#ANYWAY. cardigans and socks. moving up into the world | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reidingrainbow · 8 days

Text

momentarily breaking out of my absence to participate in this month's cm fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins :3

i've had a wip cooking for over a year and even though it's still not done, i'd like to at least post this first chapter for the prompt!

Night Changes

[ Rated M for minors keep out ] 4038 words | moreid, mostly case-fic?

CW: trans male pregnancy (specifically spencer), nausea/emeto warning, canon typical violence, mentions of homophobia

summary: morgan and reid find out they're expecting in a... less than ideal fashion

Friday nights are always a treasured time for Spencer and Derek. After a long week at work, all they can think of is coming home to one of their apartments and falling into each other. It usually entails a delivery from their favorite local restaurant, a cheesy television show, and Clooney sitting at their feet waiting for them to drop something for him or curled up on the sofa with them.

But other nights, nights like this, they need a little extra time to themselves. Nights like this involve Clooney being nowhere to be seen, some movie they’ve seen a thousand times, and maybe a glass of wine.

The only sounds to be heard in the room are the low drone of the television and Spencer’s soft gasps, his little hitches of breath and whimpers as Derek’s lips lave over his neck and collarbone. Derek eases the thinner man out of his lap and lays him back on the couch, his lips slowly traveling down his chest and abdomen and stopping to nip at his sharp hipbones. Spencer whines and attempts to buck his hips up into the touch, but Derek effortlessly keeps him in place with one hand. The other busies itself with unbuttoning Spencer’s pants, fingers moving deftly while he captures Spencer’s lips in a passionate kiss. Derek’s fingers slip inside Spencer’s boxers, inching closer to his throbbing–

On the kitchen counter, their phones chime in unison.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Spencer mutters, forehead still pressed to Derek’s. Above him, his boyfriend chuckles and presses an apologetic kiss to his lips before crawling off of him. They redress themselves and make an honest attempt to not look like they’d just been called into work in the middle of what was almost sex, but in the back of Spencer’s mind he knows they’ll probably figure it out anyway. He shimmies his binder back on and tucks in his shirt. While he buttons his pants back up, he notices that they definitely feel more snug than they did the week prior. He thought he’d been imagining things when he began to struggle closing his pants over the past few weeks, but now his growing waistline is undeniable. He sucks in his stomach to button the closure and lets out the breath as a sigh. “I think I need to lay off the take-out,” he says to Derek, following him into the kitchen to find his cardigan.

“Oh yeah?” Derek says, already at the door putting his shoes back on. “You and me both, pretty boy. I’m not sure how much longer we can eat like we’re in our twenties.” He pats his stomach for emphasis, as if he doesn’t have the world’s most glorious set of abs hidden beneath his silk button down.

Spencer huffs a laugh and buttons his cardigan back up. “Maybe I should cook more.” He pads over to the door in his mismatched socks, where Derek is holding his bag for him.

Derek smirks. “So we can live off of ramen? I’ll take my chances with Thai every night.”

“I can cook more than ramen,” Spencer insists. “Rossi taught us how to make his spaghetti and you even said yourself I did a really good job.” With his shoes on, he takes his bag from Derek’s waiting hands and follows him out to the driveway.

“I thought we were gonna stop eating like college students! Can you make anything that isn’t pasta based?” Derek says as they climb into his car. Spencer scrunches his face up and shakes his head as they buckle in. “That’s alright, next time we go visit my family my mom might be able to teach us a little somethin’.”

Spencer smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

Spencer and Derek step out of the elevator for the second time that day, only two hours after leaving for the night (precisely two hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-five seconds, but who’s counting) and enter the bullpen to meet the rest of the team, where JJ is lamenting about her similarly ruined evening. Derek makes a quip about “dusting off the cobwebs” that earns him a swat on the arm from Penelope, and soon enough the team is called up to begin the briefing.

Any lingering thoughts of the evening’s earlier activities are thoroughly squashed within the first 60 seconds of the round table meeting. Spencer blames the crime scene photos, the images of the deep, cross-hatched cuts on the victims’ backs, for the wave of nausea that washes over him and sends a shiver down his spine. He flips through the rest of the file in hopes that averting his eyes will untangle the knot in his stomach. It doesn’t. He breathes deeply through his nose, trying his best to stay focused on the details of the case.

He drops a hand below the table and lets it flap at his side; he needs to stim through the feeling but the thought of calling attention to himself is only serving to make the sickly feeling even worse. He manages to make it through the meeting without incident and no one seems to have noticed anything was off about him. Some part of him, distantly, wonders if anyone would check on him if they did notice. He squashes the thought before it can fester.

The meeting can’t be over soon enough. As soon as Spencer stands, his body suddenly feels infinitely heavier. Exhaustion has crept up on him and taken him by surprise. He brews another cup of coffee before they take off in hopes of making himself feel slightly less like a zombie.

The coffee does, in Spencer’s professional opinion, absolutely fuckall. He finds himself drifting off during their second debriefing, trying in vain to fight off sleep but his eyelids feeling heavy regardless. Aaron gives them their assignments for when they land and suggests that Spencer lie down. Spencer opens his mouth to insist he’s fine, he can just make more coffee, but before he can manage any words he’s overtaken by a yawn. Defeated, he retreats to the couch at the back of the plane. He refuses to lie down, insisting he’s not that tired. When he closes his eyes and leans back, it’s just to rest them for a moment.

“-ise and shine, pretty boy, we gotta get movin’,” comes a voice above him, Derek’s. Spencer wakes slowly, scowling up at Derek while he comes back to himself. He’s fully lying down, not sitting up like he remembers, and there’s a pillow under his head and a blanket draped over him. “Come on Reid, don’t make me carry you.”

Spencer sits up, finding he doesn’t actually feel better after his nap; he feels worse, actually, like finally sleeping made him realize how much he still needed to sleep. He reaches a hand up to Derek and he takes it, pulling him off of the couch and onto his feet. He ruffles Spencer’s hair, smiling fondly when he sleepily attempts to bat his hand away. “Let’s get to the hotel, you can snore in my ear all night.”

Derek starts moving and Spencer quickly grabs his bag and follows after him. “I do not snore,” he insists. He hears the older man chuckle in front of him. “I don’t!” It only serves to make Derek laugh harder; he definitely doesn’t mind the teasing, then, if it means he can hear his love’s laugh.

“You do, but only when you’re exhausted,” Derek says. “What’s got you so tired?”

Spencer shrugs and follows him to pick up their luggage. “I’m really not sure, it just snuck up on me. I was fine all day, even earlier tonight,” Spencer flushes a little, despite his exhaustion. “I even had coffee and still almost conked out during the meeting.” Derek hums in acknowledgement, patting him on the back and letting his touch linger, only for a moment, before he turns to head to the waiting SUVs. Spencer sighs, longing for the warmth of his hands on him again, before following after him. The faster they reach the hotel, the sooner he can rest in his arms.

Spencer wakes up the next morning still feeling absolutely wiped of energy, despite spending the night snoring in Derek’s ear as predicted. He trudges through the morning, only just alert enough to be coherent but nowhere near his usual self. The trip to the local bar is helpful, at least, and provides some useful insight into the town and its residents.

When Spencer and Derek arrive at the police station, Spencer briefly greets the sheriff before hightailing it to the coffeemaker. This time the coffee does help, if only a little, and soon Spencer can feel the fog lifting from his brain. Within no time he’s back to his usual self, putting his 20,000 words per minute to use going through all of the case files and relaying any useful information back to the team. They hit a stride in their investigation, working for a few hours and making good progress.

Spencer feels his stomach lurch, feels a shiver run up his spine, and he blanches. Oh God, he thinks, please not here, not now. These waves of nausea have come and gone sporadically for the past few weeks, but this is the closest he’s felt to actually throwing up. The thought of it makes him anxious, which in turn makes him more nauseous, which worsens the anxiety, effectively locking him into a hellish negative feedback loop.

He mentally cycles through everything he’s had to eat today to figure out what could possibly be disagreeing with him this strongly. He comes up empty, recalling only the two cups of coffee he had right there in the station.

(He wonders, then, if he should have taken up Derek’s offer and taken a few bites of the granola bar he’d had for breakfast. The train of thought is quickly derailed by his disgust at the thought of biting into someone else’s half eaten food, and it does nothing to quell his nausea.)

Whatever it was, it isn’t sitting well now. Spencer peels off his cardigan in an attempt to stop sweating, but to no avail. His stomach lurches again, dangerously, and he shoots up out of his seat. He barely mumbles out a “Need some air,” to the rest of the team before he bolts out of the police station. He distantly hears a familiar set of footsteps falling in behind him, but he doesn’t pay it any mind until he’s outside. He takes a deep breath of fresh air, one hand cradling his sensitive stomach and the other flapping nervously at his side.

“Everything alright, Spencer?” Derek asks, laying a hand on the small of Spencer’s back. Spencer isn’t facing him but he doesn’t need to to know those thick eyebrows are drawn up in concern, eyes soft in the way they always are when they’re on him. His hand is warm, large, easily spans over his lower back. He’s rubbing a gentle circle and oh- that feels good, Spencer hadn’t even noticed how much his back hurt.

Spencer swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just felt a bit nauseous for a minute there, I didn’t want to puke in the bullpen and those bathrooms…” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “ I’d rather take my chances out here.” He turns and gives Derek a small smile. Derek returns it with a grin of his own and Spencer wishes more than anything they weren’t on duty so he could lean over and kiss him.

“I told you, you should’ve had a bite of breakfast,” Derek says, his grin never fading. “You can’t run on coffee alone, pretty boy, you need actual food.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, laughing despite himself. He turns to fully face Derek, the other man’s hand sliding from his back to loosely hold his hip. “You wanna test that theory?”

“No, I just want you to eat something,” Derek teases. “Maybe your body is trying to tell you something.”

“Like what?”

“That you should stop being so hardheaded,” There’s no bite behind it, and Derek brings the hand on Spencer’s waist up to gently pat his cheek. Spencer instinctively leans into his gentle touch, only barely, before the door to the station slams open behind them. Derek stiffens and rips his hand off of Spencer like he’s been burned and Spencer himself takes an almost comically large step backwards, far enough that he slams into the railing behind him, and shoves his hands into his pockets. Officer Vicky, overenthusiastic and perky and so, so nosey, looks up at them expectantly from the doorway.

“Everythin’ alright out here, agents?” she asks, her voice clipped. Her eyes dart up and down their bodies quickly, trying to catch them out. This isn’t their first time in the bible belt and it won’t be the last; they know how to snap their masks back on quickly, instantly switching back to coworkers whose closeness falls well within plausible deniability.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Derek says, returning the officer’s plastered on smile with one of his own. “We’ll be back inside in a minute.” Over his shoulder, Spencer presses his lips into a line and gives a small nod.

Officer Vicky takes the hint (for once) and heads back inside. Derek and Spencer sigh in unison, then chuckle a little.

“You sure you’re alright, sweetness?” Derek asks, once more because he can’t help it.

“I’m fine, really, don’t worry about me. I’ll even try to eat lunch today,” Spencer replies. Seeming satisfied with that answer, Derek relaxes and they head back inside.

They take their seats at the table, Spencer’s being on the table, and dive back into the case files. “Alright, where were we?”

Spencer likes to pride himself on his excellent planning skills. He goes through every step of the operation, analyzes every possibility, tries to think of everything that could possibly go wrong.

He does not, however, consider the possibility of being shot in the neck tonight.

It’s funny, he thinks, how he always knows that someday, something horrible could happen to him on the job. It has, in fact, quite often. Being kidnapped and drugged, watching his girlfriend die in front of him, being infected with anthrax. These things happen; hazards of the job. And yet, every time something does happen to him, he’s blindsided by it.

He’s not thinking any of that, though. He’s not thinking much of anything as he crumples to the ground. Distantly, over a whistling kettle and the gunfire and the ringing in his ears, he hears Derek scream his name. Hands are on him, whose hands, he knows these hands. Before he can identify them, he’s propped up into a sitting position. Everything is blurring together – all the sounds, his vision is dark around the edges. Someone is holding his neck, Alex is there. She’s telling him to keep his eyes open, which is very unfair, because he’s never wanted to close them more in his life. She’s telling Ethan to stay with her… Ethan? That can’t be right, he could’ve sworn his name is Spencer. Who is Ethan? Spencer is cold… and tired…so tired. He closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, he’s staring right into the sun. No… it’s a light. He’s in an ambulance. The sirens… They remind him of the tea kettle noise he heard earlier.

“What?”

It’s Derek’s voice, coming from his left. Spencer’s hand reaches toward him before his eyes follow. “Do you hear it?” he slurs, his tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth to form the words. He’s dizzy, and everything is far too loud, and he’s about to close his eyes again when Derek grabs his hand and holds it tight. Spencer squeezes back, weakly, but it eases the concerned crease of Derek’s brow minutely.

“Spe-Reid.” Derek says, catching himself. Last names only while in the field. “Reid, you gotta stay with me, eyes on me-” The EMT says something that catches Derek’s attention, but he quickly redirects it back to Spencer. “That’s good, stay with me.”

Spencer closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he’s in a hospital bed surrounded by figurines and Alex and Penelope are there, making an honest attempt at pretending they haven’t been staring at him.

To say the rest of the night is a whirlwind would be an extreme disservice to the word “whirlwind.” Spencer doesn’t know the probability of being shot twice in one night by two different people, and he could almost definitely calculate it if he wasn’t so tired. He’s been up all night; between being stirred awake for check-ins every hour and the multiple attempted murders, he hasn’t had much of a chance to do more than doze off.

Penelope has stepped out of the room, stating that she needs water and the room still smells like gunpowder and she desperately needs to be where the gunpowder smell is not, leaving Spencer and Derek alone for the first time since that morning.

Spencer shifts over in the bed, motioning for Derek to come join him. The older man lowers the guardrail on his side of the bed and climbs in. Spencer immediately turns to face him, slotting his body up against Derek’s like they’ve done countless times. Derek’s strong arms wrap around him, one hand coming up to stroke Spencer’s hair while the other remains free for Spencer to hold, interlocking their fingers and resting their hands in the space between their chests. They don’t share words, as they often do when they cuddle, but instead opt to silently enjoy each other’s presence. Both men are worn out, exhaustion seeping into their bones, and this little moment between them is enough. The calm quiet, Derek’s warmth, the sound of his heartbeat… it’s enough to nearly allow Spencer to sleep properly.

“Knock knock,” comes a voice from the door, in time with the actual knocks on the glass door. Spencer’s doctor – his real doctor – is standing in the doorway, clipboard in her hand. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you guys, but I need to check in with you after that whole fiasco.”

Spencer reluctantly pulls away to allow Derek to slip out of the bed and give the doctor room to work. She works quickly, taking his blood pressure and checking his breathing, and as soon as she’s completed her examination she moves out of the way so Derek can take his seat on the bed with Spencer.

“Alright,” she says, thumbing through his chart. “Everything looks good, I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” She moves to leave but turns back to Spencer. “Did I have a chance to go over your bloodwork with you after the surgery?”

Spencer shakes his head and Derek glances between him and the doctor, thick eyebrows upturned with concern. “No, you didn’t go over it with me… are my levels abnormal?”

“There’s nothing urgently wrong, aside from your incredibly low iron. Try to get more iron into your diet, you’re in danger of becoming anemic – but that’s not what I wanted to bring up with you.” She switches her attention to Derek, where he’s perched on the end of the bed, looking more anxious by the second. “Are you his partner?” Derek nods, and she turns her attention back to Spencer.

“Doctor Reid, are you aware that you’re pregnant?”

A beat. Another beat. A beat, that’s actually Spencer’s heart coming to a complete stop, scientific improbabilities be damned. “I-” He’s having every possible thought at once, he’s sure of it. “The-” Derek whips his head to look at him, expression unreadable. Spencer’s face is surely cycling through expressions at random, like the five stages of grief in roulette. “I’m…” His heart is pounding in his ears, he’s never felt every emotion at once before and it’s all so much. “Baby?” is what his brain finally settles on as a response.

Spencer barely processes that he’s moving, slowly sitting up and reaching a hand towards the doctor. “May I see my chart?” He asks, his throat suddenly going dry. She nods and hands him the folder. He flips it open and Derek leans over to read along with him. He quickly gives up, however, because he can’t keep up with Spencer’s speed reading. Spencer’s finger moves across the page, his lips mouthing along with his reading. He soon finds what he’s looking for and freezes.

Pregnancy Test – Positive. 60-62 days [9 weeks]

Spencer blinks at the paper. Blinks again, like what he’s looking at will change. “Nine weeks?” He asks quietly. He’s not sure who exactly he’s talking to. Is he really so disconnected from himself, obsessed with his job, that he didn’t notice anything was off? For over two months?

The doctor nods, keeping her expression neutral in line with their reactions. Spencer hands the folder over to her and she slips it into the pocket at the end of the bed. “I’ll leave you two to discuss this privately. You should be ready for discharge soon, a nurse will come by later with some forms for you.” She leaves, and Spencer barely processes it. His mind had stopped moving the moment he was given the news.

Spencer is distantly aware of Derek reaching out to him, taking his hands in his own. They cling to each other like a lifeline because, in this moment, all they really have is each other. Spencer’s whole body feels numb, and he’s sure his face is reflecting it, but when he looks at Derek… he still can’t tell how he feels. He looks… scared. That look in his eye, a look of fear and uncertainty, it looks out of place on him.

Derek takes a shuddering breath. “What are we–” He’s cut off by his phone ringing, his work ringtone. He sighs, suddenly looking so, so tired, and reluctantly lets go of Spencer’s hands to check it. “It’s JJ… I don’t have to go, I can stay here with you. They’ll be okay without me.”

Spencer opens his mouth to reply and finds nothing comes out, no matter how hard he tries.

[It’s okay,] he signs. [Go, the team needs you.]

Spencer briefly wonders why, even now, he can’t say “please stay, I need you” just this once. He chooses not to examine it.

Derek sighs, looking down at his still ringing phone. “Alright, pretty boy. I’ll be back soon, I promise. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, after we’ve both had some good rest.” He stands up, leaning over to place a kiss on Spencer’s forehead, then his nose, then his lips. Spencer’s whole body visibly relaxes, and he presses his hand, middle and ring fingers touching his palm and his remaining fingers up, into Derek’s chest. “I love you too,” Derek murmurs against his lips. He pulls away, and Spencer watches his demeanor switch from that of his doting boyfriend back to the FBI agent.

Penelope returns right as Derek is leaving, and Spencer must do a much worse job at hiding the fact that he’s having a crisis, because she is immediately at his side asking him what’s wrong. To be fair, his inability to mask has caused countless uncomfortable situations in his life, but nothing prepared him for the sheer panic that fills his body while trying to come up with a believable lie to tell the only person who always manages to see through his excuses (who simultaneously cannot keep a secret for more than a few hours). Penelope must pick up on his shift in mood, however, because she stops questioning him and takes her seat next to the bed. Spencer crosses his arms over his stomach and curls in on himself, facing away from her.

Penelope watches Spencer, all furrowed brows and bitten fingernails and nervous energy, and sighs. She knows prying will just agitate him, but she’s getting stressed out just watching him stare into the middle distance and chew on his fingers, not unlike his mother. She’s not sure how to make him feel better, which she hates, because making people feel better is, like, her whole thing.

Maybe more jell-o will help.

#i named the fic based on the whole thing not just this chapter so the title might not make sense sorry #mentioningmargins #moreid #spencer reid #derek morgan #my writing #cm challenge #criminal minds fanfic #spencer read fanfic #derek morgan fanfic #moreid fanfic #mpreg #criminal minds mpreg

17 notes · View notes

brighter-by-the-daly · 1 year

Text

Rachel Daly x Reader

Part Four - Part of the Team

Posted: 15/03/23 Edited: 20/07/23

As the alarms rang out you stirred awake as Rachel rolled over and tried to snooze them. She doesn’t need to be up so early but you need to make yourself look good for meeting the team again. Kissing her shoulder you rolled out of bed and into the en-suite, secretly using her toothbrush to brush your teeth. You found her make up and applied enough to make you look decent but not overly done up then brushed your hair and planted it in a messy bun on top of your head then browsed through Rachel’s wardrobe looking for something cute but casual to wear. Your denim shorts had dried from yesterday, you just needed a top, nothing caught your attention so you decided to stick with the Nike Home one as you thought you looked cute. You did take one of her cardigans though and pulled that on while digging out your socks from the end of the bed then tiptoed downstairs to make the teas. Flicking through your phone while the kettle boiled and browsing your friends messages, you’ll have to make time to see them to give them the low down. You carried the teas upstairs and woke Rach up with lots of kisses, “I used your toothbrush by the way” you smiled baring your teeth “and helped yourself to my closet yeah?” she mumbled while rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “What else am I supposed to do, go in the nude?” you joked “absolutely not, that’s just for me!” pulling you closer, “you have half hour to get ready so drink up”. Rachel was wondering how on earth she had scored a gorgeous woman she’s known for less than 24 hours that can also keep her on schedule, and bring her tea in the morning?! She could get used to this.

Rach strutted off to the toilet as you asked if there was anything else she needed in her bags, she listed off a few things that you packed for her. She came out the bathroom looking tired, a little bit scruffy but a whole lot of sexy made you grab her from walking any further and pull her in for a kiss. “You look hot” tugging on her shirt “what, even like this?” she asked screwing her face up in confusion. “Especially like this - all sleepy and cute, I wanna cuddle you all day” you said wrapping your arms around her so she couldn’t move. “I like this cardi on you” she said wiggling out of your grasp to get ready to leave.

You were half hour early but Rach wanted to stop at Starbucks to grab a coffee and she bought you a smoothie. Riding in the car to St James Park singing along to 90s classics like Mmm Bop and Spice World you both arrived in a cheery and happy mood. Rachel walked you out to the pitch as you were early and no one was out yet then sat in the stands with you chatting about the game next week when your mum called wondering where you were. “I’m at England’s training session mum, sorry I didn’t let you know I wasn’t coming home, I’ve met someone” your cheeks turned a little blushed as you prepared for a barrage of questions. “Oh right, boy or a girl?” she started “a woman mum” “where did you meet them?” “at the game yesterday” “oh I hope they fancy the same players you do so there’s no arguments” you laughed and glanced at Rachel who was also laughing. “Funny story actually, she is one of the players” pulling Rach into the frame “this is Rachel, Rach this is my mum” “hiii, nice to meet you, your daughter is amazing” she gushed “is that Lioness Rachel Daly?!” Mum’s voiced raised. “Yeah, we spent the night together” you don’t hide much from your mum, she always sees right through you if you do anyway. “Oh my god, my daughter is a WAG!” she screeched which made you both burst out laughing. “Mum, we met less than 24 hours ago, we’re just having fun at the moment okay, I’ll let you know when I’m coming home, love you”. You apologised to Rachel who explained that that is exactly how her mum would react if she wasn’t already a famous footballer. “I better go get changed” she kissed you then went back through the tunnel.

This gave you a chance to call your friends who immediately answered without the phone even ringing screaming “TELL US EVERYTHING”. Where do you even start? We had sex in the Wembley showers which we both agree was more like making love than sex, basically inseparable and both falling head over heels for each other and now I’m watching the Lionesses train for the Brazil friendly next week. Anyone that wasn’t involved in your story would not believe what you was saying. “You can’t tell anyone okay, this is between us” seeking assurance from your friends “of course! Besties don’t go spreading each other’s business! Just get us tickets for the game yeah!” they replied cheekily “I’ll try huns, love you”.

With that, Rachel came jogging out on to the pitch in her kit and the butterflies had been replaced by fanny flutters, she looked so damn hot! And she knew it too, giving you a twirl so you wolf whistled her, then you heard other players coming “hey you better do that for all of us!” Beth appeared. After everyone was out you wolf whistled for all of them. “Nice shirt!” Lucy Bronze shouted up at you “oh this ole thing, just something I had lying around!” chuckling as you walked down the steps to greet everyone. “Still here then, it must be serious” Leah said before getting jabbed in the ribs by Millie - “don’t listen to her she’s jealous, and you got her here on time, that is a massive achievement!” Leah rolled her eyes and jogged away. “I’m just here to see my fave team and I wore this to remind you who you are!” Mary piped up with “what team!?” You knew she was a High School Musical kid from her TikToks so shouted “Wildcats!” back at her which won you a high 5. Millie spotted your messy bun and demanded to know how you got the mess so perfect, grabbing your shoulders to inspect the up do “this is the perfect header bun! You have to show me how to do it!” you said that you’ll show her when she shows you how to do hers. Why is blending into this team so easy? They all make you feel so calm and relaxed which is the complete opposite to your usual anxious self. Mary interrupted to ask your Insta handle and immediately followed you then Sarina came out and they all jogged over to her, grabbing Rachel’s arm before she could disappear “you look so fucking hot right now” you said under your breath so no one else could hear but her, she smirked while running her tongue along her teeth then jogged away, you went back to your seat.

Watching the team warm up and start the exercises laid out for them for the day, you kept catching Rachel’s eye every once in a while which made you happy. You decided to take some photos of the team on your new phone, testing out the camera and different settings - they turned out pretty good! You sent one to your friends who replied immediately, “have you seen your Insta?!” Curious, you opened the app to see Mary had tagged you in the dance from last night and your followers had gone through the roof, they included a lot of the England girls too. Scrolled through the comments and noticing there were hundreds of “who is this girl?” ‘That’s me, the mysterious team member now’, you thought. You replied to your friends like wow, a lot has happened overnight! They asked if you’d still remember them when you become famous.

Y - “Of course! I need you guys to keep me grounded 😂 It’s literally not even been 24 hours, she could still get the ick”

T - “I doubt it, the girls have all followed you, I don’t think they’d do that for a one night stand”

Y - “true, maybe she’s told them 🤷🏻‍♀️”

T - “well she did introduce you to all of them while you were wearing her shirt, that seems pretty territorial to me! 😂”

Y - “😂😂😂”

You left it at that and went back to focussing on their training, noticing Millie and Rachel were stood around chatting, you wondered if they were talking about last night. They were smiling and hugging before going back to passing the ball around. You forgot to ask how long the training sesh was, were you expected to stay throughout? You were unsure and decided to head off to find a toilet, spending some time looking in the mirror adjusting your bun before using the loo. Rachel must have seen you leave as when you came out of the cubicle she was propped up by the sinks.

“Hey you” she smiled, you grinned back at her while washing your hands. “So I was telling Millie about you and she suggested a double date tonight?” You were taken back by the offer of a second date in two days, she must feel strongly about you. “That sounds nice, I should probably pop home and grab some clothes and stuff, where are you thinking?” you asked. “We have a rest day tomorrow so we were thinking about Soho?” she shrugged. “That sounds cool, how dressed up are you two going? I don’t wanna look too over or under dressed, is it a bar or a club?” you don’t wanna stand out “a bar, we can’t drink too much until the game is over” she said jumping down from the side. “Okay sounds cool, I’ll run back and get some clothes-” “why don’t we all go shopping after training? We can pick each other’s outfits?” she interrupted your train of thought. “You really can’t spend a moment without me can you” smirking at her as Rachel stared at you deeply smiling and shaking her head. “It sounds fun! When do you think you’ll get off?” “Another hour or two I reckon, Sarina doesn’t like to push us too hard after game day. It’ll be longer and more rigorous on Saturday before the game on Sunday, do you have tickets?” You explained how you’re the organiser of the group and had been a little preoccupied lately as she played with a lose strand of your hair. “Okay leave it with me, I’ve gotta have you there cheering us on” she said defiantly “okay, I’ll go find a drink and come back to the stands. I hope you’ve got a kit at home” you said flirtingly as you pulled on her waistband before walking away in search of the cafe.

You were directed upstairs to the cafe which was in a box that overlooked the pitch. You ordered a tea and sat down in front of the window to watch the girls take shots at Mary. This team is phenomenal, they’re going to go all the way - you knew it. Still in disbelief that this whole scenario was real life, you gazed out the window for a little while before reaching for your book. You completely zoned out and for the first time, you weren’t thinking about Rachel. You read chapter after chapter completely lost in the world of your book until you felt a hand softly squeeze your shoulder, you knew who’s it was and nuzzled your cheek on it before planting a kiss on her finger.

“Do you want a coffee?” you asked as she took the seat opposite you, “I’ll get it” as she went to get up, “no you paid for dinner last night, at least let me pay for coffee, how do you like it?” Rachel asked for her order and then Millie appeared “do you want a coffee Mill?” you called out to her, “omg yes please! Rach knows my order!” as she plopped down at the table you’d stationed as your own, “then you can show me how to do this bun!” You laughed to yourself as you carried the drinks over and asked what the plan was. They explained that they were thinking of going to Oxford Street and picking out two outfits, one for each other person and we have to buy the one we like the best. You saw this as unfair as they didn’t know your style, whereas you could guess theirs from photos. “That’s the fun of it” Millie said. “Is your boyfriend not getting dragged into this too?” you asked her, alas he was at work and getting out of the torture. You hate shopping at the best of times, you didn’t know if these two were slow dilly dalliers or in-out people like you. For some reason you were feeling a bit nervous, Millie has to like you otherwise you and Rach would never work out.

At the shop you chose a banging outfit for Rach - smart caj and sexy which she loved and felt confident in. Rachel chose a cute dress for Millie and after some guidance about your likes and dislikes they both managed to put an outfit together for you. A long black dress with slits up the legs with a oversized plaid shirt over the top. You felt like it needed a hat and boots though so you browsed those aisles until you found what you wanted, then chose your jewellery and accessories together before getting out of there.

Picking up McDonalds on the way home, they both chose salads as they’re on a strict diet. You however are not and devoured two cheeseburgers and large fries in front of them. To say they were jealous was an understatement! “Perks of not being a footballer!” you said with a cheeky grin. You took a few slurps of your Pepsi then popped the top off and pulled a bottle of JD out of your bag as you glugged it into the cup before noticing both girls were staring judgingly at you. “I’m nervous!” you blushed, “this is just a pre drink to give me confidence!” you insisted. “You don’t need to be nervous” Millie put her arm round you, “Rach has told me how much she likes you, which means we will get along as well.” You were wondering exactly what your girl had told her bestie as you took some sips from your cup. “Right, we better get showered, come on” Rachel held her hand out to you and lead you upstairs “keep it down yeah” laughed Millie who was munching into her salad.

Part Five - Not my Decision to Make

#rachel daly #millie bright #lionesses #rachel daly x reader #beth mead #lucy bronze #mary earps #woso masterlist #woso x reader

84 notes · View notes

cacklingblobbittyrabbitty · 1 year

Text

super unhinged rainbow magic post 8 of 12

Ok me and the pal were making this at about 9pm which is late for us considering we’d been studying all day and it shows. We’re having unhinged and frequently louder opinions, and here is where our tiny lil brains go into overdrive and begin the Headcanons. Brace yourselves.

DANCE FAIRIES

a couple generic points before we begin - all these ladies Understood The Assignment. There are no fuckin necklaces (FINALLY). Also, these bitches gay! Good for them!

Also honourable mention to Shona the Scottish Country Dancing Fairy, never published but never forgotten

Bethany She looks like a bit of a bitch but apart from that I’m not getting any personality here The outfit is on point - tutu is cute, leotard is cute (chest cinching is so accurate it hurts) She isn’t wearing pointe shoes! WHY IS SHE ON POINTE THEN THIS IS DANGEROUS Legwarmers!!!! Accurate!!!! but should also be wearing cardigans tho Adequately petite as the ballet world demands Her hand position is not correct but her head position is HEADCANONS:

Bethany is a closeted lesbian, she loses a major role to someone else in the company (homoerotic rivalry that takes over Bethany's life), she has a breakdown at the age of 26 and a quarter-life gay crisis. She shoves herself violently back in the closet, which is tied to the toxicity of the heterosexual dancing life - super ironic because like nearly everyone is gay but everything’s a secret. Then Bethany is forced to retire because of mental health/physical health issues (probably from fucking pointe shoes or the lack thereof), so she moves to a small town and opens a laidback dance studio for cute lil kids (baby ballet!) She then falls in love with the aunt of one of the kids who’s the costume designer, when she’s gluing glitter on a costume for a recital. This costume designer is a punk because SHE WAS A PUNK SHE DID BALLET WHAT MORE CAN WE SAY

Jade OMG she’s Rocking That Shit! NO notes She has the 70s hair and it is OUTSTANDING She has face paint of a green star! Iconic! We stan Everything is working so well yessss - low waist groovy flares, chunky wristbands, party top halter neck The shoes are sliders but heeled which idk is sus Life of the party Jade! She’s a popular girl who’s actually nice, just look at her you know she has massive personality

Rebecca The lil shoes and socks! (heart eyes) Finally the motif is cool! She’s got records! The skirt is just so perfect (polka dots!!!) You can see her dancing! She has movement! The scarfffffff is so beautiful Scoop-neck 3-quarter length sleeved top! Could be darker but i love it anyway! We’re letting it slide! We’re petty so this is big for us! She has a personality! Severe fringe and high pony is so iconic (we’ll overlook the volume issue in the hair) She’s swished, no notes

Tasha Holy fuck we are getting FED TODAY She’s bisexual, no notes The bows on her shoes are adorable! Even though we think tap shoes ought to be the traditional black and white ones but other than that she’s good Re. the waistcoat cropped sleeveless collared corset looking thing: how does she manage to pull off such chaos so well? Answer: disaster bi Skirt and leggings combo coming BACK WITH A STEEL CHAIR THE CANEEEEEEEEEEEEE WE LOVE A PROP (side note: is this the first prop that’s not a living creature?) The HAAAAAIR - this is what avril lavigne wanted to look like, Tasha could be a skater girl Enormous top energy (it’s the cane and pose and look and smirk) and yes we would

Jessica I have those exact shoes but in black so she’s got taste We appreciate the merging of the 1920s flapper and the 2000s energy but lmaoo what are the belt, the neckline, and the shoulder straps doing with themselves The boa is INSPIRED even if it does make her pose look a bit fucked up - bitch needs some physio stat Marilyn Monroe is that you? If so congrats on the lesbian energy They’ve finally cracked the blonde hair! Give your warm blonde fairies pink-toned skin for the love of god

Saskia (or Serena i guess but Saskia is a way cooler name ngl) Most important thing first: FRECKLESSSSSSS Hair needs to be shifted to the left slightly but other than that it’s a really gorgeous hairdo - a little too much shine but at this point the fairies are singlehandedly shooting herbal essences’ profits sky-high The colour-grading on the outfit is delightful and perfect, the sleeves and the skirt are beautifully complimentary Fire motif for bad bitches! The heels are not high enough though, we want you to give this bitch some ankle issues - that being said, you KNOW she’s the woman who can run in stilettos She is SO intense everything is cranked up to 11 at all times and honestly? Good for her!

Imogen Skirt looks like ice crystals! We like it! But we do wish there wasn’t such a harsh waistline - i want continuation (e.g. the lines go up and then spread out into crystals) Crystals at the neckline are niiice but we don’t want the little spaghetti strap thanks just tape it down Half up half down hairstyle is beautiful - it hits her in the face when she spins but she’s dealing, girl is a performer, the show must go on. And she IS the show Hair and outfit FINALLY complement each other, well done for having the best blonde hair yet - also her boots are to DIE FOR She winking! She cheeky! You think she’s gonna be aloof but she’s so friendly

HEADCANONS: Gay and out babey Fuck the heteronormativity of figure skating man - she has a male partner and they’re best mates, but she also has a female partner (not allowed to compete internationally yet but they’re rioting)

#rainbow magic #rainbow magic fairies #dance fairies

7 notes · View notes

reidyoulikeabook · 3 years

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Ship: BAU! Gender Neutral! reader x Spencer Reid

#Request - Could you do some angst with “you dont deserve my forgiveness?” Any ship!

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mention of death, violence, injury (not serious), angst, mourning, a lot of tears. Also, swearing, anger, fighting (verbal, not physical.)

Summary: You and Spencer Reid had been together for a year before he ‘died.’ You grieved him. You mourned him.

A/N: Title stolen from my (current) favourite Taylor Swift song. Not sure how I feel about this one but! Here it is anyway! My requests are open & pls feel free to let me know what you think!!

14 days and 30 minutes exactly

You don’t think about the day Spencer Reid died. You can’t, because even remembering he’s dead feels as if an ice bucket has been tipped over your head. Not even now, two weeks later, have you really gotten over the initial shock that you felt. Every waking moment felt like you were trying to solve some kind of never-ending puzzle. Each emotion was overwhelming, too much to process. It felt like things would only start to get better, like everybody promised they would, when you started to be able to name the emotions rather than describe them as the physical sensations they brought on.

And you didn’t think that’d happen anytime soon.

The shared apartment was too much. You hadn’t slept in your bed since he’d been gone, and forbid anyone else from going into the bedroom. It was a sanctuary.

You understood now more than ever why victims families never changed a thing about the room of their loved ones. Every single thing felt deliberate. Theirs. It was a reflection of the time they were most alive, living. A unique snapshot of them in motion. The mess they left that they expected to come home to.

Rationally, you knew that wasn’t true. There wasn’t a sock hanging off Spencer’s bedside table, or a clean cardigan balled up on the floor, for any reason other than he’d been in a rush that morning, and had left an uncharacteristically large mess in his wake. In more ways than one.

***

2 months, 5 days, 8 hours

Being back at work helps somewhat, but the office feels empty without him there to ramble off factoids about anything and everything, to hear Morgan calling him ‘kid’ every five minutes. He only called you that now.

Simmons is nice, really he is. It isn’t his fault he’s there in place of Spencer and you try hard not to feel personally aggrieved by his presence. He doesn’t do anything to antagonise you, he stays out of your way more than anything. You don’t do anything to purposely make him uncomfortable: you do try to be agreeable and make small talk. But it’s hard not to look at him without thinking how, if everything was how it should be, Spencer would be stood in his place.

***

3 months, 26 days, 3 hours.

There is no ‘new normal.’ You’ve heard the term tossed around a few times in relation to grief, but if there is a new normal you’re still struggling to find it. When you’re not on cases, there’s no ‘normal’. You still don't sleep in your own bed. Sometimes you stay on Rossi’s, or Morgan’s, or Garcia’s couch. Sometimes, read: maybe once, it’s in the spare room at the place you and Spencer used to share. Sometimes, when you get worried about being a burden, it’s a hotel. It’s easier to feel as if you’re choosing to stay away from home, rather than acknowledging that home, as you understand it, no longer exists.

You still wake up and instinctually search for Spencer most mornings. Sure, work is keeping you occupied and you smile a little more these days. You even allowed yourself to be dragged out for drinks last weekend. But nothing feels like it should. You don’t know if that’s normal for grief or if you just aren’t moving forward at all, doomed to tread yourself deeper into the melancholic quicksand that’s got a hold on you.

You talk at length about it with Garcia over wine one night.

“Nothing feels right,” you admit, “Everything just feels...”

Garcia waits, just tipping her chin slightly to encourage you to continue. She’s got the counsellor act down and you’d have the decency to feel embarassed if you weren’t just so damn exhausted all the time.

“I feel trapped, I guess. Like I’m frozen. I keep thinking maybe it’ll get better once the trials over. Once the whole legal aspect of it is over and put to bed, then maybe I’ll have some closure on the whole situation,” you mumble, “I just don’t know how to move forward. I don’t feel like I’ve moved forward. And I know it’s only been three months but I’ve only stayed at our apartment twice and I can’t bring myself to move any of his things and...”

She just waits. In that moment, you’re so grateful for her.

“I’m stuck here. I can’t change anything. I can’t bring myself to move any of his things. I’m paying rent on a place I don’t live in but I can’t move because how can I live somewhere he’s never been? I feel like I’m stuck. I can’t move out of the world he lived in but the world is moving on even without him. And I’m just...I’m just here, Garcia.”

She nods sympathetically, placing her hand on your arm, “Maybe it’ll help when the case is wrapped up. When you have that closure.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “Yeah. I hope so.”

“There’s something you’re not saying,” she says, gently, “And you don’t have to say it. But if you’re holding back because you feel guilty then you don’t have to feel guilty about anything you say to me, my darling.”

You start to well up then. The pressure in your chest is heavy, something akin to guilt. It slices into your chest, cut glass sitting between your ribs and slicing you open every time you breathe in. You’ve been thinking it a lot lately. Too much. It’s making you feel awful and you can’t decide if putting it out into the world verbally is going to be a release or make it feel too real.

Garcia waits patiently.

You decide to believe it’ll be the former, then whisper, “I wish I loved him less. I wish I’d loved him less so this wouldn’t hurt as much.”

And then the sobs come. The sobs that wrack your chest and sting your eyes and leave you looking like you’ve been on the receiving end of an upper cut. Because how could you? How could you possibly want to take back any of the love you had so willingly, freely, given to the person you loved most? What kind of person did it make you to want to take back the good memories: to wish that instead of having waffles on the couch that last Sunday, you’d had a fight about the library fine he’d gotten because of you? How could you want to switch the puzzle pieces to create a less idyllic picture of your life together, just so you wouldn’t feel so much loss when you looked at it?

She just rubs your back through it, knowing that no words can help but still saying the thing she thinks you need to hear most, “That doesn’t make you a bad person, sugar plum. That makes you human.”

***

4 months, 6 days, 14 hours.

Hotch calls you all into the briefing room.

“A few months ago a decision had to be made. Somebody had the potential to make an incredible breakthrough on a case that had been airtight for years. But it wasn’t possible for that individual to complete that work without cover. They needed to be officially gone,” Hotch’s voice booms but you swear you can hear a hesitation, “It wasn’t necessary at the time for you to have that information. Providing you with it would have compromised the safety of one of our agents, and the integrity of their investigation.”

You glance around the room, confused, noticing everyone is sharing the same bewildered look. Except Emily.

“I apologise completely for having to keep this from you, it was a decision that was not taken lately, and I did not have the final say. That being said, any discontent about this decision should be directed towards me,” he glances towards Emily, and she’s looking nervous now.

Hotch lets out a huff, somehow more tense than usual, “SSA Reid was not killed after the attack in Seattle. That was his cover, but he was investigating a case.”

He’s still talking but you can’t hear anything. SSA Reid was not killed. SSA Reid was not killed. You flip the sentence over a hundred times. And for the millionth time since SSA Reid was killed, you have no idea what you feel.

There’s uproar from everybody. Shouting. And then Hotch says something and everybody is looking at you, scanning you for a reaction and you have nothing. Nothing at all.

“Hi,” a voice from the doorway, nervous and shy, a voice you’ve only heard in dreams and voicemails and recordings from nights out that you must have watched hundreds of times by now, if they were tapes you would have worn them out long ago.

And you know you can’t face him. You can’t face any of them.

You look around the room, first at Hotch whose eyes flicker with what looks like remorse. Then, at Emily who just looks guilty as all hell. You don’t look at him. You can’t look at him.

The tension in the room is palpable but in your peripheral you see Garcia and J.J flock to the doorway, embracing him.

Rossi, is the one who comes to you, “____?”

You stare at him, completely blankly, “Yeah?”

“You need to speak to him. Need to hear him out.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, allowing him to help you to your feet. His reassuring hands on your shoulders turn you around and you meet his face. The face of the boyfriend you spent the last four months mourning while everybody watched you fall apart. And half of them knew.

So that’s what you feel. Anger.

“Glad you’re back,” you snipe, pushing past him, “Glad you’re alive.”

Everybody watches you go. A tense silence fills the room. Spencer clears his throat, after what feels like an eternity, muttering, “I-I’ll go after ... I’ll go and see if I can...”

It wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for, if he’s honest. Although he wasn’t sure what exactly he’d been expecting.

“____ please, just let me talk to you, I’m sorry, please just let me have a chance to explain,” He manages to catch you at the elevator just in time, slipping through the gap with his lithe body, “Please. I need to explain. I need to apologise.”

“You can apologise as much as you want. You don’t deserve my forgiveness. You’ll never deserve my forgiveness.”

The venom in your tone leaves him floundering.

“___ please,” he’s begging, and you won’t look at him because you can hear the tears in his voice and he’s begging again, “Please, please look at me, please listen to me. You have to understand, you have to give me a chance to explain, please.”

You’ve never been this angry at him before. But you are now. It consumes you, you’ve never understood a crime of passion before and you’re not going to put your hands on him, of course, but fuck do you understand it now. How a person could just snap. The rage swells in you, screaming. Every muscle in your body is tense. It takes all you have to ball your hands into fists, digging your nails into your palm so hard you’re sure they break the skin. You’re furious. Furious at every single one of them.

“You lied to me,” you spit, “You lied to me and let me think you were dead. You and Hotch and Emily. I didn’t sleep in our bed for four months, Spencer. I’ve spent the past four months frozen, like, I couldn’t move forward without you. I didn’t start to move on. I've spent the last four months falling apart and trying to find a way to put myself back together without you, and then what, you just come back? You think we can just go back to normal? Spencer, I didn’t feel alive this past few months. I’ve been floating through, barely keeping it together. And for what? A case? That was important enough for you to do this to me?"

It’s true, you’ve spent the last four months feeling like you were the one who died. That you were united in being ghosts, except you were haunting all the places you used to go together, and he was just haunting your dreams. And he’d been alive. This. Whole. Time.

You storm out of the lift, lifting your head to look at him for only the second time in four months, “Please. Just leave me alone. You’ve done enough.”

He knows you aren’t wrong. Knows he doesn’t know if he could forgive you if the roles were reversed. Knows, more than anything, that he’s really fucked things up. You’ll never forgive him. That’s what you said, and right now, seeing anger like never before in your eyes, he has no reason whatsoever to doubt that isn’t completely true.

You don’t even make it to the parking lot before you feel your resolve melt into absolutely nothing. Anger descending into relief, hot tears cascading down your cheeks as the mantra starts again on a new loop in your head: SSA Reid was not killed.

#spencer reid fanfic #imagine spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #imagine criminal minds #criminal minds x you #bau!reader

409 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

innocence - 02

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m still stunned at how many of you are enjoying this story. thank you so so much for your support. much love xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky always woke up at 5AM and waking up at 5 AM was already considered a victory for him - to sleep through the night. Once the digital clock flashed 5 AM in electric red, his eyes were wide open, the sight of constant darkness being the only thing he could see. His routine was precise, as precise as time itself and it barely changed - gym then a dark cup of coffee followed by reading whatever coffee side table book Steve would linger around.

Y/N, unlike him, didn’t have a precise routine. She enjoyed routine but her mornings were always her own time, away from everything. On her free days she would try to wake up by at least 10. After she was fully awake she would turn on the TV in her bedroom and turn on the kettle for a nice tea. She would then lay in bed, surrounded by her blankets and dressed in an oversized cardigan while some random show played.

Bucky’s mornings were always filled with people coming in and out, that was life living in the Avengers headquarters. Some mornings he thought about moving into the apartment in Brooklyn but that would just upset Steve. Heck, he didn’t even know Bucky had bought the apartment, it had been an impulse buy and he would go there every week to check on it. However, Brooklyn wasn’t as close to Y/N’s in SoHo so he guessed he would stay. Y/N’s mornings on the other hand were quiet, too quiet. It was just her, just her in a two bedroom apartment in the middle of wealthy SoHo.

- Morning, Buck. - Steve, like always, walked into the kitchen, coffee mug saying number one dad in hand. He always had this smile that Bucky couldn’t find the words, a smile that was almost glad that he was still alive yet pitiful. The pure look of someone who’s been burdened, a mother to a child’s look, one she didn’t want. - Excited for guarding your first client?

- Feels more like guarding property. - he mumbled over the dark coffee, chugging it all before anymore questions could be asked.

It shouldn’t be a hard day, he thought to himself, mostly looking after her if she decided to go out for anything. He had looked into her profile, she was an easy target. Almost always wearing heels, flowey clothing, things that wouldn’t help her if someone was after her. Anyway, looked like an easy job, easier than saving the world.

Meanwhile, Y/N was laid in the middle of her covers, remote in hand as she skimmed through the channels. Looking around she noticed the loneliness she was in, the empty walls decorated with her own choosing but still empty. No sounds, too quiet.

She rose from the bed, big socks touching the cedar wood floor as she padded up to the kitchen. The agency had had everything decorated and the fridge stocked but as she opened the door she couldn’t find a single thing she wanted to eat. Disappointed, she closed the fridge, leaning against it to look at the rest of the flat. It was quiet, too quiet, filled with the sounds of quiet if that was even a physically possible thing. She let herself slide down the fridge front, sitting on the floor as she thought about what to do. She didn’t have her script yet, or at least more than two pages of it and going outside was the least thing she wanted to do today.

Y/N was about to fall asleep on the ground against her fridge, she heard footsteps. Quickly, she got onto her feet, rushing over to the door so fast she almost slipped. Pushing the peep hole away she put herself on her tippy toes to see if one of the neighbours was home.

- Y/N, are you staring out the peep hole? - the person whose steps belonged too was definitely better than any neighbour. Quickly, she unlocked the door, pushing the metal that held it shut to the wall and opened it to see Bucky in a much more casual attire than before. Red henley with some loose dark jeans looked better in her opinion. - If you hear someone it’s always a terrible idea to use the peep hole. Almost always let’s them know someone’s in.

- Then what are peep holes for? - Bucky playfully rolled his eyes but not before observing what she was wearing. She looked more comfortable. - Do you wanna come in?

- Miss Olson said I am to wait outside your door until you want to leave the apartment.

- What if someone broke my window and took me?

- Trust me, Y/N. I would know and would win that fight.

- You sure you don’t wanna come in? I could cook you some breakfast. Whatever you like. - she had that shine in her eyes, Bucky couldn’t explain it. He just knew it didn’t felt forced but she surely was nervous judging by the pushing of her oversized cardigan’s sleeve to cover her hand. - The agency filled my fridge with so much food I don’t know what to do with it.

- I’m not a breakfast kind of person, Y/N.

- Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. - her small hand came to rest over his wrist, pulling at it so he would go inside. He found it amusing how someone who was much shorter than him, head barely hitting his collarbones, would try to move him. Although, surprising wasn’t the fact that he moved but the fact that she touched him, she touched the Winter Soldier.

Bucky wasn’t a kid anymore, he wasn’t naive and he lacked Steve’s “all good” view of the world so he knew what people thought of him. They thought he had been of use but at the end of the day he had been the Winter Soldier for 70 years. They didn’t dare touch him but her she was inviting him into her home and touching him as if he were an old friend.

Once he got in, he immediately looked at everything. There were fake flowers everywhere in little glass jars, if they were broken and she were trying to escape she would get hurt, too many windows and not a lot of mirrored surfaces, people could look in.

- Would you like some pancakes? French toast? - her voice interrupted his inspection. - My mom was a cook, I can cook pretty much whatever you want. Can’t promise it will be as good as a cook’s but it’ll be edible.

- You really don’t need to feed me, Y/N. - his gaze returned to her apartment, open doors everywhere.

- I just thought ... since you’re going to be around a while we should be friendly with each other. - she looked down at her feet before looking up again, head slightly looking to the side. - I don’t know anyone in here, I didn’t even pick this apartment so I thought I would at least get to know you.

She felt ashamed, heat seemed to radiate from her cheeks to her whole body. Back at the theatre everyone knew each other, they all had show themed hoodies and would say hi whenever they came in and left but things in Hollywood were different. In her first movie she had made friends with only one cast member who still spoke to her but everyone else did their job and returned to their lives without a single hello. She thought that maybe knowing Bucky would make having someone constantly in her life a bit easier but she understood his position.

Bucky himself seemed to read that all on her face and as he did a thought popped into his head “they are gonna eat her alive”.

- Let’s try that French Toast. - she smiled at his answer, once again pulling his hand towards the kitchen. It was spacious for a SoHo flat, with cut edge technology and also a very visible knife set. He would have to tell her to put that somewhere else.

She on the other hand quickly assembled all she needed, placing it on the marble countertop, a happy grin on her face as she started to prepare the meal. It reminded him of memories he had tried to suppress.

- Mum’s a cook, why are you an actress? - those memories were still memories he wasn’t ready to get back and as such he reckoned speaking with her would keep it out.

- I don’t really know how to explain it. - she smiled, pulling a few hair strands behind her ear. - My mum took me to a musical after I didn’t get cast in the nativity play. It was Phantom of the Opera, I just remembered that chandelier rising and crashing and the energy of the performers. There was just ... that was time stopping and rushing at the same time. And the look on the performers faces as they finished a piece, god it was just, I had never seen and I don’t think I have ever seen such passion in someone’s face.

Bucky moved his head ever so slightly, she seemed to be lost in her own memories, a daydream gaze washing over her features. He wondered what it was like to have memories to be proud of.

- I’m sorry, I must sound like a sap. Why do you become a bodyguard?

- I like a challenge.

- That’s what you told me yesterday. - she placed a beautiful set plate in front of him. Beautiful things make beautiful things, that’s what his mother once told him. Maybe she was right.

- What can I say, I’m not that interesting.

- I don’t know if that’s true. - she added a coffee cup to the French Toast, before pulling a chair. - You know, if I’m at home you don’t need to be outside my door, you can come in.

- I wouldn’t want to intrude on your personal space.

- It’s not really my personal space. The agency bought the flat and decorated it themselves so I guess it’s just the space I live in. I don’t really know the city yet so you’re mostly waiting outside for nothing. - she shrugged.

- How long have you been in New York?

- A little over 5 months. I was in California during my last movie and prior to that I was living in Haymarket in London. How long have you been in New York?

- I was born in Brooklyn, about half hour away from here. Lived here my whole life ever since ... at least the part of it I could control.

Bucky waited to see that pity look, the one everyone in the team seemed to give them whenever they looked at him but she didn’t. She merely wrapped her hand around his, caring smile of someone who almost looked proud he existed or proud he was alive. They’re gonna eat her alive, he thought to himself once again.

- Hey, you could show me around. - she suggested, jumping from the high chair onto the floor.

- I don’t hang around SoHo, Y/N.

- Well, you could show me Brooklyn. Isn’t Coney Island in Brooklyn?

- You wanna go to Coney Island? - he chuckled. - I don’t think your agency would enjoy that. Too public.

- They don’t need to know. - she smirked playfully. - If you don’t tell them they won’t know.

- You’re a celebrity, trust me you’ll be noticed.

- You said on your CV you were good at blending and disappearing into a crowd. Please, I’ll get you whatever you want in Coney Island.

- Whatever I want? - he furrowed his eyebrows at her and she nodded. - Alright, Y/N.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @nsfwsebbie @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @tonystankschild @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverrated @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess

506 notes · View notes

lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

Made up fic title: Bleed out my love for you

special thanks to @angxlsgrxce for coming up with the idea for this one!

Tony sacrifices time and time again. It’s familiar, his story, honestly.

Bucky knows it. Ever since he was brought back and placed in the tower and was observing everything, he knew.

It’s so apparent.

Not just because he knows about the Attack on New York, not just because of Ultron. The previous events before the Avengers were even a team speak volumes.

And then. In smaller ways.

In the way that Tony pours the last of the coffee for Natasha, in the way that he doesn’t prefer ordering Thai food, but will anyway because Thor wants to try it.

In how he lets Bucky into the building, into personal space. Even though their history together is not ideal at all.

Self-sacrifice isn’t always a grand gesture. Sometimes it’s pushing yourself back again and again.

Tony’s been pushing himself back for years, it appears.

The curious thing about it is that he doesn’t seem to want to take care of himself. Bucky knows the feeling, even indulged a few times. (A few times too many, but hey. Not important.)

So he starts on a new goal: treat Tony with kindness.

This starts off about as smooth as a damn asteroid belt, because Tony is very confused about when there’s a steaming mug of coffee waiting for him, when Bucky asks him about his day.

It’s suspicious.

Because as sad as it is, and as much as Tony doesn’t want to admit it, people aren’t nice to him unless they want something.

The only people that defy this rule are the Originals: Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy.

And he lets them be nice to him, because they have essentially bullied him into accepting their gifts and kindnesses and the occasional “you have to come with me” when they fix lunch.

Bucky is not part of this.

Far from it, for the most part.

So Tony assumes that he’s trying to get something, and that kind of makes him angry.

He doesn’t like it when people try to get something from him. He’d rather they just ask, not do all of this under-handed shit to try and butter him up.

So he confronts Bucky. No use in having it continue. He doesn’t need someone to attempt to fix him breakfast or ask him if he wants to come to team dinner or make coffee. It’s ridiculous.

He doesn’t want to be rude about it. They still have to be a team.

But. There’s something that has to be done to let him know that it won’t be happening.

So Bucky is summoned to the lab, and maybe Tony’s a little nervous.

“Um, did you want something?” Bucky asks.

“I just wanted to talk to you about something for a quick sec,” Tony says. “It’s about what you’ve been doing lately.”

“Is this about the coffee thing?”

“It’s about more than that thing,” Tony says. “I’m going to be honest with you, James, I don’t like when people try to do things because they want something.”

Bucky doesn’t speak for a moment. Then two moments.

James.

Tony only uses real names when he’s upset. So that?

“Tony, I-”

“It’s okay, but I’d rather you ask next time if you want something,” Tony says, and he looks so tired.

“No, that’s not what-”

“It’s okay, fine really. I just don’t like empty favors. That’s it. I don’t want this to be awkward, so sorry? But I said what I said, and you’re free to go now.”

It isn’t a suggestion. It’s a command, and Bucky follows it with his head down and his cheeks burning.

There are two feelings running through his mind right now:

Irritation that Tony thinks that Bucky was doing this to gain something.

Sadness that this is what Tony has to think. He has to think that people want something, because when don’t they?

So Bucky’s kept his distance. He’s still been turning on the coffee machine, although he makes sure that it never is him that’s seen.

He still sees that Tony gives and gives and sometimes the world is on his shoulders, and there’s so much tiredness in the way he moves.

Bucky knows a little bit about how tiredness works.

He swears Jarvis to secrecy.

“I do not think that Sir would mind if you explained.”

“I don’t think he’d really believe my explanation, Jarvis. But thank you.”

“Very well, Sergeant Barnes. Would you like me to send you a list of his likes and dislikes?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Anything else I can get for you?”

“Actually, I do need one question answered. How does he feel about fun socks?”

“I believe he’d be amenable.”

“Thanks.”

Tony doesn’t know why it persists.

Bucky-James-knows that he’s not getting anything. Tony won’t do it.

So he doesn’t understand why there’s still coffee and why he still is doing nice things.

“Maybe he’s genuinely trying,” Rhodey tells him when they get their lunch.

“Or maybe it’s the long-con,” Pepper says, slurping on her smoothie. “You don’t know what happens when there’s a long-con.”

“I don’t think so,” Tony says. “I mean don’t get me wrong, you are right so many times, but James...I think he’d know. I mean, it’s not like only the Winter Soldier learned stealth.”

“You’re calling him James?”

“Yes.”

“Weird,” Rhodey remarks.

“How is that weird?”

“You only call people you dislike by their first name, or if they think you’re annoying.”

Tony pauses.

“How have I not noticed that?”

“You don’t notice a lot of things. Remember how I cheated you out of so much money in college by cheating cards?”

“You manipulated and wounded me,” Tony said with a sigh.

Rhodey snorts.

“I did no such thing, cupcake, you were just under the assumption that I was going to be nice to you for all time. You should’ve assumed something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like sometimes, people just want to help you,” Rhodey says. “Jarvis updated me on what was going on.”

“People don’t help me,” Tony says, scowling. “Except for you, Pep, and Hap. Anyone else is just...that’s just weird.”

“You’re just not used to people genuinely not wanting to screw you over,” Pepper says, taking her smoothie cup to the sink. “And Bucky doesn’t want to do that. I think if he was going to do it to anyone, it’d probably be Steve or something.”

“Aren’t they best friends?”

“I tend to zone out any time you talk about the Avengers,” Pepper says, knowing damn well that she hangs onto every word so that she and Phil can go out for their monthly coffee dates.

“You are the worst at lying.”

“Not as bad as you,” Pepper sing-songs. “Or were we all supposed to believe that you genuinely liked Marie’s new cardigan?”

“Listen, you can’t say anything mean to Marie, she’s Marie. She baked me cookies because I frowned once on a Wednesday.”

“I’m in love with her,” Happy sighs. “I wish she baked me cookies.”

“Then quit being awkward and go in there and get her,” Pepper says. “Honestly, Happy, you can be a catch when you try and don’t rely on your tough-guy appearance.”

“Besides, every single employee of SI knows that you love Downton Abbey.”

“Why do they know that?!”

“I am. Admittedly,” Pepper starts, “a completely awful office-gossip. It’s in my blood, I think.”

“You’re the worst.”

“You only say that because you can’t go to Pilates with me this week.”

“Not my fault you have it on a weird time on Thursdays!”

“I can’t please everyone, Hap.”

Tony snorts, chewing a bit of the bread set out on the table.

“Hmph.”

This is thought-provoking.

Because maybe, just maybe James is being a nice person. This is a brand new thought to Tony, of course.

“I could have told you that from the beginning, Sir.”

“Well, we all have our faults,” Tony says breezily. “And J, I would not have listened at the beginning. You’re a learning AI.”

“You think I haven’t learned something after more than thirty years in functional use?”

“No, of course not. Don’t be daft.”

“I shall try my hardest, Sir. But I do not know how I could ever compete with you.”

“Hey!”

He watches James a bit more after that.

He’s a quiet sort of guy, never really saying anything unless it’s a quip or an opinion about dinner. (He hates anything with eggplant in it.)

James isn’t watching for anything, save for the other shoe to drop. God Tony is familiar with that.

So Tony does what he does best, and surprises people.

Bucky is not sure why he’s in the lab, again. Well, he might be sure. He’s still leaving coffee out, still getting some sort of fun fruity snack for Tony. He’s still being nice, and Tony has maybe noticed?

(Probably, if Jarvis has been intuitive enough to keep recommending different online shops for Bucky’s addiction to looking at novelty-everything.)

Tony faces him and yeah hi, those arms are nice to look at.

“So it appears that I have been in the wrong,” Tony says. “Because you were being nice.”

“But you were right to not trust me. For a lot of reasons.”

“And you should’ve just tossed me out the window,” Tony says. “Or I should’ve been more...trusting. Ugh. Words suck.”

Bucky laughs.

“Luckily, coffee doesn’t need words, and I have some brewing upstairs. If you still like that sort of thing.”

“If you still like that sort of thing,” Tony mocks. “I was out of the womb addicted to coffee, I’ll have you know, James.”

Bucky snorts.

"Rhodey’s already told me the story of you getting used to it in college and referring to it as a ‘necessary evil’.”

“Jarvis, leave me a reminder to kill Rhodey-darling,” Tony says.

“I will do no such thing,” Jarvis responds just as easily. “But I will let him know you leave your regards.”

“He didn’t even help build you and he’s your favorite,” Tony grumbles.

Bucky laughs.

“To coffee we go, Tony.”

Over the course of time, they become closer. Bucky knows Tony’s coffee by heart, and Tony knows exactly which pastry to save at official meetings when Bucky comes in late.

“You know if you came in on time, Tony wouldn’t have to guard your pastry like an overzealous attack dog,” Steve says, leveling a look.

Bucky smiles fondly.

“But then how I would i know I liked an overzealous attack dog?” he asks. “Thanks, doll.”

Tony stills for a moment.

Oh, he liked that.

“Anything for you, James.”

James. But in a good context. He...he could get used to that.

Tony does slowly start to do nice things back to Bucky.

And maybe. Maybe it’s nice to do nice things for him. Maybe he loves seeing that calm little smile, he likes bringing James’s hair into a bun and twisting one strand down, and James will leave it there.

It’s the fact that James sees when he’s tired, when the world is tilting a bit.

When he goes into the lab and sits there, not saying anything but choosing the music and cooking food and helping when Pepper and Rhodey can’t.

Telling him about something he found during the day that he liked. Like how he found a Queen album that he shouldn’t have spent money on, but he loved the songs on it.

How he tells him all about the new cooking thing he tried.

How at the end of the day, James will smile at him and it feels like it’s coming home after a long journey.

How they lean on each other, how Tony gets him the best sort of hot chocolate at night, and they look at each other and there’s nothing that needs to be said.

It’s simple, how love works sometimes. And how complicated humanity can make it.

But Tony won’t.

No, he takes James’s hand in his after a long mission, one that has muscles stretched out and eyes tired and bodies leaning on each other.

“Come to bed with me,” he murmurs.

“Are you sure?”

“Darling, nothing’s surer than you.”

It is not a grand love confession. It is not pouring rain, clinging button-downs, smiles across the room that mean the world and then the universe.

It is simple, and it is boring.

And Tony loves it.

#lovelyirony writes #i just. really like this #i like how pepper was just immediately LONG CON MISSION. IT'S THAT ONE #true ally #tony stark #bucky barnes #winteriron #pepper potts #rhodey #happy hogan

206 notes · View notes

anatrik · 4 years

Text

Folklore feels like summers spent in your hometown, wandering barefoot with your best friend all day, coming home to sweet tea set on the porch. You slouch in a deck chair, watching the sun set, your grandmother's soft voice rising and falling beside you.

She tells stories, histories of the people you see everyday, Old Man James and his Betty. James and Betty, Betty and James who'd been together so long everyone thought of them as two halves of a single unit, a living breathing forevermore. But Grammy remembers...there was once another girl. A girl, with startling green eyes and a heart of fire and desire. A girl, shamefully wronged, disregarded, brushed under the carpet with all the lint, lost socks and cardigans, things we wish to forget. The girl everyone remembers and no one mentions.

Rebekah.

And you listen in wide eyed silence, trying to reconcile the image of the bluff honest old man with that of a dark haired philanderer, trying to picture Mrs. Betty- who still looks at her husband like she sees the 17 year old boy she fell in love with- huddled under the bleachers as Mrs. Inez (that old bat?!) confirms that the rumours are true, trying to imagine what the woman would've looked like, this Rebekah, who'd been able to steal a man's eyes from 'Betty the Beauty' and coming up with a blank because some things simply defy imagination.

"How?", you whisper in a strangled voice

"How can she bear to even look at him?"

Grammy smooths a hand over your tousled head and smiles at how young you are, how black and white the world you live in, how innocent.

Because invisible strings tie us to our fates. Because Betty knew the other girl and the shitty hand life had dealt her. Because James had been 17 and hadn't known a single thing. Or maybe, it was something as simple as a sorry at the right time by the right person for the right reasons.

And the other girl? You want to ask. But it feels wrong somehow, after all these years, her memory still tainted, her grave still fresh, her presence always felt.

Grammy hears the question anyway-she always does. Her voice grows softer, her words come out hoarse and laced with bitterness. And she tells you, about a runaway who had left home by moonlight with a twenty dollar bill and the clothes on her back, how she slept her way through bus stops and shady motel rooms, greedy fingered old men who had breathed in her desperation like it was the finest of perfumes. About a lost girl who didn't know better and the men who should have. How finally one summer, she had stumbled into a sleepy little town, 1989 miles away from where she had started, a ghost town she'd thought, marvelling at the silence. And then...him. They had talked politics and got drunk under the streetlights, spent weekends together and he'd made her feel special, kissed all her aches better, really truly saw her. For the first time she felt like she could maybe put down roots, here where the grass was green and the skies purple pink and blue, here where she had been happy for the first time. And then, when the wind turned and the evenings grew longer, he'd finally touched her and it had felt like a goodbye. When she woke up twisted in the empty bedsheets, she was alone. All of August slipped away into a memory .

The school year was a knife to the chest, her love had relegated her to the shadows, abandoned her to the whispers and side eyes. They called her a bad girl, a mad woman, a whore, nothing she hadn't heard before but nothing ever really prepares you to hear it again.

"What happened to her?" you ask in a hushed voice.

She left. The day of James and Betty's wedding, the whole town and it's cousins were at the church, no one missed the freak. She went back to the city she'd run from, back to that house of horrors, the demons had long since died but their ghosts remained in the walls. But she knew what it was to live with ghosts. She wasn't one to fear things that couldn't touch her.

She worked her way through med school, threw herself into her work, reckless, passionate, determined and burned like a star in a sky full of streetlights.

Then came the great war of men, what your history textbooks called the second world war.

"You were there too?" you whisper in awe.

Yes. I was posted with the 104th infantry. It's where I met your grandfather.

She speaks of the guns and the smoke, the trenches of blood and broken men, the white curls darken and the wrinkles fall away, you see your soft Grammy, but also the steely young nurse she had once been.

She speaks of a young soldier, Bill, and a love set to a soundtrack of artillery fire, uncertainty and prayers. A love neither easy nor inevitable, that they had fought for tooth and nail because it was all either of them had.

She tells me of their early days, back when Bill was just one among a thousand struggling young men,the times she almost ran because it was the only thing she knew. How after a particularly vicious fight he had come after her to find her stood on the cliffside, angry, unsure, screaming at him to give her one fucking reason. How he had slowly unpicked the messy knots in her head where love and lies were so entwined she couldn't tell one from the other. How she'd warned him of the storms that lived within her and he'd weathered through them all. How she had finally found it in herself to believe again.

And then the homecoming, the city life wasn't for them and Grammy had missed the sea. So they'd packed their bags, said goodbye to St.Louis by moonlight. Then the house on the beach, parties straight out of Gatsby, card games with Dali. The quiet moments in Grandpa Bill's arms. Their new neighbours, James and Betty who had moved back home to raise their family. How James would sometimes look at her like he was seeing someone else or maybe a reflection of the man he could've been. How whenever that happened Betty's lips would tighten imperceptibly. How he always snapped out of it. Every single time. He always went back to his Betty. Bill would tell a joke to smooth over the tense silence, the moment would pass. Everything would come back to normal. Then she had your mother, your uncle, your other uncle, their dog, Benjamin, Grandpa Bill's heart-attack, the stories start running together and before you know it gentle arms are carrying you to your bed, a soft I love you goes unanswered, summer ends, it's time to go back home.

When you come back next, the porch is empty, no sweating jug of sweet tea on the table. The house is crowded and smells of roses- Grammy hated roses- and expensive perfumes. There's too much black everywhere- Grammy hated black- you search for a familiar face in the sea of weeping strangers and find none. You huddle close to where Grammy lies. She looks so peaceful. Just like you remember from the last day of summer. People come up every few minutes, mumbling words of comfort to your mother as your uncles stand by stoically. No one says a word to Grammy, which is pretty rude you think considering she's the reason they're all here. They hover uncertainly, then attempt to drift away inconspicuously. Mrs. Betty and Old man James are among the last, you look up curiously trying to see beyond the ill fitting suit and the balding grey head, but whoever James had been at 17, was long gone. He stands for a long time, his head bowed, tears slowly dripping down the tip of his nose. He doesn't say a word to your mother. He doesn't say a word to anyone. But from where you sit you can see his lips moving, the same word again and again, like a prayer, Betty, Betty, Betty. You wonder why he'd be talking to his wife right now. But then you see Betty's mouth tighten.

Becky, Becky, Becky...

Grammy.

Rebekah.

Thank you. For folklore. For these stories. For everything. @taylorswift

230 notes · View notes

luvrgirl555 · 4 years

Text

more -- S.R

gif credit: @criminalmindsquotingfans

anon request: can i request spencer x bau!reader where shes the only one who notices something is wrong when he was using dilaudid?

an: i love this request and i hope i did it justice :) also i’m not trying to romanticize drug addiction in any way

warnings: drug addiction, spence is kinda mean :(

send me a request!!

☆ masterlist ☆

ever since the moment he stepped back into the bullpen you knew it was too early.

even if it wasn’t written all over spencer’s features you knew that he shouldn’t be back after only two weeks of leave.

two weeks?

“for god’s sake he was kidnapped, hotch,” you practically yelled at your unit chief while struggling not to pull your hair out.

“it’s not my call, y/n, the brass decides.” hotch seems completely nonchalant which only attempts to piss you off even more.

“he was the victim of a serial killer! and you’re just going to let him walk back into this job?” you scoff, “you’re going to have to do better than that.”

“y/l/n drop it,” he says sternly.

you look taken aback and cross your arms sternly, effectively shielding yourself from your boss and noticing the guilt in his eyes.

you know he blames himself.

the entire team does.

gideon barely talks, not like he did very much before, but it’s still lessened.

morgan has become five times more protective of everyone on the team.

hotch has been stern, more than usual, keen on everyone following orders exactly when they’re in the field.

emily won’t go anywhere without backup, even if she doesn’t need it.

and you and everyone else know jj blames herself the most.

“if i notice anything in the field or otherwise i will handle it, but i need your head in the job. can you do that?” hotch asks.

you were angry.

furious at hotch and the rest of the team.

even jj who you tried not to blame, but your mind would never stop racing.

you were furious at yourself.

constantly thinking you had let everyone down, or you could have done more. that was your specialty.

you nodded briskly and walked quickly to your desk that sat across from spencer’s.

you sat down with a huff, not even noticing that he was sat across from you, wearing a shirt and two cardigans, one much thicker than the other and his hair was ever slightly falling in his face.

there was a scarf on his desk, one that matched the one on yours.

one of the office holiday parties had led to the both of you drawing each other’s names and buying the other the same gift.

now it was the only scarf you wore.

when you saw his eyes, your mouth couldn’t move as fast your mind.

“hi, hey, hi, oh my god,” you whispered which made his lips turn up into a smile.

“hello,” he waved and you grinned. “are you doing alright?”

“oh my god, spence, i’m fine,” you completely shrugged it off.

he looked at you with a look that told that he knew.

“really,” you assured, “do you want to talk about how you are?”

right as he was about to answer derek walked up, “there he is! i missed you pretty ricky!” he ruffled spencer’s hair fondly which made spencer smile.

it was a wonderful thing to see.

he stood to give derek and emily short hugs where they said things along the lines of, “welcome back,” and “we missed you so much. you and your big brain.”

jj walked up last, clearly feeling rotten but you felt the energy dissipate when he pulled her in for a hug.

you don’t know what they whispered to each other but it definitely seemed to calm her down.

“we have a case,” hotch said walking by on the ramp towards the conference room.

the team collectively groaned, besides spencer who leaped up the stairs to claim his chair and save the seat next to it for you.

it was tradition.

you didn’t really listen while jj rattled of the details of the case, only skimming the file and half-listening to your team members collaborate.

to everyone’s surprise, spencer seemed what anyone call fine. good even.

he stated facts, statistics and general knowledge about the area.

he seemed to be coping so well.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

on the jet you noticed it.

his legs were bouncing frantically.

his hands were shaking.

you looked around, trying to notice if anyone was seeing what you were but they were all in their own worlds.

reading the case files. talking to the sheriffs department. talking to each other. sleeping.

the world was filled with distractions but nothing could distract you from spencer reid.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

it was getting late.

you had been sent to collect spencer from the conference room and his map and markers.

“hey, hotch says we should get some shut eye,” you walked into the room quietly.

“i think i’m going to stay here for a little while, i’m almost done,” he added another line and didn’t look at you.

“i can help you, i just had another coffee myself,” you laughed and he looked at you.

“i’m fine.”

there’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before.

“oh, sorry, i just thought that maybe it would go faster with two heads,” you tried to play it off.

“geography isn’t exactly your strong suit,” he rolled his eyes.

“reid?” you cocked your head to the side and he didn’t look at you. “spencer?”

morgan walked in just as you repeated yourself.

“come on, kids, let’s get back at this in the morning. c’mon,” he coaxed the two of you out of the room.

you didn’t let either of them see your eyes well with tears.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

you’re wearing a purple shirt the next day.

and his socks are the same shade.

they match.

it’s odd.

spencer doesn’t do that.

not with his socks anyway.

you’re driving out to talk to some workers at a homeless shelter with him, thinking the unsub may have stayed or worked in one, effectively integrating himself into the community.

when spencer makes an off-hand comment that the unsub “could even be here in this room,” you look at him and quickly admonish, “reid!”

“if you notice anything, call us,” he hands the woman his card and steps out swiftly.

spencer leaves you to explain to the worker that she just doesn’t need to worry, just be vigilant, but you know she walks away unsure.

“what the hell was that?” you ask when finally outside.

“what?”

“‘could be here in this room!’ we have no proof for that!” you argued.

“should i just pretend like it isn’t dangerous instead?”

his tone is fiery, not warm.

fierce, not loyal.

petrified, but not sad.

“what is wrong with you? i’ve never seen you act like this?” you try to reach for his hand, something you always do to help feel grounded.

he pulls away.

“oh really? y/n, no offense, but you never really know what you’re talking about, do you?”

his demeanor is ice.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

on the jet ride back you feel exhausted and nobody mentions drinks when you get back to quantico so everybody must feel the same way.

hopping into your car you notice the rain start to fall which doesn’t help your sniffles go away and tears start to fall down your face.

you don’t know how to help him so you cry.

you don’t know how to do this so you cry.

you love him so you cry.

cry for him and his soul, his mind and his body. his heart and beautiful spirit.

you can tell he’s hurting, though nobody seems to notice or listen.

and you love him.

a knock on your window makes you jump and look over.

you quickly unlock the doors so spencer can get in and throw the wet hair out of his face.

“are you crying?” he asks, stupidly.

his voice is finally soft, angelic and kind.

you just nod.

“i’m scared for you, spence,” you confess.

his mouth puckers the same way it always does when he’s anxious and his leg won’t stop bouncing.

“i’m scared, too,” his voice breaks and you instinctively grab his hand.

he explains everything while neither of you move.

he talks quickly, almost like he can’t talk quickly enough.

you occasionally squeeze his hand.

when he’s finished you sit in stunned silence, just for a moment.

all you can think to say is, “i love you.”

his brown, teary eyes look at yours and you move to kiss his forehead gently.

“i always have you. i will always catch you.”

“thank you,” he whispers, meekly, “i’m sorry i was so rude to you. i don’t know who i am anymore.”

a sigh escapes his lips and you kiss his left cheek.

“you’re doctor spencer reid, supervisory special agent for the behavioral analysis unit,” you place a kiss on his nose, “you’re an excellent shot, handsome and smart,” you kiss his right cheek, “and my best friend.”

his breathing has finally slowed. he feels in control of his body again, just for a moment.

“more?” he asks.

“more?” you cock your head.

his lips crash against yours as gently as he can manage.

more.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #mgg

198 notes · View notes

flying-nightwing · 4 years

Text

Pink and Totalitarianism Always Go Hand in Hand

Here’s the promised crack fic. Disclaimer, this is terrible in every and any form, because it is meant to be that way. If you want quality, structure, a story that makes sense, this ain’t it chief. This is certified Crack. If you finish this and all you can say is something along the lines of “what the fuck”, my work here is done. (Besides, this isn’t edited to add to the overall crack vibe)

Enjoy and good luck, because it get worse and worse as it goes

Masterlist in bio // pinned post

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word count: 4626

Warnings: Mention of drugs, light non-graphic violence, language

Summary: You’re stuck in a world that does not make sense, alone and surrounded by secret police and spies that will report you to the government. One early morning, Jason appears in your living room. His arrival gives you an opportunity to get the hell out of there for good.

You had taken a habit of sleeping lightly.

You, who had once cherished your sleep like it was the rarest gem in the world. Yet, you found out you had still severely underappreciated its importance in your life, something you realized only when it was gone. You missed it like an old friend who was gone to war and died on the front, leaving words forever unsaid. What would you do for just one more night in your bed, with your own pillows and that drool stain that just wouldn’t leave anymore, sleeping like a log until the late morning. Or just a nap, that even would be enough. But you were far from home now, and you didn’t have a lot of hope you’d ever come back.

When you heard a loud thump in the living room, your eyes flew open and your muscles tensed. Pushing off the pink comforter and pulling on the equally pink robe that was draped over the wooden chair, you carefully made your way down the corridor and toward the sound. A man dressed in black and red, with a red helmet complementing his strange outfit was standing there, looking around like he was trying to understand what was going on. You plastered a smile on your face.

“Hiya there” The corner of your mouth hurt from the strain of smiling so wide. “Can I help you?”

“Uh?” He looked up, and even through his helmet you could assume his eyes were wide with confusion. They wouldn’t get you this time, you’d make sure of it. He didn’t fool anyone. “Where am I?”

“Silly!” You laughed, waving your hand in a small dismissive gesture. “We’re in Happy Town, obviously!”

“Uh?” He repeated, already visibly exhausted. That one agent lasted longer than the last, you had to give him that. His confusion was credible and well played down to the last detail. “Listen, lady, I’m sorry I crashed your house but I need you to point me toward Metropolis”

“Metropolis? I haven’t heard of a city of that name” You didn’t drop the smile. The goddamn smile. “Although, you are quite illegal sir, black and red are prohibited colors”

“... What?”

“I’m afraid you’ll need to change” You explained. “Luckily for you, I have spares in the bedroom. Come along”

“Wait, prohibited?” He repeated, and you nodded eagerly. A test, it’s always a test. “What colors aren’t prohibited then?”

“Well, pink, you silly goose!”

He stared at you for the longest time. “What the fuck”

You froze. Actual agents were not allowed to swear, under any circumstances. They were physically not able to, even. “What did you say?”

“I said what the fuck”

You let your smile drop and sighed in relief. “Oh thank fuck”

“Hey, stay with me” He waved a hand in your face. “What the fuck is going on? Where am I?”

“Okay, we don’t have a lot of time, but basically” You paused, looking around to make sure all of your curtains were closed. You found a way to disable your microphones, but you had only to sunrise before they turned back on again. It was less suspicious that way, when you could attribute the lack of sound to you sleeping. Besides, you couldn’t risk you saying incriminating things in your sleep. “We are in a side dimension called Happy Town, but things are sketchy here. I don’t know what they are hiding, but if you don’t stick to their gimmick to the letter, you’re going to reeducation camps and stuff. This is some serious brainwashing, and I’m talking worse than Scientology”

“Fuck” He swore, taking off his helmet. “How did I get here?”

“Some portal, I dropped in the same place you did” You spoke quickly, in a hushed tone. “I haven’t found a way out, obviously, but if you came from Earth too, I’m betting there’s something I missed”

“This is insane”

“You tell me” You scoffed. “And you haven’t even seen how bonkers this place really is yet”

“Do I really have to wear pink?” He flinched, and your eyes widened.

“Yes, you do!” You replied. “They will have you under scrutinization as soon as you step out of this house. If you want to survive, you must follow the rules to the letter. They don’t fuck around, I tell ya. When I first appeared, all the neighbors moved away and were immediately replaced by other creepier neighbors. I swear they’re spies. They’re all spies!”

“Wait, how long have you been there?”

“I don’t know, years?” You guessed. Could have been any measure of time really, you couldn’t know for sure. “I have no idea how I got through their brainwashing sessions. Either I outsmarted them, or they have no idea what they’re doing. It’s better not to take any chance, though”

“This is fucked up” He sighed and sat on the couch. “Besides wearing pink, what do I have to do?”

“Oh boy, sit tight” You began pacing in front of him. You didn’t know him, but he was your best chance at getting the hell out of here. Your bed now seemed a little bit closer now, even though you knew you’d never sleep the same. “It’s not just the clothing that’s pink, it’s any fabric, by the way, because happy people like pink”

It was like he was now aware that every couch, chair, carpet, curtain in your house was actually pink.

“You gotta smile, always. You gotta look like chuck-e-cheese on crack” You continued, pacing in front of him. “Talking of which, never, EVER eat pie. I don’t know what’s in it, but it messes with your brain. Always find an excuse or distraction to avoid eating it”

“I’m not--”

“Never allude to the microphones you might find, act like you’ve never seen them and have no idea they’re there” You added. “Also, tomorrow we’ll have to get you registered if we don’t want the secret police to storm the house. You’ll have to follow my lead or we’re both dead, got it?”

“Yeah but--”

“Don’t say anything incriminating during the day” You interrupted him again. “I tweaked the microphones so they’re scrambled from midnight to sunrise. But that’s it. Also, always assume anyone you talk to is a spy or a snitch. It’s the Stasi all over again here, you can’t trust anyone who you don’t hear swear, which is nobody”

“Wai wait” He stopped you as you opened your mouth to continue on. “Why?”

“Because the people from here cannot swear, happy people don’t swear, they smile and giggle” You felt your eye twitch as you recited the lines you were fed over and over again. “The people engineered here are not able to, only those they kidnapped from Earth. Bad news is, beside that, they are virtually non-differentiable from each other. And they all wear those stupid pink clothes, only the regular police wears a darked shade of magenta. Other than that, all the same”

Confusion and horror was evident on his face. He sat there, processing it all as your eyes fell on the clock. You had about ten minutes until the first rays of sun showed up and reactivated the mics. “There’s no way back?” He finally asked.

“Not that I know of yet” You wrapped your hands around yourself. “You know, I have been begging for help out of this hell hole. You might be the key. Anyway, we gotta change you into something non offensive before they find out you’re here”

You dragged him in the bedroom, leaving him at the threshold while you rummaged through the dresser. All those clothes had been there too when you popped in the house, as if they had known exactly what they were doing by bringing you here. However, it wasn’t clear whether or not they had planned for their new citizen to be you. Ad judging by the arsenal of weapons on the new guy, ir reinforced your theory that the actual selection was still experimental. You weren’t exactly the shut up and obey type, and you doubted he was either.

“What’s your name?” You asked as you pulled a pink cardigan out of a drawer. It occured to you that you might have to know what to call him. Polite people knew the name of their housemate. You grabbed a yet again pink pair of slacks and pushed the clothes in his hands.

“Uh, Jason” He replied, surprised at the sudden income of pink fabric. You threw him the socks, suspenders, bow tie, belt and dress shirt that was, you guessed it, the exact same color as the rest. He was covered in pink clothes like a coat hanger.

“(Y/N)”

“Hey, I’m not wearing that” He objected as he took a better look at the clothes. His face turned to disdain as he shook his head like he had drank bad milk. “Nope, no way”

“If you don’t wear pink, they’ll kill you” You said through your teeth.

“No, I’m not talking about the pink” He said, his expression unchanging. He pulled the cardigan and held it up. “This. This won’t do at all. I’m not wearing a fucking cardigan”

You stared at him, wide eyed. You didn’t have the time to deal with that, sunrise was a few minutes away!

“You will wear that cardigan or so help me” You said in a low, yet threatening voice. He recoiled. “Suck. It. Up.”

Wordlessly, he headed for the bathroom on the other side of the bedroom. He changed in two minutes, coming back awkwardly with his pile of dark clothes. You picked them from him and walked to that spot just beside your bed, and kneeled. You unscrewed the floor board, which was already loose, and you deposited the bundle, weapons and all, next to a very, very dusty blue jeans and burgundy coat. You hurried to replace everything like it hadn’t been touched and stood up again to face an all pink, visibly uncomfortable Jason. He was tying his bow, a displeased frown on his face. It made you wonder what was his life before. He changed rather quickly, and didn’t seem confused by the way bow ties worked.

“What now?”

“We gel your hair”

“No” His eyes widened. The wake up siren sounded outside, and like a reflex learned through violent lessons, your face pulled into a pained smile. You still made a zipping motion over your mouth, pointing to the bathroom. With a silent sigh, he complied.

---

His smile looked unnatural.

But again, so did yours probably. So did everyone’s. Smiling that much wasn’t natural for anyone or anything but perhaps a hyena. Or a clown. You walked arms in arms with him, waving at people sending you curious glances, their smiles unwavering. The government was already aware of this presence, either because they zapped him there or because they heard your made up meeting conversation through the microphones.

“Okay, I see what you meant by everyone is a spy” He muttered through his teeth, making sure his lips weren’t moving. He was holding to his grin like it was a lifeline. And it was.

“Right?” You replied in the same manner. “So don’t slip”

“I won’t”

“Well hello there!”

You jumped in surprise at the Mayor appearing in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere. You put your free hand on your heart and laughed. “Hi there, you startled me good!”

He laughed. Jason laughed. It all seemed forced.

“I see we have an addition in Happy Town!” The mayor pointed to Jason, nodding in approval at his attire. “Where did you come from?”

His first test.

“I… Came from Earth!” He replied with enthusiasm. “Although I have to say, I looooove this place. It’s so… Happy!”

Well played, Jason. Well played.

“I am so glad to hear you say that” He placed a “friendly” pat on his shoulder, but he seemed satisfied. “What is your name, lad?”

“Dick Grayson, sir”

You swallowed back your confusion at his words, but also at the hint of genuine smile that crossed his expression. Keep smiling.

“Well Mr. Grayson, welcome to Happy Town!” They shook hands. “I see Miss (Y/N) is already taking care of you, integrating you nicely in our community”

His gaze shifted to you as a silent warning behind those cold, smiling eyes. You had your fair history of problems with them, but they had every reason to think it was over now. Still, the warning lingered. But those pink assholes wouldn’t catch you this time.

“I’ll make sure he becomes one of us in no time!” You assured, giving a light nod to Jason.

“No doubt you’ll make an amazing couple” He tipped his pink hat and you noticed Jason held back a cough of surprise. “The daily play of the anthem is about to start, I must return to city hall. I’ll see you around!”

He waved. You waved. Jason waved. He walked away with a skip in his step like the happy jerk he was.

“Couple?” He said, coming back to your public mode of communicating.

“Sorry, I should have warned you” You sighed internally.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah!” You wanted to burst out so bad. “What about it, Dick Grayson?”

“I wasn’t about to give them my real name” He defended, watching around for people noticing your hushed conversation. But everybody was preparing for the anthem, their attention directed to the morning messages man on the giant screens.

“So you gave that poor guy’s instead?”

“Poor? Nah. Relax, he can take care of himself” What you were sure was a chuckle escaped his lips. “Besides, he’s not even--”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please rise for our national anthem”

You elbowed Jason and stood up straight, the sun hitting the side of your face. He mimicked your posture. The music started, and you could see faltering in the corner of your eye.

“Is this--”

“Yes”

“What the fuck”

“I know”

“Whyyyyyyy”

“Stay with me” You urged silently. You really didn’t know how or why Happy Town’s anthem came to be ‘Yeah!’ by Usher feat Lil Jon and Ludacris, but even if you did, now was not the ideal time or place to get into that kind of discussion. You suspected it had something to do with the exclamation mark after the ‘yeah’. But you could be wrong. You still didn’t understand the bigger picture however, since the lyrics clearly contained the word ‘not’ followed directly by ‘happy’ in the first verse, which made ‘not happy’. It was against the party line.

“Okay, we stage a coup tonight” He decided as the song ended. “I don’t think I can do this another day”

----

Midnight came slowly.

After a day of mingling and presenting Jason as Dick Grayson and your future husband like the Mayor had most probably hinted at during your morning encounter, of slyly getting out of eating pie and avoiding the police, you were glad to finally breathe.

“UUUUGH” Jason whined, plopping on the couch. “I can never look at the color pink the same way ever again. I’m sick of it, sick of it!”

“Get it together!” You snapped. “We need to plan our coup. We’ve got one shot for it, and if it fails we’re toast. I need my bed, Jason. MY BED”

“Alright, what do you have in mind?” He asked, taking a deep breath. “You know this place more than I do”

“I say tomorrow night, we quietly follow the police after their curfew patrol round” You began, biting the skin around your nails. “How good is your stealth?”

He looked at you blankly for a good ten seconds before he let out a small, ironic snort. “Above average, I’d say”

It was like he wanted you to ask why he’d think that, but you were too busy thinking about your plan. “Good, good” You nodded. “There must be some headquarters somewhere. All we have to do is get there, threaten them at gunpoint--Your guns are functional yes?”

“Obviously”

“--So they’ll zap us back to Earth. And if not, we shoot the mayor and take control of this hell”

“That escalated quickly,” He stated. “But what the hell, sure, I’m on board. Let’s go”

“Tomorrow the sun sets at 8:07. We’ll need to be changed and ready to go by then”

“Wait, tomorrow?” He sprung up in his seat, eyes wide. “No, no. I can’t take one more day of pink cardigans and pleasant conversations with spies!”

“DEAL WITH IT” You gestured wildly before calming down almost instantly. You didn’t need the neighbors to hear and report a fight. “Patrol is already over for today. Be smart about this”

“Fine” He sighed aggressively. “But if this flops, I’m taking everyone down with me. There won’t be an after tomorrow, I can fucking tell you”

“Yeah I won’t stop you”

“Good”

“Good.”

You stayed there in silence, unmoving for a moment. This was it. The moment you’ve been waiting for. Your liberation. Your bed was less than 24 hours a day if things went as planned, which you hoped it would.

“I’ll… Sleep on the couch” He mumbled after a while, moving to lay down. YOur eyes widened.

“You can’t” You objected, knowing the government would find a way to find out the scam you were running through that detail.

“Why not?”

“If the secret police comes for a surprise inspection and your side of the bed is cold, we’re kaputt” You explained. “We’re supposed to be at the very least fiancés, remember?”

“God fucking dammit” He swore, looking up at the sky like it would help him. Ha, you already tried that and it didn’t work.

---

The next day, as you prepared the decaf pot of coffee because happy people didn’t need caffeine to be happy, a knock sounded on your door. Jason was taking a shower in the bathroom, so you went and opened the door. Like you had predicted, two men in dark magenta stood at your doorstep with dangerous looking smiles.

“Good morning ma’am” One greeted with a tip of his hat. “This is a surprise inspection, warranted by the new arrivant in your household, name Dick Grayson and title husband to be. May we come in?”

Your smile widened as you stepped aside, like you actually had a choice in the matter.

“Of course!” You exclaimed. “Coffee, officers?”

“We’ll have to politely decline, thank you” The other smiled as they came in and observed the clean state of the house. All houses were required to be neat and clean at all times. They looked around for something out of place, slowly but surely directing themselves to the bedroom at the end of the hall. You followed them a few paces away, ready to answer their question if they had some. It wasn’t your first surprise check.

They finally reached the room, from where they could hear the shower running. Their gazes caught the neatly folded pink pile on the bed, then they surrounded it. They started to feel under the comforter and drapes, on the pillows, everywhere they could spot the presence or absence of another person. You called it, oh you so called it.

The shower stopped, and both officers shared a look. “Alright, everything is in order ma’am. Have a good breakfast and a good day!”

You escorted them to the door, threw them a thank you on the way and silently sighed once the door closed behind them. You returned to your coffee, and not long after, Jason emerged from the hallway all dressed in pink.

“Ooh, who were the gentlemen here?” He inquired cheerily, but you knew what it meant.

“Some nice officers came to see if we were doing fine here!” You replied with equal cheer.

“Shucks, I missed them” He snapped his fingers, chuckling. “Next time perhaps”

“Of course!” The pep in your voice did not match your eye roll. Thank god there were no cameras.

You finished breakfast and went to town once again, like you did everyday. You felt like everyone was staring at you even more than usual. Like they all knew what you planned for that night. You might have been slightly paranoid, but Jason’s calm demeanor was helping. He was good at that, like he had practiced for all of his life to deceive people.

The mayor bothered you again after the daily play of the anthem, a song you were sure would elicit a violent reaction from you once you would be back in the real world. Then, you repeated the same daily routine you had had forever. Smile, avoid the pie, smile, talk with the neighbors-spies, smile, think about how life is amazing, smile.

Smile smile smile smile smile smile.

Eurgh.

That night, the pleasant conversations contained codes to trump the microphones. Jason pretended to dance while you unscrewed the loose floorboard and carefully placed his clothes and weapons on the bed. You picked your old clothes, quietly dusting them off. They smelled weird but you were excited to wear something other than pepto bismol dyed fabric. Making sure the curtains were drawn, you proceeded to change. Jason looked ecstatic to finally be rid of his cardigan, while you took a moment to appreciate your black t-shirt and burgundy coat. While he had his red helmet, he handed you a domino mask from his pocket. You had no idea why he had that, but you took it anyway. It looked cool and rebel. You sneaked through the back door, avoiding the spots of light by either lamps outside your house and street posts. You watched the patrol casually making sure everyone was inside, keeping a good distance in between you and them at every time. They weren’t talking, but whistling some creepy tunes. You had to make a small hike through a hill when they entered a gated tunnel, but you ended up in front of a giant factory where workers dressed in grey buzzed around with crates. YOu gasped.

“Illegal” You muttered.

“What?”

You shook your head. They had gotten to you too much, it was time you left that god forsaken place. “Nevermind. How do we go through that barbed wire?”

He pulled out a medium sized pair of cutters from… You had no idea where, but he had them. You shrugged, gesturing to him to go ahead. In a blink, you were in. You sneaked inside without being seen, navigating the building with guesses and feelings. You finally ended up in the main production room, where crates of products were opened and emptied in a giant bassin. The stirred liquid was purple and smelled strange, but you knew it was to do no good. And right beside, there was the pie filling packaging.

“I knew it!” You hissed under your breath. “They’re putting drugs in the pie! Can you see what it is? Cocaine? Heroin?

“Doesn’t seem like…” He leaned in. “Wait…”

“Al-- Allegra?” You managed to read the crate.”Never heard of it, but it must be terrible and dangerous”

Jason turned his head and stared at you. HIs helmet bore no expression, but you were sure he looked at you like you were dumb. Did he know what it was? “Are you kidding me?”

“No, why?”

“Allegra is--” He sighed. “It’s allergy medication. It’s… Not drugs per say”

“Uh?”

“God dammit--” He paused as something caught his eyes. It was sparkly, and unfit for this environment. From it emerged five armed guys dressed in earth clothes. They had a bag of white substance, which was tasted by the man who welcomed them. “Of fuck, THAT’s cocaine”

You waited as they put some of it in a vial, which already had purple liquid.

“Fuck, they mix it with allegra?” He cursed, mostly to himself. “What kind of fucking insane dimension did I step in?”

“I told you”

“Okay, so those guys will have to leave eventually” Jason pointed at the visibly Earth humans. “We’ll make sure we catch it as well”

“But they have machine guns” You pointed out, not sure how his mind worked.

“Wait for my signal” You knew he was grinning under that helmet. Before you could ask him how the fuck he would manage five armed guys, he jumped over the rail and started running toward them. You shut your eyes shut as gunshots went off, then opened them again when it was silent. There were bodies around, but Jason was still standing, wrestling with two guys. You watched for a few seconds when you noticed a pink figure sneakily approaching from behind, a frying pan in his hand.

The mayor!

You jumped over the rail too, but your landing was way less graceful than Jason’s. Actually, you were pretty sure you sprained your ankle. But still, you ran-limped to the man and jumped on his back before he could bonk Jason’s head with his weapon.

“ARRRRRGH”

He did not see you coming, as he lost balance at your attack. You crashed on the ground, where you managed to get on top and start hitting him. But apparently neither of you knew how to punch, so it was a rather pathetic looking fight. You swapped and slapped, pulled hair and scratched, until you got a hold of his pan and made a pancake of his face.

“Take that you pink fucking nightmare” You spat as you stood up. You turned to Jason, whose shoulders were shaking with silent laughter.

“Wow uh” He covered it with a cough. “That sure was an interesting fight to watch”

“Keep mocking me, mister fucking assassin” You rolled your eyes. “I stopped him from bonking your head”

“Alright, alright, thank you”

“No problem” You replied. “Let’s get out of here”

You went and stood on the platform the dealers came through, then waited. But nothing happened.

“I think we need to activate it” He spoke up. That was logical.

You scanned the room for a panel control, and you believed you spotted it on the opposite wall. You grabbed your shoe to throw at it, before Jason held back your arm’s motion.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Activating the portal” You furrowed your brows, pointing at the panel. A big red button on which was written ‘ON’ was glaring at you from the distance. Practical target.

“Don’t throw your shoe, that’s dumb” He snorted. “Let me”

Before you could argue, he cocked his gun and fired a bullet right on the button. A death sound resonated, but nevertheless sparks began to fly and not just from the ruined panel. The portal opened and swallowed you, sending you through flashes and weird colors until you were spat out in a dull, dark place that smelled bad. Jason seemed to have landed just fine, but you were another story. You pulled yourself up, whining at the pain in your ankle.

“I didn’t expect to see you here”

A creepy, unknown voice made you both turn around. It was a pale man with an unnaturally stretched smile and bad taste in clothes, and right away it made you think the worst. You had been thrown in Dark!Happy Town. Without thinking, you let out a war cry and hurled your frying pan to the more evil version of the Mayor, knocking him out instantly.

What you didn’t expect though, was the roaring laughter from beside you.

“Oh--Oh my god” He could barely talk. “I wished I filmed that”

“What? What’s happening?” You asked. Had he gone crazy? “Who’s that? We’re not back home are we?”

“Relax, we’re back” He took a deep breath, his shoulders still shaking. “You’ve just knocked out the most wanted criminal in Gotham city”

“WHAT?”

“Welcome back, (Y/N), welcome back”

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dcu #dc universe #dc imagine #dcu imagine #dc universe imagine #batfam #batfam imagine #imagine #jason todd x you #red hood x you #outlaws #crack fic

142 notes · View notes

smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

Cross My Heart - CH.02

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x Reader; Chuck Shurley x Reader

Summary: After opening up a letter, the life as she knows it, changes forever. Her husband hires Dean Winchester to protect her but is Dean really who he said he was? And is her husband really worried about her safety?

Warnings: There’s really none. I don’t know if I can warn awkward tension?

WC: 2181

SERIES MASTERLIST

Dean left while the police are still working in her house and Y/N paces around in her bedroom. Her mind races. This is a sick joke isn’t it? She expects Chuck to jump out of her closet when she opens it, making jazz hands and laughs while he tells her that she’s been fucking pranked.

But nothing happens. Her closet stays silent and dark until she switches on the light.

She looks through her clothes, lets her fingers trail along the fabric on their hangers.

Pack light.

Pack light?

What the fuck does that even mean?

She doesn’t even know where they’re going. Doesn’t even know the weather. Doesn’t even know how long she’ll be away and for how many days she needs to pack for.

This is fucking ridiculous. How can she pack light when she might need to have something to wear for a month? She feels nauseous all of a sudden. What if it’ll be longer than a month? Or worse? What if she doesn’t get to come back? What if she’ll stay on the run? She knows it’s a ridiculous thought but her mind’s going crazy.

Y/N finds a backpack somewhere buried deep in the corner of her walk-in closet and takes it out, dusts it up and then she begins to pack. She mindlessly throws in underwear and socks, shirts and blouses, shorts and skirts, one hoodie and one cardigan. She has to decide on only one heeled shoe and that is actually a crime against fucking humanity. She doesn’t even bother with her jewelry or make up, though, because there’s just no space left.

It’s starting to get dark outside and she hears the doorbell. Dean returns earlier than he said he would.

Zipping up the backpack, she swings it around and secures it behind her back before walking down and out the door. The policeman who stood guard gives her a courtesy nod.

Dean’s standing in the doorway, and she squints her eyes a little because she first thought it was someone else. Gone is Dean’s suit, which is really a shame, but instead he wears casual grey jeans and a black shirt with a black leather jacket.

“Hey, we’re twinsies!” She declares because she’s wearing her black leather jacket too, she thought she’d dress the part since Dean said that they’re going to travel on a freaking motorcycle.

She hears him chuckle. It’s the first time that he lets himself go like this and she thinks that he finally resembles a human being when he shows emotions. She likes the sound of it, and would like to hear it more often.

“Good that we’re only twinsies with the jacket. I don’t think that dress would look good on me.” He smirks when he eyes her up, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” She says and Dean grabs at the backpack, lets her slip out of it and carries it to the motorcycle. “Is that yours?”

“Yeah,” He says and smiles. She can see that he’s proud. Dean secures the backpack on the back of the motorcycle. “It works better if we have to shake off people who might be following us.”

“Okay,” Her heart is beating fast. She’s never been on a motorcycle before.

Dean notices her timidity and walks over to where she’s standing with her arms wrapped around herself. He places his fingers underneath her chin, making her look up to him. “You don’t have to be scared, okay? Nothing is going to happen on that motorcycle. I know what I’m doing and I wouldn't put you in danger.”

She nods her head, “Okay.”

“You’ve never been on one before?” He asks when he hands her the helmet.

“No?”

He laughs, “Oh, you’re going to love it.”

She puts the helmet over her head and Dean does the same. He steadies his motorcycle and straddles it before waiting for her to hop on.

“What you have to do is to move closer to me,” Dean grabs her by the back of her knees and pulls her closer to him. So close that they’re chest to back. He leaves a wake of goosebumps on her skin that’s been touched by him. “Good, now put your arms around my waist and hold on tight, got it?”

She nods.

“Y/N, I need you to tell me that you understand.”

“Yes.”

“There you go,” Dean chuckles. “Okay, I can’t see what you need but if you want me to stop anywhere, just tap on my body, you understand?”

“Yes, sir!”

“That’s a good girl,” Dean laughs.

But then his laughter dies down. She’s still blushing at the good girl comment, loves how it sounds out of his mouth, it hits the right button, can’t lie about that. Dean’s body goes tense. He probably realized that he crossed a line he shouldn’t be crossing in the first place.

“‘M sorry. That was out of line.” He apologizes.

“Don’t worry about it.” She answers because it’s true. She likes it. Dean has nothing to worry about. If possible, she would like to hear it more. Which really is not a good thing to be wanting, is it?

Dean starts the engine without another word to her and she hopes that he’s not completely disappointed in himself because she likes the playful Dean. The Dean who can make jokes and smile and laugh.

After about six hours, they arrive at their destination.

They had to stop for gas six times, and every time she would ask him where he’s taking her but every time she got shot down.

Dean’s really good at what he does, apparently. And that includes keeping things to himself, as well as feelings, because the bodyguard Dean is back. He’d only answer in riddles and they’re mostly one syllable. There’s no playfulness in his voice anymore, no smirk that dances along at the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s also because after the fourth stop, he realizes that she still has her phone with her and technically everyone can track a phone so he took it from her and unceremoniously breaks it in half and throws it away.

Y/N has stopped talking to him after that stunt either.

It’s already night and she can’t lie, it’s fucking creepy out here in the woods. There are trees everywhere and right in the middle is this small cabin.

“I grew up here.” Dean just says. As if he knows what she’s been thinking. He takes the backpacks from the bike, walks them to the front door.

She has to hurry to keep up, “You grew up in this cabin?”

Dean has to chuckle at that.

Finally she hears the deep rolling sound of his voice.

“No, I grew up in the town about ten miles from here. This is my uncle's cabin. He has several in the woods. Little safe houses that he set up.” Dean steps in and turns on the light and she closes the door behind her.

“For people like me?”

“Not exclusively. For other people as well, people who need to get away from abusive partners, people who need to hide from abusive parents, I don’t really know. All sorts of people. The world is a scary place.”

Dean drops the bags and walks over to switch on more lights.

The decor of the cabin is sparse. There’s a couch, a TV. A table for two and she can see the kitchen from here. There are two other rooms and she guesses that one is a bathroom while the other one must be a bedroom.

It’s a stark contrast to the house she used to live in. But nonetheless it feels cozy? She doesn’t know what it is but there’s something about it that makes her feel comfortable and safe. Maybe it’s the presence of Dean.

“You hungry?” Dean asks as he carries a bag towards the kitchen and begins to put the groceries he brought with him into pantries.

“No, thanks.”

It’s already late and she’s exhausted. Can’t lie, her ass is also sore from the bike ride and to be sitting down is the last thing on her mind.

“There’s the bathroom, and you’re sleeping in the bedroom.” He points at the two doors.

She takes a peek into each of the rooms and sees that there’s only one bed in the bedroom.

“And where are you sleeping?” She eyes the couch, it does in fact not look comfortable to sleep on at all.

Dean nods.

“We can trade. I take the couch and you take the bed.” She offers him, because the couch looks too small for him to sleep on. She on the other hand would fit in perfectly.

She earns a chuckle from Dean.

“Y/N, that’s okay. I slept worse. My job is to keep you safe. Your husband would kill me if he knew that you’d be sleeping on the couch.”

“I don’t think Chuck really cares where I’m sleeping.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, he frowns and then he turns around to finish the tasks he set out for himself.

She goes into the bedroom. It’s quite spacious and she’s sure that Dean would fit into the bed too if she’d make room for him. They could sleep in the same bed but she doesn’t think that Dean wants that. She doesn’t know if she really wants that either.

After she takes a shower, she goes in to change into her pj and climbs to bed. Dean slips into the shower after her, comes out with damp hair and a simple t-shirt and pj pants. She sees it because the door to the bedroom is wide open.

“You’re going to stay in bed?” He asks her while he makes himself comfortable on the couch.

She pulls the blanket up to her chin, “Yeah, I’m exhausted. And my ass hurts.”

He chuckles from the other room and after a while he says, “I hope it’s okay for you that we leave the bedroom door open. I need to always be able to see and reach you at all times.”

“Okay,”

It’s silent until Dean speaks up again, “I’m sorry about your phone,”

“You should be,”

“If you want, you can use mine. But I have to listen in to every conversation and read every text you send out. It’s for your own safety.”

She thinks about it. Thinks who she would even reach out to. Chuck knows where she is, and he has Dean’s number. Maybe Meg? She’s her friend after all and she hasn’t updated Meg yet about any of this. Maybe she’ll take Dean up on his offer. She doesn’t talk about it now though, it’s late and Meg is probably sleeping already anyway. So instead of saying anything about the phone, she just wishes him good night, “Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Y/N.”

She tosses and turns in her bed and it’s impossible to fall asleep. She keeps hearing things outside and it frightens her.

“Dean?” She calls out in a whisper. Doesn’t really want to wake him up should he already be sleeping.

She gets out of bed when she doesn’t get an answer, and wanders out to get a glass of water. Maybe that’ll calm her down.

Walking out into the living room, she can’t help but stop at the couch. Dean’s sleeping, his lips are slightly parted. There’s a frown on his face even when he’s sleeping. She brushes against the couch in passing and that’s when Dean jumps up and she’s looking into a barrel of a gun.

Y/N’s so shocked, she doesn’t get a word out.

“Jesus, don’t sneak around like that ever again!” Dean growls and lowers his gun, puts it back under his pillow.

“I’m sorry,”

“Fuck, I could have hurt you!” Dean rubs a hand over his face, she can hear his palm rubbing against his scruff. “Why are you up anyway?”

“I-I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d go get a glass of water.” She blushes as she walks to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water and walks out again.

Dean’s sitting upright now while he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. When he hears her approaching, he makes room on the couch. “You wanna watch TV? Maybe it helps to fall asleep. It’s the sound of the trees and animals outside, isn’t it?”

There’s a crease between her eyebrows, “How do you know?”

“Been there. When I was a kid I came out here with Bobby, that’s my uncle, a lot. He’d take me hunting. I could never sleep at night. Now I can just sleep anywhere.”

“Ah,” She settles next to him as he turns on the TV for her. They settle on some cartoons. After a while she leans her head against him and Dean’s body goes rigid. He doesn’t say anything, though, just pulls his blanket up and covers her with it. Her eyes are already almost closing when she mumbles, “Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, only nods as he sits beside her until she falls asleep.

CH.03

#cross my heart #dean winchester #bodyguard!dean #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #nathalie writes

198 notes · View notes

everydayanth · 4 years

Text

Academic Elitism: an institutional issue

Sorry for being so rant-y lately, but the elitism of university has been a problem for me from the exact moment I accepted my scholarship with a signature and a handshake in high school. (The scholarship was later revoked due to state up-fuckery, but that’s another story, and I was already in too deep by the time they told me).

My parent’s house was only an hour north, my younger sister had already claimed my room, but I was excited. I was in the furthest dorm building, because that’s where the scholarship kids went, it was like a poor kid diversity hall, every few doors was someone from a completely different background, but we were all poor except our Swedish RA, and there was an odd pride in that. We all had various scholarships: robotics, dance team, nerds like me, etc. (not the football or hockey athletes though, they had their own dorm next to the library for... reasons, lol).

But being the last hall, it wasn’t actually full, most of us had entire rooms to ourselves, often whole suites; our hall was co-ed, but rooms were only occupied at every-other, staggered down the corridor. Only the front two halls were used, the back two closed off for construction or codes or something. We had to hike up the hill for dining halls, which was fine until snowdays that shut the whole campus down (and I mean west Michigan ones, with 4+ feet of powder and ice underneath). I had an old computer my dad got me for graduation and I didn’t know it was old until my peers started calling it a dinosaur. I had to use the library computers to write and print papers, and most places I went, I ran into the other scholarship kids. We didn’t talk much, just a head bob here and there, awareness at our similarities and an annoyed spite at being thrown together this way. It was lonely for everyone.

I had a purple flip phone I’d gotten only that calendar year (2009) and was still learning to text with (abbreviations? instant messaging? what?). My roommate had come down from Alaska to live near her dad, we’d talked in the summer, but I never saw her. I moved my things in and her stuff was on her side, I texted her about going to turn in paperwork and when I came back, there was a note on my bed and all her things were gone, she couldn’t do it, had never been away from home for even a night. She left a few mismatched socks and a bag of junk pens that I resented for years.

Social media was mostly a way to talk to people across campus and exchange homework and party times/locations. We posted over-edited photos of our food and still jogged with our mp3 players and ipods. But within two years, I had to trade in my computer three times and upgrade to a smartphone to keep up with the expectations of communication. Professors would cancel classes by emails an hour out, and if I was on campus, I simply didn’t get the message, running between classes with 19 credit hours and three jobs. Work would call in or cancel my appointments (tutoring) and I needed to be able to communicate at the rate of my peers, so though it wasn’t something we could easily afford, my parents let me get the smartphone and my dad helped me find computers that could keep up with writing papers and researching without having to go to the lab, which saved so much time.

There was little understanding for my suffering. I didn’t have a car, I had to call my parents and organize a time to get home or take the train which was more expensive than waiting around on an empty campus. They were often things that even the wealthiest students had to deal with, but there were so much more of them for us, more stress, more problems, more solutions, more consequences, and in some ways, more determination.

I spent plenty of breaks holed up in my room, but when the swine flu/H1N1 outbreak happened, guess where they quarantined students?

In our hall.

Not the back one that was closed. In the room attached to my suite.

After half a semester alone, suddenly strangers shared my bathroom. I never saw them, I would just hear the formidable click of the bathroom lock followed by the shower. A week later I got a blue half-sheet note in my mailbox about quarantines. The other kids were as pissed off, as we watched kids escorted in with blue masks and were told to just get cleaning wipes from the front desk –they ran out in a week.

We were the recyclable students, brought in to trade scholarships for university grade averages. Many of my friends were struggling with scholarship qualifications and gpas (which only encouraged my continual obsessive perfectionism and involvement).

We were expendable.

I didn’t understand the elitism then, or I did, but I’d twisted it in my head from years tossed between private and public schools. I was an invader, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to be. I understood that I didn’t deserve it, that I had to work harder to stay. I completed Master’s coursework for my Bachelor’s degree, finishing two BA programs (anthropology and English: creative writing) and 2 minor programs in philosophy and world lit, lead several campus groups and volunteered with honor’s societies. I spent hours on campus every day, running home just to go to one job or the other. I slept about four hours a night and I still romanticize it because I loved it. And I was good at it. It was a closed system, easy to infiltrate, easy to watch and observe and follow, to feel protected from the world, but there were always ways that I came up short.

I didn’t have leggings or Northface fleeces or Ugg boots or name brand anything (except a pair of converse I got in 8th grade from my Babcia). I had old high school sweats and soccer shirts, hand-me-down clothes from sisters and cousins that mix-matched a style I thought was unique but I now understand screamed I don’t really belong here. Example: I went to propose an independent study to a professor I really admired and I panicked about what to wear. I still cringe at the memory, gahhhhhh, but I pulled on what I thought was a decent dress because it had no rips or stains or tears and though I’d picked it up from a clearance rack, it was the newest thing and therefore the best. But in retrospect, it was definitely a “party” dress, I grabbed a sweater, hoop earrings that had always been beautiful in my neighborhood, and heels I never wore otherwise, and presented my idea. This old professor was just like “um...did you dress up for me?” Clearly spooked by red flags and I realized my mistake. Saved by quick thinking I clarified “no, I have a presentation later,” and being a familiar face in the social sciences department, I let him assume I was dressed up as something. I just went in my sweats and t-shirts after that, got a haircut that tamed the wavy frizz and learned the importance of muted tones, cardigans, and flats.

I made a lot of interesting friends in the process, people who also stuck out from the American Academic culture: exchange students, older (non-traditional) students, rebels, and other poor kids. But that also meant that we all evolved during our time there, so friendship was quick and fleeting as we adapted or dropped out or remained oblivious, lost in our studies and dreams of changing the world or our lives.

I had no idea how to approach the dining halls because I could only afford the bronze plan that was included with my room+board scholarship. I could enter the hall ten times per week, with four included passes to the after-hours carry-out (this was an upgrade from the free high school lunch I was coming from). I met other kids on this plan and their dorm rooms had fridges and microwaves and shelves of ramen and mac’n’cheese. Mine was sparse, my fridge had jugs of water from the filtered tap in the common room, and though it had a shared kitchenette, it always smelled bad or was being used and the nearest grocery store was Meijers which was a 15-20 minute drive from campus. I used so much energy dividing up my meals and figuring out how to sneak food from the hall for later or just learn to not eat, which is another story involving malnutrition, broken bones, and the American Healthcare System.

We like to summarize the college experience with fond struggles. I went back to my old high school to watch my younger sisters’ marching band competition that first year (it’s MI, and they were good). My old art teacher (not much older than we were but she felt so much older at the time, also her maiden name was Erickson and so was her fiance’s so she didn’t “change” her name and that blows my mind to this day), anyway, she stopped me to ask how school was going, and I was not prepared to be recognized in anyway and stammered out something like “oh, yeah, stressful. Fun, cool, yeah,” like the eloquent well-educated student I was. And she said, “oh, I loved it, don’t you love it? Everything’s so charming, and being poor? Oh man, it’s hard for a while, but it’s so good to go through.”

I was dumbfounded at her reference to poverty as a thing to go through when you’re a student. I again had to remember that I was infiltrating places where people weren’t just marginally more well-off than I was, but far beyond, in a place where they couldn’t comprehend an alternative, couldn’t conceive of surviving poverty, of not having a reliable place to fall if you mess up, parents who couldn’t support you if things went wrong, who couldn’t save you from having to drop out if scholarships were canceled because the money just wasn’t there.

Talking with my parents never worked, and I recently found this video by The Financial Diet about Boomer shame in being poor, where many Millennials were united by it and it was #relatable. But all this is to say that there are so many layers and ways we develop in higher education that are often overlooked by the romantic nostalgia of the elite expectation. What we demand from education vs. what it offers us in return is rarely equal for students coming from poverty, and it starts with that first sacrifice of looking at money and deciding it has to be worth it to do something bigger, and that education is a necessary piece of that goal.

Now I live near Brown University, I’ve been to Harvard when we lived in Boston and recently took a trip to Yale with bold expectations. I am friends with several people who work at these places and I hear the same things: so many students are in a place where their obsessions are considered more important than the larger world, an argument that Shakespeare is a woman is more important to prove than the greater issues of sexism in society as a whole, while others are trained to look at data and the world as a pocketable fact-book, going to conferences and week-long summits and then off to D.C. to make important decisions about places they’ve never been to, for people they’ve never met, about problems they’ve never experienced.

It’s not new. It’s not romantic. It’s not nostalgic. It’s just sick.

I was horrified at New Haven. I have read so many social science reports and papers and experiments and academic bullshit that has come from professors at Yale with a big badge of ivy-league validation. So much of this research was focused on homelessness and culture clash and socio-economics in America, as that was my “dissertation” that got me discounted master’s classes for my BA in Anthropology. Anyway, my point was that I thought this noble, proud university that put out so much research was going to be situated in something of a utopia, where their research is put into practice. Obviously, I was wrong, but I didn’t expect how wrong. (I had also started reading Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House, so... there’s another thing).

My observations were validated by employees of ivy-league schools, who have watched over the past 2 decades as they grow more and more reclusive, hiding away from the public except through a few, probably well-intentioned, outstretched hands that do little to contribute to the world outside the university itself. These ivory towers are built by poaching: environments, observations, resources, research, and yeah, even students.

I love academia. I will sit in a library for hours just pulling down tomes (and putting them back in their proper locations like a dork) and drawing connections just for fun. But right now, I’m a bit bitter and spiteful and angry.

When something like Coronavirus sneaks up on us, we have a tendency to throw the most expendable people under the bus as quickly as we can, and all I can think about is my shadow of a suite-mate sneezing and coughing with swine flu for two weeks, at how I refused to use my own bathroom and listened to my hall-mates’ advice about showering at the rec center a mile away as we all collectively locked our bathroom doors and were left there by the university to get sick without insurance to help with any foreseeable costs.

It’s not the same now, they’ve rebuilt the entire section of the campus, it’s odd to see it, I wonder where they put the expendable kids. Or maybe they don’t accept them anymore. I’ve worked in college admissions since then, and it is a scary industry of politics and preference and hidden quotas and image-agendas. Not all schools are industry monsters, but when you’re expendable, they sure do feel like it, whether you graduate summa cum laude with two degrees, six awards, and five tasseled ropes around your neck or not.

I wish I had a positive message. I wish I was in a place to help people who feel expendable or like they can’t keep up with communications because of technology or language or network or environment. But I don’t have much right now. For all its posturing and linear progression, academia needs to create profit. All I can do is yell about this existing.

If you are feeling expandable in university, I can tell you you’re not alone. I can let you rant about all the small ways your peers don’t get it, whether its an accent they shit on or ceremonies you don’t have the right clothes for or textbooks you share with a friend to cut costs but then they hoard them. I can relate to you about guilt and that sneaking panic that fills you with anxiety at night as you question yourself and wonder if it’s worth it at all, if it’s necessary, if it’s okay to be expendable to follow something that feels bigger. I can validate your doubt and tell you that you’re not actually expendable, you’re a bridge.

I’m sorry it still works like this. I wish we figured out how to change it by now, I wish I had secret shortcuts to tell you about, that there was more accountability or hope, but I’m not seeing it lately. I hope you do. <3

#academia #anthropology #sociology #university #culture #h1n1 #coronavirus #poverty #wealth gap #elitism

359 notes · View notes

ewdaviddd · 4 years

Text

folklore think piece

for a lower case album such as this, i will be writing a lowercase think piece on the subject. i will not explain why. you get it or you don’t.

the 1: i have never been in love or any type of romantic relationship that left me with lasting feelings of any kind. but, on my fourth listen through of this song today, what once was just a promising and fun intro to this peasant girl summer gut punch, brought me to actual tears as i sat on the toilet in my lime green childhood bathroom as if i were mourning the one that got away (another great song). however, i am an expert on being hung up on the past, the “what could have been”, and made up hypotheticals. this song also introduces the film motif seen a lot in this album. i think dating an actor has really gotten to her. anyway what a killer way to begin, top notch stuff. how can a song be so fun and so soul crushing at the same time?

cardigan: when did taylor wear black lipstick? this is important to me. an old cardigan is an inherently bisexual article of clothing. that is not an opinion. i read it somewhere today and i believe it. this is the tip of the queer-coding ice berg in folklore, never fear. another reference, “tried to change the ending / peter losing wendy”. this year i wrote a movie script where both peter and wendy were both gay. coincidence? probably. basically this one is classic taylor poetry on every level and it being one of a trio in a larger story makes it that much better. yet again, high school romance is not a universal experience (like for me for instance) but haunting my “what-ifs” is going to haunt me for a long time. and the thought of someone saying i was their favorite cardigan makes me want to scream into a pillow.

the last great american dynasty: my favorite ts songs have always been the ones with detailed characters and stories and this one introduces the trope of the “mad woman” who comes back later on as well a long with many fun character details. at first this song is just cheeky and cute, very visual, a fun world to jump into. but then this particular stretch of lines makes your heart drop into your chest and reminds you why taylor isn’t just always fun and always cute and always creative, she also holds the ability to nimbly sock you in the gut when you least expect: “fifty years is a long time / holiday house sat quietly on that beach / free of women with madness, their men and bad habits / and then it was bought by me.” my jaw is still on the floor. and i’ve never bought a house myself. but i’ve spent numerous christmases having a marvelous time ruining everything (so i’ve been told) so this song still applies to my life.

exile (ft. bon iver): i’m gonna be honest. for as long as i can remember i have strongly disliked bon iver and i never remembered why. it is a matter of principle at this point. i just don’t trust him. but then taylor announced she wrote a song with him which filled me with tremendous anxiety. but i can rest easy. much like “the last time” this song is a ts and male artist collaboration i can get behind. also the film motif again: the only time i’ve left a theatre when i didn’t like a movie was never because movie tickets are so expensive and if i’m shelling out 11 dollars to sit in a chair, i’m staying the whole time no matter how bad the ending. but i probably would have left my sister’s keeper if i had seen it before if i’m being honest. so i get it. thats why i read spoilers for everything i watch before watching it, because the anxiety of worrying about how it ends make me not enjoy it in the first place. the end of this song: the call and response felt… ethereal? i felt like i was watching a broadway musical from the splash zone seats, crying as i was spat on.

my tears ricochet: this song is what i picture stepping outside in the middle of the night when an inch or so of snow has just fallen and i can see the flakes fall in front of a street light sounds like. or the scorned secret ex lover throwing themselves onto the coffin demanding to know why they weren’t enough. which is to say it feels like a sign from some sort of god. yet again, haunting is brought up, an overt reference to the fact that this album will live in my brain rent free for eternity. for some reason this song reminds me of the relationship between hamilton and burr when burr kills hamilton. that could be because i just watched the disney+ recording last week. one lives, one dies, but neither survive, both pay for it. Which is a super romantic and understanding view on murder. both musical experiences equally chilling and moving. if i die under mysterious circumstances this will for sure be played at the funeral.

mirrorball: first off, this is my mom's favorite which is very important. also, it has skewered a very specific but also universal insecurity of mine; existing just to please others and yet miserably failing. it is comforting that ts is not a “natural’ and feels she must always “try try try” because i too lack natural ability, but also rarely “try” even just the one time. the best way i can describe listening to this song is walking through a silent disco where everyone else is listening to some classic lady gaga jam and you are listening to a calming lullaby sung very far away. but don’t let the soothing sounds fool you. it still will have you reflecting on what it means to look and be looked at. a dark rabbit whole, like falling through the looking glass. i’ve never actually read that book though so i could be wrong.

seven: i’m dumb and on my first listen of this song i thought she “hit her peak” at 7 clock as opposed to age seven. but i always saw taylor swift as someone with an early bedtime. also a fun discovery while writing this, “seven” is the 7th song on the track list. clever. although this song is young and innocent and so nostalgic for a time when screaming ferociously was a widely accepted form of expression, it also sounds like a very old secret someone is whispering to me. a love from long ago that lasts beyond the person being in your life, passed down to me and it all just sounds a little gay. not just because of the specific line to hiding in the closet. but that certainly doesn’t go unnoticed. when i was seven i was definitely in love with girls and assumed that was just what friendship was, playing pirates and making plans of running away together.

august: the eighth track for the eighth month. her mind. also my birth month so that’s special. controversial opinion: from what i’ve read most people seem to think illicit affair is the third song in the triage of teen love. i will strongly make the case that it's actually this one. first of all, the subject: a short lived summer fling, which is specifically mentioned later in “betty”. the central heartbreak of this song is liking someone who always belonged to someone else. yes, this song is a window into a different summer, far from pandemic central and the escapist imagery is delightful. but a whole song from the pov of the “other woman” to james and betty is just so much more fun. and there are two more specific lyrics that prove my point. “remember when i pulled up and said "get in the car”” you will see later comes back from the other person’s perspective. and most of all: the repeated line, “meet me behind the mall”? only teenagers make plans to meet up behind a mall. i rest my case. so now we have cardigan and august. two pieces of the puzzle.

this is me trying: i’m glad i now have a succinct message to send to anyone when they ask me what the hell i’m doing at any given moment. this song just sounds like regret and waste in the most self-assured and confident way. this is “back to december” with the training wheels off. i have no apologies for my efforts at wasting all my potential. but in this song, taylor has opened her arms to me in a warm embrace and has forgiven me for all i’ve done wrong and reminds me to not take for granted the “try”. okay mom. i’m crying again, but okay.

illicit affair: this is the kind of thing that makes you feel sixteen, living in a dull suburb, while secretly screwing your 38 year old married neighbor who’s rich but wants to be an artiste. aka like a character in euphoria or something. it’s sexy and dangerous until you think about it and then it's just dingy and creepy. but this song starts and stays beautiful. most importantly, this song is too sad and depressing frankly, to be a part of the trilogy. we could never forgive james for leaving such a mess and making her a fool. you don’t want to be this girl. you want to walk up to her and shake her and yell “you exist and will not be ruined by any dumb man”. and that’s feminism.

invisible string: is it reductive if i say this one’s about joe? all my non-stan friends have asked me which ones are about him. we forgive them and point them in this direction. because it is lovely and beautiful that we are all tied to our soulmate for our whole lives before we ever meet them (because that would in fact mean that there is someone out there for everyone which might be naive or dumb but i am both of those things and whats the point of living if you don’t believe in the power of love). this honestly gives me “begin again” vibes in the best way. it’s red-era level with the wisdom of lover-era tay. sublime.

mad woman: the second mention of the “mad woman” as both taylor herself and the character in the story. as usual, tay stays calling out double standards and the manipulation of women into “going crazy” for expressing reasonable anger. I, personally, wish i could say “fuck you forever” without someone saying i’m “overreacting”. this is my least favorite song on the album and i’d still listen to it three times in a row and need to resist the urge to set a man’s lawn on fire. just girly things.

epiphany: i know she said this one is about her grandfather’s experience in the military but all i imagine is a slow montage of harry style’s character in “dunkirk” on the beach. and it’s beautiful. and much like my sophomore in high school self reading “all quiet on the western front” it evokes a pain from deep inside me that engulfs a loss i could never describe and a sadness too awful to witness. you will listen to this song and feel absolutely powerless to the will of the universe and it’s cruelty. and the faint but steady heart monitor beep in the background… i’ve never seen “grey’s anatomy” but i can imagine why it has so many fans sobbing. and let me end on this: two soldiers in some old war (meaning both men based on dunkirk) watching each other like this and living and dying together…gay.

betty: the first verse was pulled directly out of my subconscious fantasy of being in love in high school and it being so wonderful and painful and dramatic. and taylor riding a skateboard… is a mood. the song has been out for less than a week and it’s already a cold take to talk about how this is her gayest song to date (close runner-ups being reputation’s “dress” and “cardigan”). but of course i will still talk about it. the lyrics embody such authentic awkward gay energy (see the lesbian in booksmart for reference) and having been a 17 year old only three years ago, i can say with reasonably good authority that no 17 year old straight boy could stand in front of a crowd of peers and beg forgiveness from a girl he hurt. it’s just not realistic. these are all awkward, over-dramatic, young girls stumbling through love. and it’s awesome. james is the speaker of this song, and the subject of “august”, the summer fling that was never truly there due to james’ love for betty, the titular role of this song. thus completing the love triangle. and there are so many obvious references in this song to both “august” and “cardigan”. rhyming cardigan with car again makes me want to light myself on fire in the best way. i love it. “i dreamt of you all summer long” is the final nail in the coffin for the girl in “august” who was clearly just a place-holder. totally separate from taylor swift, my favorite word is porch. so the amount of times it appears in her lyrics is wonderful. say it out loud. it just feels nice. anyway, this song makes me want to be young and dumb and in love. the second can really only be tolerated because of the first and third. i hope the story has a happy-ending. if james were a boy i’d wish him the plague.

peace: the coming-of-age movie starring james and betty (and inez) is over. we have come to “the age” i guess. there’s a thought that’s gonna fester. if this song was just the line, “would it be enough if i could never give you peace?” over and over for four minutes it would still smash me to pulp and fill my body with helium gas. i can and will cause a car wreck when this comes on the aux. if this song is what being grown up is like (bare in mind grown up to me is like, 30) then i’m ready to be done coming of age. because i already worry if i’ll be at all enough for anyone and way too much for someone at the same time. but like all good poetry, this song isn’t about what it “means”, but how it “feels”. and this is new york city, the summer, pouring rain, a long walk home, desperately fearing and hoping they are there waiting for you.

hoax: a one-sided conversation between me and my stubborn clinical depression. i too, constantly stand alone on the cliff demanding a reason. one has not yet been presented. it operates both within and and against me. i could be bigger and stronger than it. but instead i tend to it like a prickly plant. (“no other sadness in the world will do”). there is nothing both sadder and funnier then the scene in “avatar: the last airbender” when prince zuko stands alone on a cliff screaming at the sky for lightning to strike him. i don’t know why this song reminds me so much of that. what a way to end such an emotional rollercoaster. it is so emotionally draining that it simply forces me to start folklore again from the top and listen to it all over again. or take a long therapeutic nap.

there are no skips. and it will still surprise you on your 267th listen. proceed with caution.

i knew you, in a past life maybe. i have not met you yet, but folklore has made me believe you exist.

@taylorswift 10/10 good work

@taylornation this had to be shared and i don’t have a twitter so

#@taylorswift #@taylurking #@taylornation #taylor swift #folklore #ts8

62 notes · View notes

yikesharringrove · 4 years

Note

ok so i just had a dream about this and i feel the need to tell you because its prime protective Billy shit. So after the whole mind flayed thing Steve and Billy get to be pretty close friends, and almost immediately they both fall for each other HARD, but both of them refuse to believe the other could ever like them, despite Robin screaming at both of them to just ask the other one out already. (pt.)

(pt.2) one day some random dude comes into the video store and starts flirting with steve, who figures he hasn’t gone on a date since Nancy, the guys cute, sure he’s not Billy but he seems nice enough and steve is also just very lonely, so they set up a date for that Friday at 6:00 and Steve is pretty excited. When he gets to his house and tells Billy, who was there for their wednesday horror movie night, billy tried to seem happy for him even though he ready to kill this guy

(pt.3) Billy does a pretty decent job at hiding his feelings about the date, and he doesn’t want to hold Steve back, but when he gets home he calls Robin and bitches for a sold 30 minutes, she just tells him if he’d got his shit together and just asked Steve our this wouldn’t be a problem. So the day of the date rolls around and Billy doesn’t see Steve all day, can’t bring himself to see him so excite to go date someone else. Around 6:15 his phone buzzes with a call from Steve (pt.4) he answers and when he does Steve sounds awful, he’s been crying for a while. Asks if Billy can come pick him up, and billy speeds his way there. When he shows up and sees steve leaning against the brick wall rubbing away tears he loses it. Asks him what happened and Steve quietly tells him his date was a huge asshole, flirted with the waitress, pointed out the scar on steve’s hairline and told him he’d be a lot cuter without it, but don’t worry you’re still good enough for a fuck

(pt.5) Billy is ready to kill someone, he hugs steve and drags him to his car and tells him to stay put, slams the door and gets inside before steve can argue, find the guys pretty quickly, grabs him by the collar and spits out some pretty harsh words drops him to the floor and leaves. They are both quiet on the drive back but when billy drops steve off at his house he sheepishly asks him to stay, when billy tells him it’s a bad idea steve says okay and kisses him goodnight. Billy almost faints.

I am SO SORRY this took a thousand years, it got a lil lost in my inbox.This is modern, Billy got possessed but the kids burned it outta him, everything else is canon.

“Who the fuck is that?”

Billy was “helping” Robin re-shelve, which meant he was pulling random movies off their shelves and putting them in different spots until she noticed and yelled at him.

She looked in the direction Billy was glaring, looked to see Steve batting his eyes as that guy, the tall jocky guy that comes in a few days a week to flirt with Steve.

“Oh, that’s Ben. He comes in all the time and flirts with Steve.” Billy’s eyes were dark.

“And does Steve, does he always, flirt back?” Robin rolled her eyes. Billy was so bad at acting nonchalant.

“Yeah, Dingus really has a thing for him. Talks to me nonstop about him.” Of course he talks about Billy way more often, but Robin is over the two of them being so fucking oblivious.

“Oh. Good for him.” Billy was blinking a lot.

Steve was leaning over the counter, was giggling like a schoolgirl.

The bell over the door jingled. Billy was gone.

Wednesday nights had become a tradition. Billy and Robin would come over to Steve’s, would take turns picking scarier and scarier movies.

It all started because Robin thought Steve should expand his horizons, and Billy liked the way Steve would get scared, would hide in Billy, would shove his face into his chest, or his arm, or wiggle his way into his lap.

But he was not in the mood for a movie tonight. Not after watching the way Steve had gone all bashful earlier.

But he found himself pushing open the double doors anyway.

“Bill! Guess what!” Steve was jamming around the kitchen in thick socks and little shorts, a faded Hawkins High Swim Team sweatshirt, and his glasses, like he was trying to fucking kill Billy with how adorable he is. “I got a date!” Billy’s heart thumped to a stop.

“You, you what?”

“I got a date! With that cute Benny that comes into Family Video. He asked me out! We’re gonna go to dinner on Friday!” Steve was so fucking excited. Billy couldn’t find it within himself to bring down the mood. “I just, you know how lonely I’ve been, and, I haven’t been on a date since Nancy.”

Steve was rambling, going on and on about this fucking guy. Was talking over the movie, which normally, Billy would think was kinda cute, but it was all, Benny said the SWEETEST thing, or look at this meme Benny sent.

Billy was about four second from tearing his hair out.

He was driving Robin home after movie night needed to vent.

“Look, I’m not saying I want Steve to be unhappy. I want him to be so happy. But I just, I get a bad feeling about that Benjamin guy.” Robin rolled her eyes.

“Well if you had gotten your head outta your ass and just asked Steve out like I fucking told you to, you, Billiam could be going on a date with our sweet Dingus.”

“I just, after everything this summer, I didn’t know if, if he was ready, and he never really seemed the same after the Nancy shit.”

“That’s a lame excuse and you know it.”

It was. And he knew it.

He avoided Steve the next two days. Couldn’t deal with all the excited posts on Steve’s secret Insatgram account, the one just for his friends.

Apparently he had done a face mask, had taken a fucking candlelit bath. He posted outfit options on his story.

Billy spent Friday chain-smoking in bed, yelling at Max whenever he got kicked off Netflix for too many screen in use.

Steve was getting picked up at 6. Had been posting a fucking countdown on his story. Billy wanted to crawl into a hole and fucking die.

When 6 came, Billy was working out, listening to loud, angry music as he lifted weights. He was trying his fucking best to keep his mind off of Steve, that fucking Benjamin.

But his music was interrupted by his phone going off, Steve’s contact picture filling the screen, a silly one Billy loved of Robin shoving marshmallows into his mouth. He could fit 17.

“What’s up?” It was only half past 6. Something must’ve happened. “Stevie, are you okay?” He could hear Steve sniffling.

“Bill, could you come pick me up?”

Billy was already out the door.”

“Drop your location, Pretty Boy. I’m on my way right now. Don’t move. I’ll be there soon.” Billy sped to the diner.

He saw Steve sitting on the curb outside, his face buried into his knees.

He had gone with outfit option number 4 from his Instagram, a thick cardigan, made of soft dark green wool, his nice jeans, the ones that made his ass look great, and a soft t-shirt. His hair was the most done Billy had seen it in a while. It made Billy’s heart break.

He pulled into a spot, dropping to sit next to Steve.

“You wanna talk about it?” His eyes were red-rimmed, glazed over as he loked at Billy.

“He was, he was so different from how he, how he was. He kept ignoring me, and flirting with the waitress, and he kept like, pointing out the scars on my face, like, like the one here,” he poked at his hairline. “And he said, I’d cuter without it, but, but that I’m still okay for a fuck if he took me face down, because, because my ass is the only thing I got goin’ for me-” Billy pulled him into a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Baby. You’re so much better than that, than him.” He kissed the mark on Steve’s hairline. “He still in there?”

“Yeah. I asked him to take me home and he said if I was gonna give him blueballs he might as well fuck the waitress. Since she’s hotter than me anyhow.”

“Stay here.” Billy got up, cracking his neck as he walked into the diner. He found the guy right away, was smiling so sleazy at the waitress in question who looked like she’d rather die than go out with him, but needed a good tip. He stared at her ass when she walked away.

Billy sat in the seat across from his.

“So, Benjamin. Figured you and I ought the have a little chat.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“My name’s Billy.” Ben rolled his eyes.

“God, Steve wouldn’t shut the fuck up about you.” Billy’s heart swelled, but he was on a mission.

“Steve is the best person in this whole God-forsaken world. And you dare treat him like he’s shit on your shoe. You’re fucking disgusting.” He reached up, pulling on the collar of his shirt, slamming his nose into the table, letting his head bounce back up.

“What the fuck, you psycho.”

“He is like sunshine, he is the only thing good in this fucking town, and you have the audacity to hurt him. He is made of love, and you could;ve had him, but you’re a garbage human who deserves jack shit.” He stood from the table, Ben’s nose bleeding into a mad of napkins.

“If you don’t at least text him an apology, I will be breaking more than just your nose.”

Billy stood up, sweeping out of the diner to find Steve waiting by the passenger seat of his car. They drove to Steve’s in silence apart from the odd sniffle from Steve.

They sat for a moment in his drive way, the car off, crickets chirping in the bushes.

“I heard what you said.” Steve’s eyes were wide, his face shadowed.

“And?”

“I didn’t know you felt like that. About me I mean.” Billy sighed.

“Stevie, you are probably the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And I, I love you.” Billy was fidgeting with the steering wheel.

“You mean it?” Billy just nodded, looking straight ahead through the windshield at Steve’s house. “I love you too. Like, a lot. I just thought, maybe you didn’t, didn’t feel the same.” Billy whipped around to look at Steve, see if he was lying.

All he say on his face was such happiness at Billy’s admission.

“You should stay the night.” Steve’s hand was closing around his wrist.

“Look, if we’re gonna do this, I wanna do it right. I wanna, take you out, and spend time with you in a, in a romantic way before we, before we do anything.” Steve’s eyes were so soft.

“Okay. You wanna go out tomorrow? We can do something chill, like, like see a movie.”

“I would really like that, Pretty Boy.” He took Steve’s hand.

“Can I kiss you goodnight, then? Kiss you thanks for saving me back there. Being my knight in shining armor, defending my honor and all that?” Billy’s mind was spinning as he breathed out yeah.

Kissing Steve was as perfect as he always thought it would be.

His pretty lips were soft, and he made these breathy little noises into Billy’s mouth, their hands were still clasped together, Steve’s other holding onto Billy’s bicep, Billy weaving a hand into Steve’s hair.

Steve’s eyes were closed when they pulled apart, they were soft when he blinked them open.

“So, tomorrow then.” Billy grinned, pressing a kiss to his nose.

“Tomorrow, Pretty Boy. I’ll call you in the morning. We’ll talk.” Steve danced like a loser all the way up to his porch, making Billy laugh and flash his headlights. He stumbled through the front door.

Billy texted Robin right when he got home, sent her a simple Benjamin’s the worst but you’ll be happy to know I pulled my head outta my ass :)

#yikes writes #harringrove #steve harrington #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove fic #harringrove drabble #harringrove ficlet

100 notes · View notes

crystxlclear · 4 years

Text

sudden desire

chapter one: cupid fucked up

part two of sudden desire

prologue / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x female original character

warnings: mentions of divorce?

word count: 2.2k

author’s note: not much to say other than i decided this isn’t going to have any smut & it’s just going to be cute af because i’m not comfortable writing it and also the whole issue with under 18s reading & engaging in 18+ content makes things worse. so just enjoy this mostly wholesome but also sad and angsty fic about everyone’s favourite FBI agent falling in love :)

At first, Loren Hull wanted to throw Coraline Meyer a divorce party. Some massive, elaborate party with all their friends. "To celebrate the fact my best friend is finally free!" She'd explained, the day the final paperwork came through. But Coraline decided against it, making some paper-thin excuse that she had some work thing that she couldn't get out of. So, instead, she finds herself alone and sprawled out under far too many blankets on her couch, eating spoonfuls of ice cream like her life depended on it, watching some shitty horror film. At first, she’d tried watching some equally-shitty rom-com but the happy moments made her cry, which she found completely pathetic and embarrassing. Instead, she's resorted to laughing at the characters in the first cliche horror she could find for being so stupid and letting themselves get killed. She'd been in a couple of cheap horrors when she'd first started acting; they were all embarrassingly bad and Coraline likes to pretend they'd never happened.

The doorbell rings halfway through some drawn-out chase scene, fake screams falling from the blonde actress' mouth as some knife-wielding maniac in a cheap mask hunts her down. Coraline begrudgingly hauls herself up from her comfy position on the sofa and shuffles towards the door, socks scuffing across the carpet. The moment the blankets fall away, she’s freezing again, though she’s vaguely aware that her apartment’s about fifty degrees too hot. Still, she wraps her cardigan tighter around herself, finding it impossible to shift the shivers.

Coraline’s greeted by the grinning face of Marcus Pike. "Hey, sunshine." He grins.

Sunshine. The nickname he'd given her the first day they'd met, when she'd shown up far too early to a briefing. Cora’s older brother, Daniel, had been opening an art gallery in downtown D.C. and was convinced scammers were already trying to sell him fake paintings for exceptionally high prices. Marcus and his team were tasked with helping out; Coraline had been roped in by her brother to help, since she’d be there for the grand opening.

She’d been wearing some bright yellow dress she'd found at the back of her wardrobe; he'd complimented her when he'd arrived a few minutes later and it had been so long since anyone had given her a genuine compliment that she'd grown flustered and almost spilt coffee down herself. They'd grown closer and closer since then and she had no hesitation in calling him one of her best friends.

Marcus holds up a paper bag. "I brought Chinese food."

"Oh, you're an angel." Cora returns Marcus' grin, opening the door wide enough for him to step inside. She takes the bag from him and cradles it close to her like it’s a newborn baby, the warmth flushing through her body.

"I try." He chuckles as she pulls him into a hug. They hold each other close for a while, lingering just a little longer than normal, her hand clutching at the back of his t-shirt a little tighter.

Coraline slumps back onto the couch when they finally let each other go. She immediately combs through the bag in search of the chow mein she knows will be in there; their weekly Chinese takeout nights have become a tradition in the few months they've known each other and he knows her order like the back of his hand.

Marcus settles into the armchair opposite, grabbing his own food. "Happy divorce day, by the way."

Coraline groans. She'd hoped he'd forgotten about that — she hadn't mentioned it to him, either. The less said about it, the better. "Oh, god, don't remind me." She flings her head back dramatically against the couch cushions. "But, hey, I'm a single woman now. You should take your shot while you still have chance. I'm in high demand." She jokes.

"Are they lining up at your door?" Marcus chuckles, leaning forward in his chair.

"You know it, I'm a catch." She mumbles through a mouthful of noodles, wiggling her eyebrows at him. Marcus smiles wistfully over at her.

"Anyone would be lucky to have you, Cora."

"Oh, please." She snorts; she can feel her cheeks flushing as pink as the blanket she sits beneath. She still finds herself taken aback whenever he compliments her, she can’t help it. There’s just something about the way he seems to mean it that makes her heart swell inside her chest. She stares down at her food and pokes at an onion with the end of her chopsticks, hoping he won’t notice the bright flush of red that has swept across her face. "I'm never falling in love again, anyway."

"Why?"

Coraline looks up at him through her lashes. He’s still staring at her as she pokes at her noodles. "Too much unnecessary heartbreak." She pokes her toe out from under her blankets, nudging the half-empty pint of ice cream she'd been eating before he arrived. It’s melting and staining a ring onto her coffee table. It makes her shiver more than she already was. "I'd rather not go through the trauma again."

"Don't be so dramatic." He sniggers, kicking her lightly in the ankle.

Coraline fakes offence. She pokes Marcus back, furrows her eyebrows and pouts. "I'm not dramatic," she mumbles, ignoring the fact half an hour earlier she'd been crying into her ice cream like some character in the movie she'd been watching. "I just don't want to get hurt again."

Coraline has always had a problem with heartbreak. It seems to follow her. It happens too quickly, too often, and each time it chips away a little more at her heart. She's started to think that it’s inevitable, now. The sum of her heartbreak just makes her fragile.

Her first heartbreak at thirteen made her feel like her world was ending. By her second, at nineteen, she realised just how trivial that had been. The third heartbreak was the worst. It came at the expense of her younger sister Eve, barely seventeen with so many hopes and dreams, snatched away by a drunk driver on one quiet Sunday morning, as the sun shone brightly and the breeze ruffled the trees. The pain hit her where she was weak and left a spider-web of cracks inside her mind. She patched herself up with fractured smiles and make-believe until a little more sunshine crept through and she was herself again. Or, at least, half of herself.

When the fourth came, at the hands of the very person who'd helped her through the darkness, the person who stood by her side as she pulled the broken pieces of her heart back together, she was almost numb. Almost. It was almost like there was nothing left to break, nothing left to feel. Except there was and the cracks inside her threatened to burst apart.

Coraline has always known that hearts are easily broken, even when she was a child. The idea had never phased her until she felt it and it hurt more and more and more, until her bones were hollow and straining to hold together the pieces of her aching heart as it tried to tumble from her chest.

The thought of getting hurt again is a little too much.

Marcus smiles. "I get that." He’s silhouetted by the warm light of a street lamp that streams in through the window behind him. It turns the ends of his hair golden and his eyes amber as he tilts his head, like he’s trying to figure something out. Amber eyes gaze over the slight furrow of her brow and the glimmer that has appeared in her green eyes. "I hate him for hurting you, for making you think that way."

Coraline shakes her head. "Don't." She smiles, a great big beaming smile, that she’s worried might come off as fake, flashing across her face. "It was inevitable." Truthfully, she was half-gone before Scott even met her, dwelling too heavily on past heartbreak. They were perfectly wrong for each other; they'd both known it for a few years before things had turned sour but, back then, pretending to live in some blurry version of perfection, both silently screaming because it wasn't right. They weren't meant to be. They didn't work anymore, and hadn't for far too long. "And it was my fault, too."

When she and Scott first met, something made them believe things would work out. Opposites attract or some made-up cliché shit like that. She'd found herself drawn so quickly towards him; he was confident and sure of himself and he gave her this smile that sent welcome shivers through her bones. They got caught up in a whirlwind, pushing and pulling them, unrelenting. Things just moved too fast and they loved far too much, then far too little.

Coraline just wants to fall in love, slowly, to feel it smouldering so deep down in her bones for months before she realises what it is, when she’s head over heels and has fallen so deeply there‘s no way out. She doesn’t want to feel forced into loving someone, to spend her days convincing herself that she does. Because there would be nothing to doubt, she'll just know with complete and utter unwavering certainty. And she just wants someone to love her back, really, truly love her back, without compromise. Someone who’ll treat her right because he wants to, not because he has to.

"Aren't you hot under all those blankets?" Marcus questions. He's been wearing a suit jacket beneath his coat — it was so cold outside that the rain turned to ice the moment it hit the sidewalk — and he huffs out an uncomfortable deep breath as he pulls it off. "It's ridiculous in here."

"I'm always hot." She jokes with a smirk, raising an eyebrow. She tucks the blankets — all four of them — up under her chin. "But I'm freezing."

Coraline has had shivers set deep in her bones for months now. She can never seem to keep warm, permanently troubled by a chill that flushes through her. It’s becoming a real problem. Mostly because her heating bill is almost double that of normal, from the sheer number of times she dials the thermostat up as high as it will go.

Marcus scrunches up his jacket and throws it at her. She bats it away before it hits her square in the face, the button narrowly missing her eye. "Hey!" She protests, poised to launch the jacket back across the room directly towards his head.

"Wear it." He insists before chuckling as her expression softens. "Another layer to keep you warm."

"Oh.” Another pause, weighing up his expression, her eyebrow half-cocked in mild scepticism. But he seems genuine. “Thank you."

...

Coraline must have fallen asleep half an hour later. She'd trailed off mid-sentence, eyes fluttering closed, breath falling steady as she relaxed against the couch cushions. She's barely slept lately — an infuriating result of worrying about her impending divorce and a hectic filming schedule that is still in full swing — and neither she, nor Marcus, is surprised that sleep has prematurely pulled her under.

When she finally reopens her eyes, the dull light of daybreak is threatening to spill through the curtains and everything is neat. Marcus is gone; the entire apartment is silent, save for the soft hum of voices from some old black-and-white rerun on the TV. She doesn’t remember falling asleep or even closing her eyes; the last thing she remembers is Marcus throwing her his jacket and them talking for a while about nothing in particular as she’d turned off the horror film that had been playing in the background the whole time. She’s still wearing that jacket, now, her fingers tangled in the sleeves that are far too long for her. The jacket still smells like him, all familiar and comforting.

Coraline pokes her head out from underneath the blankets that are covering half her face. Her head had been resting on a small couch cushion when she'd fallen asleep — she'd been far too lazy to grab any others — but now the pillows from her bed prop her head up. Marcus must have put them there before he left; sometimes she sleeps so deeply that she isn’t surprised he hadn’t accidentally woken her up.

She finally manages to peel herself from the spot on the couch she's been laid on for over twelve hours, her knees protesting with a loud crack, every blanket tumbling to the floor. Her feet brush from her rug to the cold wooden floor and she shivers again because, of course, she’s unbearably cold again. Only her hands, that are stuffed into the pockets of Marcus' jacket, are warm.

The apartment is always quiet, now. Especially since Scott had moved out. Everything just feels empty, like she’s living in the house of a ghost, passing by empty picture frames that she's been too distracted to fill. She’s sure that Marcus has cleaned before he left; the half-melted tub of ice cream and empty Chinese food cartons are gone and even the dirty dishes she'd dumped in the sink have been washed and tucked away in the cupboard.

It’s the smallest of gestures, bringing her pillows so she’s comfortable and throwing out the trash, probably small and insignificant to anyone else. But the idea of doing any of it had bled all the energy from Coraline's bones and she’s so grateful.

She’s so painfully and heartbreakingly grateful for Marcus Pike and he has no idea.

#marcus pike x female character #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x reader #sudden desire

48 notes · View notes

halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 41: The Dementor

Regulus had never considered the rocking motion of the train any comfort. In fact it made him sick to his stomach, this bit of transportation was as good as the embodiment of every expectation he'd ever had put on him in his life. Now he was trapped in a compartment with a list of people he'd never have asked for, and the book chose to fall onto his head.

He rubbed the spot and glared up at the luggage compartment where he was unsurprised to see Hedwig snoozing in her cage next to a very battered briefcase with a tag hanging off the edge, but he was distracted from making out the handwriting by the cat carrier still sealed shut. Crookshanks was obviously still inside, he could see his squashed orange face trying to peer down below. Regulus briefly wondered why Scabbers wasn't present up there as well, but perhaps if he'd remained on Ron's person he wouldn't be present?

The pets were the lucky ones, remaining up there while a thick layer of tension sat on all the seats. The Marauders were clearly no happier than the other three to be forced back into such a small space, Evans had made quick work of checking the compartment door to make this otherwise. Nothing came of it, so Regulus was left in the awkward position of sitting across from his brother next to the window with two groups of people on each side. One thought his brother a cold-blooded murder in this future, the others insisting otherwise. He kept waiting for someone to demand he pick a side.

Yet no one had. Sirius hadn't asked him what he really thought of this, nor had his fellow purebloods in Longbottom and Smith turned to him and tried to say their point on the matter to him. This time, he was really left to make a decision. He tried to imagine what his mother would say about this, stand by the purebloods side and defend such accusations, or would Sirius being who he was would not get such a reprieve from their mother. It seemed like an honest toss. Then he remembered his mother didn't always know what's best anyways, she'd been wrong about the Dark Lord and who knew what else. So maybe, for once, he should come to his own conclusion without an outside voice.

He licked his lips with nerves and instead began flipping through to the new slot of empty pages for now. As always words materialized at the new chapter, entitled The Dementor. For a moment he was sure that one lone word would break the heavy silence around him, nobody could disagree those scourges of the Earth could mean anything good to come. Rain continued to lash upon the windows outside, the train rocked violently and kept trucking on no matter the gale force winds making it all so much worse, and the luggage above creaking was still the only accompaniment noise, until, "hope the food trolley still comes around," Pettigrew said into the awkward silence.

Regulus chuckled with agreement to that at least, glancing around to see every one of them making some indication of agreement as he began.

James was grateful Harry didn't get the chance to repeat any of this to his friends while the Weasley family was scrambling to pack for the train. He didn't need any of the vilifying comments against Sirius repeated, least of all the ones concerning Harry. It was all ridiculous to the extreme and he hoped something changed soon other than having to hear of this horrid news.

He'd really been hoping nothing of interest would take place, for once, but Harry didn't even get a chance to hop aboard the train before Arthur Weasley was pulling him aside and laying it all on even worse. Even if some You-Know-Who supporting murderer was after Harry, which wasn't Sirius!, who on Earth was crazy enough to think his son would go looking for him? It somehow even made less sense than putting Sirius' name into the mix, and he wouldn't have thought that possible moments ago.

Remus was already exhausted by the constant glares being shared across the small space. Squashed between Sirius and James, he was getting the majority of them. It's not as if he wasn't used to such looks, their group wasn't exactly popular when they were the reason a whole corridor was ducking for cover. Not to mention Evans seemed to have made it her personal mission to glare at them as many times as was humanly possible and beyond. It felt different now though, that they didn't have a corridor to exit from, a class to get to, something else to occupy their time in between constantly having to put on a face for others.

Time was a wonky mess, and it had been since all this started. He was sagging back in his seat in a dead exhaustion, eyes heavy lidded and ready to take a long and restless sleep from a full moon he hadn't run. He could feel it in his bones though, that it should have happened, and this had been going on for, days? It was impossible to tell.

Regulus' voice was calm enough though as Harry began looking about the train for a place to sit, and he was quite warm. It wouldn't be the first time he'd lolled off to sleep, and Sirius' shoulder just so happened to be rather comfortable... "Professor R. J. Lupin."

Said man snapped out of his seat as if he'd been electrocuted, suddenly wired and quite alive, chest heaving as he looked from Regulus to his friends and back as if waiting for someone to scream, 'gotcha.'

None did. His three friends were looking at him like he was a ghost, the other four had their faces scrunched up in a variety of expressions stating incredulity this news existed.

"Well, there goes our idea the rest of us are dead," Sirius spoke, his voice barely heard in the howling wind.

"I, I don't understand!" He choked out, gazing up at the luggage rack where it still sat, plain as day. Fingers trembling so hard he could barely grasp the handle, surely his shaking hand would make the weather beaten suitcase come apart before he found the latch.

"Obvious ain't it," Evans muttered, her eyes now narrowed even farther with mistrust.

She was ignored, finally Peter took pity on him and reached over to release the contents. Maybe it was some insane coincidence with some other man's initials, but that idea was ruined as Remus couldn't keep his fumbling hold and everything fell to the floor.

There were a few different sets of patched robes that were several sizes too large that covered most of the foot room now, a bar of chocolate that had landed half under Frank's seat, and a few bathroom belongings that could have fairly belonged to anyone.

Then there were the rest of the things peeking out that only the Marauders could have known to associate with their friend. One of those articles of clothing was an old threadbare cardigan all four of them had taken turns wearing so many times, none even knew who the original owner was. Several books were dog eared with messy scribbles in Moony's handwriting all over varying Dark beasts of the world, bits of parchment on a mound of subjects all bound together as if waiting for notes to properly be taken, and on the bottom inside of the suitcase was a crudely hand drawn circle.

All four of their eyes were drawn to it, lost in the memory of choosing something so simple yet personal to them to put on every bit of luggage they owned. A full moon, a letter in each of their chosen names, something with no ending or beginning and was simply meant to last forever.

"Moony," Sirius broke into his frozen mind, but the expression on his face left him clueless what was coming next. "Congratulations on making something of your life, at least one of us did."

That smile was fake, the jesting tone was forced, but Sirius was making an effort not to let the others see the pit twisting him up inside at the idea now being presented before them. That their friend was alive and well, and a teacher of all things, while Merlin knew what was going on with Sirius.

Regulus just snorted and muttered about the odds as he continued, but the Marauders couldn't bring themselves to pay attention to anything else he said. The kids dissolved into talking of Hogsmeade and all sorts of things, even Sirius again, but they were pretty fixated on this new bit of information and had no way to get it out of their system.

What had Remus been doing all this time if not spending every day with the Marauders? What was this future like if Sirius had really been in Azkaban this whole time and Prongs long dead. What about Wormtail, had he just moved on with his life as well? Did the two even keep in contact? The idea seemed ludicrous to question now, but all four of them were suddenly faced with the very real idea none had ever questioned before now, what was really in store for them?

Alice watched with curiosity, and even some worry, as the more that was exposed this year the quieter the Marauders got. It wasn't natural. Not once in the years she'd been in their vicinity had they ever been any such thing even close to this. Even if they weren't laughing obnoxiously, shouting to each other about all their jokes, or whispering in the corridors, these pale wide eyed faces looked alien.

When Regulus mentioned Harry's birthday Sneakoscope going off and the silence persisted in here, she got up curiously and located Harry's trunk above her head. She had to rummage for a few moments before finding a nasty pair of yellow socks the little top was indeed inside of, but even as she held it out for inspection it wasn't going off now.

"Wonder what's got it in a twist round them then?" Frank happily picked apart this new puzzle, hearing nothing but the younger Black reading this whole time was starting to get eerie.

"Maybe Lupin's not really sleeping, he's faking it," Lily pointed out, still with a heavy look at him where he'd slowly sunk back into his seat, now sitting on the very edge though and looking paler than usual, which was really saying something.

"That's Professor Lupin to you now!" Potter tried to correct with his usual boasting and cocky grin, but even as Lily watched something seemed off about it. He seemed stiff, his eyes out of focus instead of trying to catch hers. She found that unnerving, and then with a horrid self reflection, she realized she felt bad for him. James Potter! She really couldn't help it though, no matter how hard she tried to shove the feeling away. The poor teen had learned that he was to die, where his kid would be relocated, and now two of his three friends had some pretty shoddy things going on in their future lives all in a matter of days. It was a lot for anyone to take in.

For a moment Lily thought the deep lurch had come from inside her, but then she nearly fell out of her seat as the train did come to a screeching halt.

Regulus fumbled with the book and only just managed to keep hold of it, words stumbling a bit as he got to the same part. He shivered in trepidation, for what he didn't understand, until he shivered again and realized it wasn't just some feeling. It was true, bone deep cold, the windows were icing over and he could see his breath.

"Wha-what's going on!?" Pettigrew demanded, his voice shrill as he recoiled from the door, wand already drawn.

The others had already done the same, even as the answer was presented. A dementor was aboard, and it had its sights on Harry.

The youngest Black was reading in an outright panic, flying through words to try and get this chapter over with before they were forced to experience anything similar. Sadly even after he got past the part of Lupin in the book banishing the creature, they remained in the black void. Regulus could feel his chest rattling, his mind was buzzing painfully as whispers from his past began cluttering to the forefront and he could barely concentrate on the words in front of him.

He wanted his dad to put a big, warm hand on his shoulder and tell him his plan. He wanted his mum to tell him what there was to do and how to solve this. More than anything he wanted Sirius to wrap an arm around him, like he hadn't done since before before that Gryffindor nonsense began. He wanted his big brother to promise their parents weren't really mad at Regulus and he would handle everything. He couldn't grasp that feeling, that emotion, just kept stumbling along through Harry's bizarre recount of a woman screaming, Malfoy being his usual petty self, and finally as he felt his soul rattling in his chest as if it could sense the monster beyond that door, they were in the castle and McGonagall was looking into the incident.

His eyes flinched without his permission, to the door and back to the words in a panic as he kept waiting for it to happen. Smith was beside him shaking in her seat, a silent scream trying to pass her lips. Sirius was still across from him, his hand clutching his chest and mouthing something unintelligible, the horror on his face unmatched. He checked again, and just beyond the window pane he saw a tall, dark, cloaked figure with grotesque, misshapen looking digits reaching for the handle.

In one last desperate breath, he declared Hagrid and Lupin being made Professors, then Harry finally getting safely into his own dorm, and finally they were out.

#PoA #Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #Marauders #Jilly #Wolfstar #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Lily Evans #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

1 note · View note