing the back of his head. Luke tried to jerk his head out of the strong grasp, but a sharp pain had him hissing out instead. “What the fuck are you doing, Shaw?”

“Checking how the lump on your head is, you absolute wanker,” Shaw mumbled back, focusing on feeling the said bump.

Luke was shocked to hear the actual concern running through Shaw’s voice and the way his touch stayed gentle, never once pressing too hard and causing pain. Soon enough, he nodded and took his hands away from Luke’s head, but then moved them to Luke’s torso, making Luke freeze at the feeling of those surprisingly soft hands on his bare chest, where several bandages were. And that’s when Luke realized just how close the other man was.

Shaw was practically standing in between Luke’s legs, his face only a few inches away from Luke’s as his brow furrowed as he checked Luke’s injuries. Luke could feel his face heat up and his heart beat faster by how close the smaller man was.

But all too soon, Shaw was pulling away and taking a step back from Luke. And Luke immediately missed having him so close.

“What do you remember?” Shaw asked bluntly, crossing his arms and waiting for Luke’s answer.

“Other than when Hulmes’ men caught me, not much,” Luke admitted.

“Bastards really got you,” Deckard said tightly. “You were completely out of it when I got there and saved your sorry arse.”

Luke’s eyebrows shot up. That had definitely been concern in Shaw’s voice.

“You took Hulmes and his guys down?” Luke asked incredulously.

“Wasn’t that hard,” Deckard shrugged. “Hulmes might have acted like a hard ass, but as soon as I bitched slapped him, his tune changed.”

Luke couldn’t help but match the smirk on Deckard’s face with a smile. Most guys he faced acted tough, but could never really deliver. But when it came to Shaw, the man could always hold his own and find a way out of a situation, which Luke had to admit was impressive.

“Well, thanks, man,” Luke sincerely responded, catching the surprised look on Shaw’s face. “If you hadn’t come along, I don’t know what would have happened to me. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shaw mumbled, not looking Luke in the eye and shifted his weight from one leg to another. Luke couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he watched the bashful display. He’ll have to thank Shaw a lot more in the future. However, the other man cleared his throat before Luke could say anything else. “Do you think you can stand?”

“I think so,” Luke answered, a trace of uncertainty in his voice. Sitting up and staying still had helped the world to stop spinning, but Luke didn’t know what his balance would be like. It felt like someone had replaced his bones with jello.

Carefully, he hoisted himself off the bed and stood for a moment. So far, so good, Luke thought and took a step forward.

And almost fell flat on his face.

“Whoa there, big guy!” Deckard huffed out, catching Luke’s arms and helping him stand. Luke blinked rapidly, letting Deckard keep a hold on him and making sure he wouldn’t fall again. Because honestly, Luke had a feeling he would need the help.

After a moment of catching his breath, Luke looked down at the smaller man and felt his heart stutter at the way Shaw- wait, no- Deckard was looking at him. The worry in those deep, brown eyes was astounding as he carefully kept his grip on Luke firm, but gentle at the same.

Luke couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him with so much worry and attention, other than Sam. And thinking about it, Luke wasn’t sure he could remember a time where someone had to come save his ass, take out the guy he had been hunting, and then drag him somewhere safe to patch him up. And all without expecting anything in return. Because Luke knew Deckard wasn’t the time to save someone and ask for payment. That’s not why he did it.

Looking down at the smaller man, Luke couldn’t help himself as he leaned forward and just barely brushed his lips against Deckard’s, causing him to let out a small gasp. Pulling back, Luke was expecting a punch, a shove, or to even to be yelled at. Instead, he felt Deckard’s hand once again on the back of his head, but this time, his grip was tighter as he kept Luke where he was and crashed their lips together.

It was like fireworks were exploding all throughout Luke’s veins from where they touched: from every motion of Deckard’s lips, to the way his arms clung to Luke’s, and when Deckard shoved his chest against Luke’s, trying to get as close as he could. Luke never wanted the feeling to end, but he could feel himself becoming light headed from the lack of oxygen.

Finally breaking the kiss, Luke rested his forehead against Deckard’s, both of them leaning on each other and catching their breath.

“We should leave soon,” Deckard whispered quietly, not daring to break the calm between them.

“Where’re we going?” Luke whispered back, slowly rubbing a thumb on Deckard’s arm.

“Breakfast first, and then to London, back to my place.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“But first, let’s get you dressed.” Deckard smiled and leaned in for one most swift kiss before pulling back. As they both moved to wrangle a shirt over Luke’s bandaged chest, Luke was again surprised how gentle and caring Deckard’s touch was. He could definitely get used to it.

Deckard wrapped an arm around Luke’s waist, both of them moving slowly since Luke’s legs were still doing an imitation of a newborn fawn’s. But suddenly, Luke stopped, something just occurring to him.

“Um, is this a bad time to tell you I probably can’t pay for breakfast since I don’t have my wallet anymore?” Luke asked hesitantly.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, love. I’m sure I can find several ways you can repay me,” Deckard purred, his smirk holding several promises.

Smirking back, Luke was going to make sure that Deckard held to all of those promises.

#shobbs #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #hobbs and shaw #rescuing a loved one #rescue mission #hurt/comfort #small bits of violence #fast and furious series #fanfic #my fanfic

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too-many-baes · 5 years

Text

Tequila, Bones and Bruises

Pairing: fem!reader x Sam Winchester

Warnings(s): alcohol, injury, mentions of death, fluff, slight angst?

Word Count: 4.6K

Request: “Hey - just saw your requests are open. I know in general Dean gets a lot of love in the fandom but I'm a total Sam girl! Can you do one where reader is a hunter that the boys have known since they were young because John took care of her (aka left her with dean) when her dad was away or something like that... anyway she and Sam have always liked each other but after Jess he's too scared to do anything about it. Maybe Dean helps or something or she totally kicks ass... idk you choose. I trust you” – by Anon

A/N: Thank you anon for your Sam request! I am also a total Sam girl, have been from day dot so I'm glad you gave me the chance to show the tallest Winchester some well earned love 💝 This is probably not what you envisioned at all, ya girl went off on a bit of a tangent... 🤷🏼‍♀️

Masterlist in bio and requests are open

*gif credit [@ aborddelimpala]*

*******

“Here's to another successful hunt!” You exclaim, placing down a tray full of tequila shots for you and your awaiting companions.

“No no, c'mon Y/N we have another hunt lined up for tomorrow. We should get an early night.” Sam's complaints fall on deaf ears as you defiantly place a shot with a lime wedge balancing upon it in his hand. You’d expected the protest from the more responsible brother, your rebuttal at the ready.

“Sam we just took down a changeling, the very thing that nearly took John Winchester off the board. If the fact the prodigal children”, the way you referred to the three of you caused an amused snort from Dean, you shooting him a pointed look as you continue, “could do it with all their limbs still intact isn't worth celebrating then I don't know what is.”

“To the prodigal children!” Dean yells, holding his shot glass high in way of a toast. You happily clink his glass repeating his cheers, both of you shooting your drinks in unison. You screw up your face at the unpleasant yet familiar taste, holding the wedge to your lips to relieve the burning sensation from your mouth. Dean places his glass down, refusing to take the reprieve the sour lime would provide. You roll your eyes at his false bravado, turning your expectant gaze to Sam, flicking your eyes from the still full shot in his hand back to his face.

“I'm not doing it”, he states with confidence, placing the glass back on the table.

“C'mon Sam, you really gonna make me and Dean celebrate alone?” You ask, putting on the best puppy dog pout you could. On anyone else you're sure the gesture would have fallen flat, with Sam though you can see his resolve weaken with the relaxing of his shoulders as he puffs out a breath. “Live a little Sammy", you chirp, a testing lilt to your voice.

“Yea, live a little Sammy!” Dean's last encouragement was the straw that broke the camel’s back, Sam shaking his head at himself before throwing the burning liquid down his throat to the sound of you and Dean's cheers.

“Right,” you start as you drum your hands against the table, leaning over slightly to address Dean sitting across from you, “what's the old man gotta say about this one?” You ask, cueing Dean to pull John's old journal (the bible as you liked to call it) from his bag, flipping through the pages to find a similar case.

“Sorry, whose old man is he Y/N?” Sam asks, you poking his side for his teasing.

Your own dad was barely in the picture when you were a child. How incompetent the Winchesters deemed their father to be speaks volumes about your dad, as he felt he was better off leaving you with John when he went on his benders, which was frequently enough that you barely saw him.

Ever since you’ve referred to John as your old man, often claiming he was the closest thing to a father that you had. This was completely false of course, that role was taken by Dean. As begrudging as he had been initially about having another kid to watch over he warmed to you quickly, as you did to him. Although he treated you like a sister in truth he was the best father figure you've ever had. Not that you'd ever admit that sappy sentiment to him.

The story was entirely different with Sam. While Dean was like a father and big brother wrapped into one gruff, smooth talking parcel, Sam was your first crush before you even understood what a crush felt like. You took an instant shine to the youngest Winchester, him reciprocating. The amount of nights Dean had to yell at you for gossiping into the night were countless, and as you grew up you figured it would just be natural for you to get together. You were certain he felt for you exactly what you did for him.

It was a teary few months when Sam up and left for college without so much as a goodbye. You understood he was angry. He and his fathers relationship had been tumultuous at best but you thought he would have spared you a thought before he ran off into the night. The teary process had started all over again when you and Dean had gone to fetch him only to find he'd shacked up with some pretty sorority girl while there.

Nevertheless you were there to comfort him when the unimaginable happened and Jess had suffered the same fate as his mum, and you were there again when John was taken from them too. No matter how you felt you could always set your own feelings aside, if Sam needed you you'd been there.

Now years on you’d hoped in vain that he might be ready, that maybe all those signals and stolen looks would finally come to something. You had hoped this time round would be different, that time apart had made him fonder and he'd set aside whatever had been holding him back before. Evidently, had been wrong. The lingering looks and playful flirting continued just like before but nothing more. This caused you to doubt every little thing. Maybe he was just joking around and you couldn't see that through your ever hopeful eyes?

After some searching you figure out the creature you'd be hunting tomorrow should be a poltergeist, and after some moaning from you about work time being over Dean sets the book back into it's place so he can mainline tequila with you.

Dean and you end up a few shots ahead of Sam, the fact he'd done as many as he had shocking the both of you. It didn't take Dean long in his half inebriated state to locate the old juke box, lining up one classic rock song after the other. You create a make shift dance floor by pushing some tables aside despite the less than pleased looks from the bartender.

Dean dances, shredding fake guitar solos and singing along much too loudly as you jump around enthusiastically, looking like you were auditioning for an instrument-less band.

Sam sits and watches from the table, grinning at your antics as he is totally unable to stop himself from laughing to himself every time you pull a face or throw up a rock on sign with your hands.

“Alright Sammy, it's your turn to give the lady a dance", he all but yells as he makes his way to sit at your table as you remain hopping about to Metallica.

With a laugh Sam refuses, “No I'm happy with the view from here.”

“Y/N!” Dean yells. Sam shoots him a bug eyed stare, shaking his head at his elder brother. Your head snaps around at the calling of your name, “Sammy here would rather have you dance all by yourself than give you a dance.” He exclaims childishly, you pouting once more as you try to remain standing on the spot, crossing your legs in an effort to stay balanced.

“That is VERY ungentlemanly”, you huff out, the boys laughing at your choice of words.

“Ya hear that", Dean speaks this time at a volume only Sam could hear, “ you wouldn't wanna be ungentlemanly, would ya?” He asks with a quirk of an eyebrow and tilt of his head.

“I know what you're doing Dean", Sam states, his eyes travelling to where you sway alone, completely unaware of the conversation happening just feet away from you. Dean gives a shrug in response.

“So go do it then.” Dean’s firm statement is met with a hesitant shake of the head.

“I can't Dean, what happened with Jess-”

“Sam,” Dean’s stern voice stops Sam before he can finish his self doubting sentence, “What happened with Jess sucked, but you can’t let that hold you back. That girl,” he gestures with his thumb towards your still dancing form, “ain’t gonna be around forever.”

Sam sits a moment before speaking, “That's what I'm afraid of.”

Your hands slamming on the table snaps Deans jaw shut, now unable to refute Sam any further.

“I have danced by myself too long boys. Sam,” you say, dramatically pointing at him with a straight arm, “if you dance with me I'll let you pick the song.” He laughs a hearty laugh but remains seated, prompting you to continue, returning to leaning on the edge of the table. “One time offer Sam, going once, going twice...” You trail off, standing straight and holding your palm face up for him which with an amused roll of the eyes he accepts. You pull him up leaning your whole body into the action, causing him to lightly collide with your much smaller stature, grabbing you gently in case you should fall. You steady yourself just fine despite the giddy, non-alcohol fuelled rush Sam's hands gave you, firmly grasping one of his hands and yanking him to the juke box.

“Okay Sam, pick away.” He doesn't initially begin to pick so you continue, “Look, I'll even cover my eyes so you don't get all shy about it.” For the umpteenth time that night you make Sam laugh, following your request by flicking through the options until he smirks with his selection.

“Alright, are you ready?” Sam asks while simultaneously pulling your hands away from your eyes and pulling you into the centre of the small space. After some silence the first notes of Way Down by Elvis Presley play, putting a beaming smile on your face.

“Elvis!?” You question in shock, knowing Sam could hardly call himself a fan.

“What can I say, I'm a people pleaser”, he answers as he starts to sway your still joined hands to the fast beat of the music.

You danced like idiots the whole song, Sam spinning you around until you were so dizzy you were sure you'd fall, reaching out and gripping his biceps for stability. He grabs you lightly by the waist before speaking, “Are you okay?” He can't keep the laugh from his sentence, knowing he helped cause your loss of balance. Little did he know he hands on you caused the dizziness just as much as the dancing. You raise your head, looking up at those beautiful eyes, the ones you've been pining after since primary school. You nod, lacking the control of yourself to make the move with any kind of conviction, instead remaining a willing hostage to his gaze.

As your eyes stay locked as the juke box whirs and clicks signifying a change in song. What plays makes your eyes widen in embarrassment, She Loves You by The Beatles. You reluctantly snap your eyes away from one Winchester to the other, who happens to be standing at the jukebox with a shit-eating grin planted on his face. Your cheeks redden like a fire has been lit under your skin. Risking one last look at Sam whose eyes also rest on Dean, you break away and march to the table. Snatching your jacket as well as Dean’s, you clutch yours in hand while you haphazardly toss his so it collides with his chest.

“We're leaving", you state matter-of-factly, shrugging your jacket on and turning to face the boys with hands on hips.

“Y/N-” Sam’s soft tone of voice makes you click your tongue in irritation. You didn't want him to feel sorry for you, avoiding his what you assumed was a pitying gaze as you spin on your heel making your way to the door.

“I'll meet you at the car", you throw over your shoulder, exiting the bar as The Beatles taunting song chases you out.

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah.

***

You get into the drivers side door of the impala, an absolute rarity for you. You toss a bottle of water at each Winchester, keeping one for yourself. You forcefully put a burger in Dean's lap, causing an elongated grumble.

“Get with it sunshine", you state without a trace of sympathy, turning the key to start up the car. You drive to the abandoned house, Dean muttering the whole time about not getting too comfortable in the drivers seat. You arrive at the run down, partly boarding up home, rolling to a stop in front of its rickety porch.

“Okay”, you begin, twisting your body around so you have both Sam and Dean in your view, “from what we know this is one nasty poltergeist. It's killed two people already, but there could have been more earlier that we don't know about.” You pause your speech to click your fingers in front of Dean's face after seeing he was spaced out. You look at Sam who is grimacing at the volume you're speaking at. Your eyes roll of their own volition at the hungover men. You were hungover too but they wouldn't be catching you carrying on like that.

“We figured out the bones are probably in the basement-”

“Did we?” You ignore Dean's question in favour of continuing.

“-so since Dean needs bablysitting”, you smack his arm in irritation, “he and I will distract it while you salt and burn the bones.” Sam nods at his being addressed.

The plan now confirmed you all exit the car, you being the first on the porch and at the door after grabbing the necessary equipment from the boot. With the men now present you jiggle the doorknob to find it locked. You instruct the men to stand back and after they oblige you raise your leg and send a forceful kick at it. The wood flings open, dramatically slamming into the wall behind it.

“Damn” you hear Sam mutter, causing a smirk to flicker on your lips as you walk into the run down house. With a brief nod and wishes of luck Sam begins searching for an entrance into the basement, you leading the way into the living room.

You begin to yell and taunt, throwing out profanities and insults to draw the beings attention to you, away from Sam.

Sure enough what furniture remains in the room begins to rumble, a few scattered pieces of wood floating into the air.

“Oh is that all you got?” You goad further against Dean's warnings.

Suddenly pieces of wood fly at you and Dean, intent on getting lodged in your skin. You yank Dean to the side as a broken table launches itself at him, shattering against the wall where he had been standing seconds earlier.

“Move!” You decide that drawing the spirit up higher into the house would help distract it from what's happening below, so you push Dean in the direction of the staircase.

As you ascend frames on the wall fly off at you, making you duck and raise your arms over your head.

Room after room objects are flung at you by an invisible force, Dean at one point being flung across the room like a rag doll.

Just as you're sure the toilet is going to be freed from it's plumbing all of the movement halts. You shoot Dean a smile which he reciprocates, both of you thinking Sam had burnt the bones.

A cry sounding through the house makes your smile fall, realising you had falsely assumed Sam successful.

“Y/N wait!” You ignore Dean's plead as you barrel down the staircase and into the basement.

You find Sam crouched in a dirty corner, a woman in a torn white nightgown and scraggly hair standing over him.

“Hey!” The creature whips around to you just as you unholster your gun and fire a salt round through it, the poltergeist disappearing from the impact. You rush to Sam’s side to assess the damage, finding a large cut running down one side of his face no doubt caused by a collision with the wall. You can find no other immediate injury so you set about finishing what Sam started.

The bones laying only a few feet away were already doused with gas and covered in salt, needing only flames to banish this being from the world. You produce your own lighter from your pocket, opening the Zippo and bringing the little orange flame to life with a flick of your thumb.

“Y/N watch out!” You spin around at Dean's voice in the room, coming face to face with the twisted woman from earlier. With a wicked grin you fly from your crouched position and into a neglected set of drawers. Your side hits its edge, knocking the wind out of your lungs as you promptly fall to the ground.

“Y/N!” You look up at Sam who had let out the frightened cry then to Dean who now had the poltergeist fast approaching him . You clench your teeth, letting out determined huffs as you manage to drag yourself across the ground. Just as the woman is about to set herself upon Dean you drop your lighter atop the bones. Her agonising screeches fill the room as she dissolves to ashes in a burst of light. You let yourself fall onto your back, taking in a deep breath as you stare at the ceiling.

None of you speak as you all take in breaths of relief at the case being over. That is, until Dean breaks the silence.

“Holy shit.”

***

Back at the motel Dean has gone out to get dinner and drinks for you all, you opting to stay and clean up the injured younger brother.

The gash running down his face would luckily be fine without stitches but it would need disinfecting and dressed. You pour the rubbing alcohol you had made Dean buy onto a cotton ball, raising your hand to his face.

“Do I need to tell you this is gonna sting?” He smirks at your teasing question.

“I think we're past that now.” He lets out an involuntary hiss at the alcohol touching his open skin, you grimacing at his discomfort.

As you continue to clean his cut and make sure there are no stray splinters hiding in it you become uncomfortably aware of your proximity. He sits at the edge of the bed and you'd pulled up a stray chair, resting between his legs as you work. A blush rises to your cheeks you know you can do nothing to hide, hoping instead he's polite enough not to mention it.

This isn't the first or last time you've been in a position like this with Sam, but after the bar you felt nervous and unsure of yourself. Sure, you both knew how you felt, but being called out for it even as a joke put tension between you. It's like now what had been largely ignored and overlooked was sitting out in front of you, waiting to be acknowledged. You can see his eyes examining your face as you work, only making the tight feeling in your stomach worse.

You release the breath you were holding tightly within your lungs as you pull away from him, tossing the bloodied cotton into the bin by the bed. You give him a tight lipped smile and somewhat awkwardly tap his shoulder a few times before standing from the chair. As you do you involuntarily flinch and stiffen, your side singing out in pain now the adrenaline had worn off. You straighten up slowly and attempt to walk to the bathroom, but one of Sam's strong arms reaches out in front of you as you turn away. He lightly takes a hold of your hip, turning you back around to your prior standing position and lightly placing his other hand on your other hip. The already fast beat of your heart increases at the motion, that dizzy feeling from the bar taking hold of your head yet again.

“You’re hurt.” His voice is hardly above a whisper as he looks up at your face from his still seated position. You shrug your shoulders lightly, trying to appear as unperturbed as possible.

“I’ll be fine.” Your nerves betray the collected front you put on, your voice coming out low and scratchy as the words got caught on their way out of your throat.

“Can I see?” He keeps his voice quiet and soft, the imploring look on his face making you lightly nod at him before breaking eye contact as your cheeks light up. Slowly he removes one of his hands from your hip, trailing it across your stomach en route to your injured side. Keeping his eyes on your face he delicately thumbs the hem of your loose shirt before inching the fabric up painstakingly slow until he uncovers the already darkening patches of purple and yellow scattered across your ribs. Holding your shirt in place with one hand he uses the other to ghost his fingers over the area, his touch so feather light that if you hadn't been looking you wouldn't have known he was even touching you.

Your breaths are shallow now, short and desperate as you try to balance your spinning head and erratic heart.

“That'll take a while to heal”, he finally says in conclusion, releasing your shirt for it to fall back in place as he looks up at your face.

“Sam?” He doesn't break the eye contact, a silent signal for you to continue. With the confusion in your heart and head you had no idea what you were about to say until the words passed your lips. “What are we doing?” He knows exactly what you mean, no trace of confusion crosses his face. Yet he does not answer, unsure of what to say.

“It feels like we've been doing this ‘will they, won't they' dance for years.” The words could have come out confident however your breathy delivery of them steals any conviction the statement could have possessed. “Sometimes it feels like I'm going crazy, picking up on things that aren't there”, you say as you nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt, giving your eyes something to look at rather than his face as you make your confession.

You can feel his eyes have not once left your face since the start of your conversation. From the edge of your vision you can see a sombre smile on his face as he delicately places his hand over both of your much smaller ones, effectively stilling your nervous occupation.

“You're not going crazy Y/N,” you raise your eyes to meet his expectant ones, your hands still held by his, “it's all there.” This is as close to confessing your unspoken feelings the both of you have ever gotten in your long history, leaving you stranded in unchartered territory. You detach your hands from his and take hold of his forearms, him taking the opportunity to once again place his hands on your hips.

“So what are we doing about it?” Neither of you follow up your question with an answer, too far lost in each other’s gaze to speak. Eventually your stare elicits his response, his eyebrow twitching upwards before he speaks.

“I hadn't planned on doing anything about it.” This time it is him that breaks the eye contact, looking off at the ground as he continues. “I've been afraid. I didn't want you to end up like Jess, or worse.” You take his face in between your hands, guiding his eyes back to you.

“You should know by know I can take care of myself.”

“I do. Hell, you saved me and Dean's asses today.” You both smile at his statement, you letting out a breathy, short laugh.

“So what's stopping us now?” You whisper, flitting your gaze between his eyes and lips.

“Nothing.” He firmly pulls you closer, a shiver running down your spine as you lean in.

He finds your lips with his, your fingers going around the back of his neck and grasping at his hair. You’re surprised your already struggling head and heart haven't given up on you yet as his lips delicately glide against yours, the sensation far better than anything you've conjured in a daydream. You sink into the feeling, enjoying the buzz that's spread over your body and the heat radiating off of him.

In a swift movement he shifts his knees between your legs, pulling you down onto his lap so that you’re straddling him. The kiss becomes more desperate as you both press yourselves tightly against each other, hoping to eliminate any space between you. His hands press into you, travelling from your hips and hungrily up your sides.

With that motion the desperate kiss stops as Sam's hand had a little too forcefully slid over your bruised side, causing you to flinch away and let out a hiss.

“Oh my god I'm sorry, are you alright?” He instantly retracts his hands so he can place them on your face, eyes nervous as they scan yours. You can't help but giggle at his overly worried tone. The passionate haze that had saturated you now slowly ebbs away, leaving behind a contented fog. You nod along with your giggles to ease his worry.

“I'm fine.” He lets out a breathy laugh to accompany yours, moving his hands down to your neck and pulling until your forehead touches his.

You stay like that a while, breathing in each other’s air as you enjoy the embrace that you've both been yearning for in silence.

Your tranquillity is shattered with Dean's arrival as he enters the room, loudly struggling with the takeaways and beer. He stops in his tracks when he notices your position. Both you and Sam were too relaxed to leap into action, sitting there like deer in the headlights.

“A-ha!” He throws his head back at his exclamation as he uses his foot to shut the door. You reluctantly separate from Sam, sitting on the bed beside him instead.

“I knew that sappy song would do the trick”, he boasts as he places the items on the small dining table. You reach across the bed, plucking a pillow from the head and promptly throwing it at the cocky Winchester, hitting him in the chest.

“If you think that had anything to do with you you're deluded as well as idiotic”, you bite.

“Yeah right. If I hadn't done that you guys would still be staring at each other every time the others ones back was turned.”

“Dean!” Sam yells in frustration with his brother, Dean raising his hands in surrender.

“Alright. I gotta get a couple more things from the car, that should give you two enough time to get your panties out of a twist.” Your groans in irritation follow Dean out the door, leaving just you and Sam behind once more.

“We are not letting him have any of the credit", you utter, your eyes still fixed on the door. Sam chuckles beside you, linking your fingers and bringing them up to his face where he places a quick kiss on the back of your hand. You smile at his action, him mirroring your gesture.

“Damn right we're not.”

With that you separate, Sam going to help Dean bring stuff in while you decide to go and be the first to indulge in a nice, hot shower.

From the bathroom you can hear Dean's continual bragging of his skills as a matchmaker. You scoff to yourself with a roll of your eyes, knowing he's completely wrong.

Credit needs to go where credit is due. While it may have taken a lot longer than you'd like, you and Sam are finally together, making you the happiest you can ever recall being.

The credit for that belongs solely to the two of you.

*********

Taglist

@musiclovinchic93 @hobby27

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester reader insert #sam winchester one shot #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester imagine #spn #supernatural #supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #writing #mine #too many baes

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solvskrift · 5 years

Text

siderumincaelo replied to your post “okay, i’m cheating b/c i have no reason to tell you this on anon but i…”

if you’ll let me use this great meta to go off on a tangent - i’ve long thought that part of why harry is so fucked up by the revelations about dumbledore is that he doesn’t understand (or, probably, doesn’t want to admit to himself) why it feels like a betrayal. i think it’s significant that in DH we’re explicitly told that harry loves hagrid, but never get that for dumbledore.

of course, harry *does* love dumbledore, but b/c he won’t admit it, it creates this uncomfortable dichotomy of feeling betrayed, but not wanting to think about *why* he feels betrayed. which is anything but neat and simple, and, as you say, why he can’t compartmentalize it.

EXACTLY. And I think (maybe even not so) deep down, he does understand, but he definitely doesn’t want to admit it. Hermione realizes this, which is why she tries so hard to convince Harry that Dumbledore loved him.

Which, by the way, when I first read her saying those word out loud in DH, I was immediately like oh SHIT Jo went there - because up until that point, for all that HP is, above all, about love, she always danced around the subject. Dumbledore admits to ‘caring about’ Harry. Lupin says the Order ‘cares about’ Harry. Sirius is described as ‘caring more about’ Harry than anyone else in the world. But Hermione comes out and just fucking says it, because she knows how desperately Harry needs to hear it.

And Harry doesn’t want to need to hear that. This line in DH kills me (and I’m going from memory here so hopefully I have gotten it mostly right): “Harry hated himself for hoping that what Hermione has said was true, that Dumbledore had really cared.” He loved Dumbledore so much. But he learned some tough lessons at the Dursleys’ and he tried so hard throughout his life not to need other people, not to depend on them, not to expect love and affection to be returned to him.

The problem for Harry is that it’s one thing to just wonder sometimes if the people who are gone now really loved him (his parents/Sirius). It’s an entirely different and far more difficult thing to be confronted with information that seems to prove that Dumbledore really didn’t love him at all. It’s real fuckin hard to argue against something like that and defend your beliefs when you don’t want to acknowledge that you believed it in the first place.

Harry can easily admit that he loves the Weasleys and Hermione and Hagrid - but Dumbledore was something special. He was Harry’s idol. He was a little distant, a bit of an enigma. He was the father Harry couldn’t ever, ever stand to disappoint, and their relationship was something unique, even to other characters in the books. (Sometimes I remember Rita Skeeter mentioning how much the people of the wizarding world speculated about Harry and Dumbledore’s relationship, or how Elphias Doge, who barely knew Harry, wanted to write to him after Dumbledore’s death because Elphias knew how much they had meant to each other, and then my heart hurts a lot 🙃)

There are two (2) things that Cursed Child got right. The first was Harry still dealing with PTSD years after the war, and the second, the reason I didn’t throw out my copy of the script the second I was done reading it, is the conversation between Harry and Dumbledore’s portrait in which they both state, finally, in plain words that they really did love each other.

#siderumincaelo #replies #harry and dumbledore #this is what happens when i get started on them #and i know you KNOW that #UGH #these dumb stupid wizards #i hate them #let’s talk about them some more #hp #hp text #mobile finally caught up thank god so i could actually answer this

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rmjagonshi · 5 years

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You asked for prompts. Will you do mutual pining teen stans as they build the stanowar and imagine whisking thier brother away to be all alone on a ship??? Pretty please?

I didn’t ignore you, anon! Promise! I hope this fits what you were looking for. I have never written a song fic before, so, I hope it’s okay that I did that.

Song by Michelle Branch (All You Wanted)

Stan Pines wasn’t jealous of his brother. Sure, Ford got a lot of attention from teachers and old grannies, and their father, but Stan wasn’t jealous. Ford was interested in nerd things, like math and chemistry and monsters…well, monsters were cool. But still, Stan had other things. He had…well…he had…

What did Stan have?

Ford had his smarts and Stan just kind of tagged along for the ride. But that was okay. He had Ford. They didn’t have much else, but they had each other. And that was enough. That was enough for years.

When the schoolyard bullies came to throw rocks and shove dirt down their pants, at least they were together and they could help each other up. And when their father decided he’d had enough of their shenanigans and wailed on Stan with the metal end of a belt, well…Ford was there. They were never alone. They always had each other. And they always would.

~I wanted, to be like you. I wanted everythingSo I tried, to be like you, and I got swept away.~

But still, it bothered Stan sometimes that Ford was obviously the epicenter of their dynamic duo, and Stan was the poor helpless planet caught in Ford’s orbit. Ford was smart and creative and always had the answer to everything. So, Stan started trying to be like him. He picked a book at random from the library shelf and tried reading it. But the words blurred and he didn’t understand half of what he was reading. And it was so boring. I was talking about shapes or ‘faces’ or bonds…Stan didn’t understand. The book cover showed a picture of a rock and some weird drawn shapes where you could see all the sides.

When book reading failed, Stan moved onto experiments. Experiments were more fun than reading because he got to mix things together and watch what happened. But one too many explosions and one used fire-extinguisher later, Stan was banned from doing experiments without Ford’s help. That only left school. So Stan tried doing well in school. But school work was even harder than book reading. Math was just a jumble of numbers and symbols, and history was all memorizing facts and dates. None of it was interesting, but his grades did improve, if only marginally. He was so excited when he’d studied all week for a test and got a B-. A B-!

That was the best grade he had ever gotten EVER! He was so happy he raced home after detention to show it to Pa, finally something of worth to show him. But Ford had gotten there first. Of course he had. Ford didn’t have detention. Ford had gotten an A+, as usual. All of a sudden, the lousy B- didn’t mean much. He didn’t bother showing it to his parents.

Stan went back to just tagging along and helping out his brother. He wasn’t jealous, but he did kind of wish Ford was so horribly bad at something, so Stan could be good at it. After one bad run in with Crampelter, Stan dragged himself and Ford home to their mom to get bandaged up. Through ringing ears and two black eyes, Stan heard his father tell him he was signing them both up for boxing lessons.

Boxing lessons were more horrible than Crampelter. At least with Crampelter, they could run away or hide or something. And they didn’t always cross paths with the bully. Boxing lessons were every other day and you couldn’t run. Both Stan and Ford came home sore and beaten more and more, but their pa never let up. No friends but each other, no support from family but each other. They clung together tighter and tighter.

~I didn’t know that, it was so cold, And you needed someone to show you the way.~

But boxing lessons paid off in the end. Stan was getting stronger. He stuck close to Ford and together, they stayed mostly out of trouble. Stan on his own would always wind up in detention, but Stan with Ford was able to weasel his way out of most things. Sticking with Ford made Stan aware of the crap Crampelter pulled when Stan was in detention. They both got bullied, but Ford had it bad. He had tried to hide the cuts and bruises and missing notebooks, but Stan saw them. Ford didn’t stand a chance. The next time they were cornered in the field behind the school, Stan fought back. He tackled the lard-butt and wailed on his face with all his strength until Crampelter kicked him off and rode away on his stupid bike. Stan got detention and was grounded for a month, but he didn’t care. When he’d held out his hand to help Ford up, Ford had looked at him like was was some kind of hero. From then on, Stan was the muscle, and he would protect Ford at all costs.

~So I took your hand and, we figured out thatWhen the time comes I’d take you away.~

It wasn’t long after that they found the boat, and the dream of sailing away on the Stan O’ War, just the two of them, was born. Stan threw himself into fixing the Stan O’ War. If no one else wanted them, then they would go somewhere else. Bullies didn’t really pick on Stan anymore. He was popular, exactly, but he was left alone enough that he was a 'pseudo’ jock. Ford wasn’t so lucky. Sure, people liked him, he was smart and could help them with their homework, but they weren’t interested in being friends. It became apparent when Ford had asked Lucy out for drinks after he’d helped her study for the upcoming Physics exam. She’d laughed in his face so long, he’d just gathered up his stuff and left, her laughing echoing down the empty school hall. Stan had gotten pissed when Ford told him about it. She didn’t deserve Ford, and Stan said as much, but Ford was still felling shitty about the whole thing.

“Why do people hate me?” Ford was curled up with his face pressed to his knees on Stan’s bunk. He’d stopped crying (not that there were many tears, but still, he was embarrassed about the few drops that had worked their way from between his eyelids), and was now just sitting, moping and wondering if he’d ever find someone who actually liked him.

“No one hates you! Okay, maybe Crampelter and Sonia do, but they hate everyone. And I think Sonia doesn’t like you because you’re associated with me. And that bitch haaaaaates me.” Stan had sat beside Ford with a bag of toffee peanuts and had refused to move until Ford cheered up.

“Okay, fine. They don’t hate me, but they sure as hell don’t like me.” Nobody liked him. They were only interested in if he could help them, then they were more than happy to drop him. Ford was too weird. And not just his hands, though they were part of it. Ford liked weird things. Shrunken heads and six-legged cats. Sea monsters and the Jersey Devil. Ma did her best to connect, but she didn’t understand his interests, and Pa…well, it was best not to engage Pa with anything that might be considered 'weird’. They only one that had ever tried to understand and take an interest in him was…

“Hey, you don’t need them. I like ya. And once we sail away on the Stan O’ War, it doesn’t matter what these bozos think.”

Ford grinned. Maybe Stan was enough.

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from here.So lonely inside, So busy out there,And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

Stan doesn’t know when it happened, or what caused it. Like growing up, you know it’s happening, but each change is so gradual, you don’t notice it until you compare it to where you were before. And that’s what he was doing, comparing himself now to how he used to be. Because he never used to think like he does now. At least…he doesn’t think so. He’d always been trapped in Ford’s orbit, and he never really thought much about it before. They were inseparable. And that never used to be a problem. But Stan finds himself thinking about Ford more and more. His brother invades his thoughts more often than anything else, and if he isn’t thinking of Ford exactly, then he’s thinking of something in tangent to him. Thinking about how boring math class is makes him think about how excited Ford it to learn new things. Thinking about his favorite snack reminds him how much Ford hates toffee peanuts. And, of course, thinking about the boat makes him think about sailing away from all the shit they deal with. When Ford starts making an appearance during his dreams in place of Carla, well, it really isn’t all that surprising, if a bit disturbing.

Middle school passed in a whirlwind of working on the boat and keeping out of trouble. Sooner than they realized, they were in high-school. Classwork got harder and Stan was struggling. Stan throws himself into working on the boat. He even takes welding and woodworking when they’re offered. He might not be great at reading a map or doing math, but he can work with his hands to make things and fix things. He gets a part-time job and works down at the dock when he can. He spends more time in the library than Ford does some days. It’s hard. All of the work. He tried and tried and it never gets easier. Sometimes he thinks he ought to leave things alone. Ford had potential to be something. And he wasn’t very good at hiding his feelings. He did his best, lifting porn mags from the corner store and keeping a pin-up calendar tacked to his wall, but it felt hollow. It also didn’t help that Ford had picked up on his acting. Who was he to try and hide something from the person who knew him best? But he still hid. And still thought about letting go even as he wanted so desperately to hang on. Some days, he wants to throw his hands in the air and say 'Fuck It" and give up. But then he sees Ford come home with bruises and busted glasses, or maybe it’s just a smile or a belly laugh at one of his jokes and he’s right back, putting everything he has into making this work. In the end, it’s all for Ford. It always was.

Ford is all too aware that Stan is struggling. And he hates it. He hates seeing Stan like this. There are days, sometimes, where Stan doesn’t smile, at least, not a real smile. Days when he cries because he just doesn’t understand the work. Days when he does whatever he can to prove he’s a man because someone or something convinces him that he isn’t. He does his best to help. He tutors Stan when he can and works out homework problems with him. Stan is trying. He really is, but he gets confused and forgets things easily. He could read a page and not remember anything he’d just read. Every day, Stan would be ridiculed by their father, be constantly told he wasn’t worth anything, constantly told he 'was being a girl’. Every day, Stan would chases skirts and flirt with any woman who looked at him, got into more fights than he had any right to, and tried harder to prove himself worthy.

Ford knew the dream about sailing away on a ship was a childish one. He knew Stan was holding onto that dream with everything he had. But their future was so vague. They needed money to live, jobs paid money. Sailing around the world on a boat wasn’t going to get them there. It was just a matter of fact. But when Stan would get excited about progress on the ship or would tell stories about all the adventures they would go on, Ford found it harder and harder to admit that it was all just a fantasy. When Ford found Stan coming home with a chip on his shoulder and a black eye from getting in a fight with some chump that called him a fag, Ford found himself wanting to take away all the pain and misery. And the dream of whisking Stan away from everything on a ship felt all the more real.

~I’m sinking slowly, So hurry hold me. Your hand is all I have to keep me hanging on.Please can you tell me, So I can finally see Where you go when you’re gone.~

As senior year drew closer and closer, so too did their dreams. Ford was convinced they could sail away on the Stan O’ War to somewhere else. They could live on the boat while they worked and saved up money to get a decent place to live. And if something happened, then they would always have the boat. But they couldn’t just be treasure hunters. It wasn’t possible. He was drawing up a plan to figure out how they could manage. As soon as they were old enough, they were out of Glass Shard. But there was still work to be done to get there. And he still wasn’t sure how to break it to Stan. Stan was so dedicated to the idea that they would be treasure hunters, the he was blind to the reality they were facing. But Ford still wanted to get them away from there. He still wanted to rescue his brother. And maybe…maybe, if they were away from this, Stan could just be himself. Maybe Ford could…

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from hereSo lonely inside, So busy out there,And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

But things got harder. The science fair came, and Ford saw an opportunity. He could build something that would he could patent. He could sell it and they would have a nice nest egg to get started. But then, West Coast Tech was interested. And the promise of millions. Millions. What would he do with millions? They could do anything. They could sail away for months or years at a time and they would never have to come back to this shitty ass town. Finally, some success. Finally, something good. Ford would make some discovery, make a fortune, and he would come back for Stan. They would escape. He was so excited! He didn’t want Stan to get discouraged. It wasn’t forever. It was only until he was able to make something that would secure their future. And maybe it would give Ford time to process his…desires.

All you wanted was somebody who cares.

Everything fell apart after that. Ford spent years throwing himself into his work, and Stan spent the same time doing everything he could to make it rich.

If you need me, you know I’ll be there…

But when the post card was sent, Stan came without a second thought. And when the call came to correct his mistake, Stan stepped up to the challenge.

~If you want to, I can save you. I can take you away from here.So lonely inside, So busy out there.And all you wanted was somebody who cares.~

And in the end, after more hardship than either one had ever thought, in the end, they found themselves on a boat, with more money than they needed, and no more need to run away. No more need to hide. In the end, none of the past really matters. Because Stan has a family that cares. Ford found a way to use his sills to help. And they finally decide, to hell with all of the fear, to hell with the self-denial. Standing aboard their ship, lost in the middle of the ocean after having hauled up an actual crate of lost pirate gold, Ford and Stan share their first kiss.

#gravity falls #stancest #stanley pines #stanford pines #teen stans #mutual pining #prompts #fic prompts

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