#Anderson what good is a phone call when you are unable to speak? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scatter-the-stars · 3 years

Note

Badboy

So this became more than I anticipated.

TW: abuse (not Blaine to Kurt)

"Where are we going?" Kurt questions after only just then realizing they're not headed towards Eric's house where the party is. "I thought you said we were going to a party?"

From the driver's seat his friend Jackie lets a sneaky smile spread across her face. "We are."

"Okay. Why are we driving in the opposite direction of Eric's place?"

"I never said we were going to Eric's party."

"Jackie!"

Jackie giggles. Her long auburn hair blowing around her face from the wind.

"Jackie, where the hell are we going?" Kurt takes a look around to see if he recognizes anything. But nothing rings a bell.

"I heard about a... party."

"Where?"

"The south side of town," she replies.

"Hell no, Jackie." It suddenly makes sense why he doesn't recognize anything around him. He's in a part of town he's never been in. A part of town he's been told to stay away from.

"What?"

"We can't be here. It's dangerous."

"Says who?"

"Um... Everyone. Let's just go to Eric's party."

"No." Jackie starts to drive faster. "We're going to this party."

Kurt glares at his friend. "Why?"

Jackie says nothing while she parks her Jeep close by to the party they can hear. She pulls the keys from the engine and faces Kurt. "Aren't you tired of doing the same thing? Going to the same boring parties?" She tucks a strand of her loose hair behind her ear. "I want excitement, Kurt."

"Then go skydiving or something. Don't go to the bad side of town. And don't drag me along." Kurt unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs out of the Jeep. He starts to walk back the way they came. Pulls out his phone in hopes of finding a different friend who will be willing to come pick him up.

"Kurt! Wait!" Jackie runs to stand in front of him and stop him from leaving. "Please, don't go. I need you with me on this. I can't go in there alone."

"I don't care." He moves around her and continues walking. Is pissed his best friend would drag him into her crazy idea. Plus, if his stepdad finds out where he was he’ll be punished. "I'm going home."

Jackie grabs his wrist and stops him. "Please. Stay with me. Kurt."

Kurt takes a few deep breaths before turning to face his friend. "Jackie, this is a terrible idea. All those people are trouble."

"And Eric and his friends aren't?"

Kurt opens his mouth to say no but snaps it shut when he remembers just the week before Eric and his friends decided a car race on the highway at night would be fun. And that's only one of dozens of dangerous, crazy things they've done over the years.

"Please, Kurt," Jackie pleads. "We'll stay an hour and then go to Eric's boring party."

"His party wasn't boring a few weeks ago."

"Yes, it was." Jackie loops her arm through Kurt's. "Aren't you tired of the same boring shit we do?"

"I mean..." There is some part of him that is bored by everything like Jackie said. It's been the same thing with the same people his entire life. Maybe a step outside the norm could be a fun, exciting adventure.

"See. This will be fun."

"But you don't know those people?"

"I'm good at making new friends. This will be no different. So, will you come with me?"

Kurt thinks it over for a moment. Considers he can survive an hour crashing a party full of people he doesn't know.

"Fine." He blows out a breath. "You owe me big time, Jackie. I'm talking about Chanel or Prada big."

"Deal!" Jackie bounces up and down on her feet in excitement. "Thank you so much." She plants a kiss on his cheek.

"Let's get this over with."

Music blares from the two-story house that has seen better days. There's people standing out on the yard and porch. They go silent when they see them. There's whispers as they walk by. Every set of eyes in the house immediately go to them when they step inside. Kurt suddenly feels like he's under a bright spotlight he doesn’t want on him.

"Come on," Jackie grabs his hand, "let's get something to drink."

He follows her through the house to the kitchen. Everyone watches and scrutinizes them as they pass them by. Their judging eyes make him feel two feet tall. They make him feel like the odd one out, which he is. Because he shouldn't be here. This type of place, these kinds of people, are not his scene. And he’ll be in so much fucking trouble if Caleb finds out.

"People are looking at us."

"Ignore them," Jackie casually says, like it's no big deal that a house full of people are staring at her.

Kurt wants to do that. Even tries to. But it proves impossible when he's watched like a hawk. He clutches Jackie's hand tighter and keeps his eyes forward. Says nothing. Not even when someone purposely bumps into him and loudly says, "Watch where you're going you rich bitch."

A few snickers and laughs follow the insult. It doesn't affect him. After growing up and being teased and bullied for his sexuality, a little remark about his wealthy lifestyle won't hurt him. It’s water off his back.

In the kitchen, sticking close to Jackie as she fills two red SOLO cups with beer from the keg, Kurt prays that the next hour passes quickly.

"Drink." Jackie holds a cup out to him. "It'll loosen you up."

Kurt takes the full cup and drains nearly half of it. The alcohol slightly relaxes him in a way he needs.

That relaxing feeling, though, dissipates with Jackie's next words.

"I'll be back."

He grabs for her hand before she leaves. "What? No. Don't leave me alone here."

"I'll only be gone a few minutes. You'll be fine." Jackie flashes one of her mock innocent smiles she's perfected over the years before disappearing in the crowd of people.

Kurt's heart immediately starts to race and breathing grows heavy as he stands there alone being looked at by the people around him. No longer wanting to endure the stares, he turns around to face the cabinets. At least they won't stare at and judge him.

He brings his cup to his lips and drains the last of his beer. Mentally prays Jackie comes back soon.

It's still crazy to him that they're here. That Jackie actually convinced him to come to this party. All his life he's stayed on his side of town. Never strayed to the bad side of town as his mom would repeatedly call it. Can remember her telling him it was full of criminals and people not worth their time. People below them. He never questioned her repeated demands that he stay away from that side of town. Was never curious. Even now he's not curious. He's terrified and wants to leave. Wants to go to the safety of places and people he knows.

Cup empty, he turns to refill it and runs into a wall of muscle. Kurt opens his mouth to apologize to the person he ran into. But his mouth goes dry and tongue grows heavy as he looks at the gorgeous face of the man standing in front of him.

The guy, who is older, is devilishly handsome. Everything about him is dark. From his hair to his eyes to the clothes he wears. Even his polite looking smile hides darkness and an edge of ruthlessness behind it. Kurt can just make out the tattoos peeking out from the collar of the guy's shirt. A light stubble covers his jaw.

The guy eyes him. Arches an eyebrow in curiosity. "Who are you?"

The guy's voice is deep and warm, and sends a shudder racing along his spine. Kurt wants to hear it again. Wants to hear the guy speak his name. To growl it into his ear as he fucks him.

That thought takes him by surprise. Because he doesn’t know this guy. Can’t be having wild thoughts like that over someone he literally met ten seconds ago.

But there’s something about the thought that doesn’t feel out of place.

"I, uh... I-I'm..."

The corner of the guy's mouth curls up. "What? Can't remember your name?"

"I can remember my name." Kurt glares at the guy.

The guy’s grin grows, as if amused by Kurt’s anger toward him. "Then what is it?"

What the hell is his name again? It starts with a K. He thinks.

Shit!

Seconds tick by.

Tick.

The guy's dark hazel eyes fill with amusement.

"Did you bump that pretty head of yours and forget your name?"

"No."

The guy takes a step toward him. Kurt takes a step back. His back comes in contact with the edge of the counter.

What. The. Hell. Is. His. Name!

He feels like the biggest idiot as he stands there unable to answer a simple question. But his brain is a jumbled mess filled with static noise as he stares at the sexy guy in front of him.

The guy reaches a hand up and curls it around the back of his neck. Kurt gasps at the strong shock that runs through him at the touch. Trembles when the guy presses his thumb right at the racing pulse point in his neck.

"You'll be fun."

Kurt doesn't have time to consider what the guy means by that because Jackie calls his name right then.

The guy drops his hand, which disappoints him.

"Kurt."

He looks when Jackie runs up to him. She wears a look of concern and tightly clutches his arm, almost as if she's afraid he'll be snatched away.

"So your name is Kurt."

Kurt turns his attention back to the guy in front of him. "Y-Yeah... Kurt. That's my name."

The guy grins and Kurt feels a tingle race throughout his entire body.

"Good to know. See you later, Kurt," the guy says before turning on his heel and walking away.

Kurt watches him walk away. His gaze drops to his fantastic ass in the dark jeans he wears. He finds himself wondering what that ass looks like. What it would feel like in his hands.

Jackie tugging on his arm pulls his attention away from the guy. He sees his friend curiously eyeing him. "What?" he asks when he realizes she asked something.

"I was asking what Blaine wanted."

Kurt furrows his brows in confusion. "Who's Blaine?"

Jackie gives him a Are you serious? look. "The guy you were just talking to."

"Oh." Kurt looks at where Blaine walked away. Disappointment swirls in him at not seeing the sexy stranger. "He wanted to know my name." He looks at Jackie. "How'd you know who he was?"

"Kurt," Jackie lets out a breath, "that's Blaine Anderson."

The way she says his name implies he's supposed to know who that is. But the name rings no kind of bell for him.

"Who's Blaine Anderson?"

"Come on." Jackie grabs his hand. "We need to leave."

Kurt follows Jackie out of the kitchen. Surprised at the sudden urge he has to stay. "Why are we leaving? We've only been here a few minutes. We can stay." He wants to stay. Wants to see Blaine again.

"No." Jackie practically drags him out of the house.

As they leave, Kurt notices the people who eyed them earlier pay them no attention. A few even get out of Jackie and his way as they head for the front door.

Outside and walking to Jackie's Jeep, Kurt stops in the middle of the road after ripping his hand free of her tight hold. "What the hell, Jackie! Why'd you do that?"

Jackie turns to face him. "I was protecting you, Kurt."

"Protecting me. From what?"

"More like who."

"Who?" Kurt grows more and more confused by the second. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's get in the Jeep first."

In the Jeep, Jackie practically speeds away from the house like she committed a crime.

"What is going on, Jackie? Slow down before you crash!"

That seems to produce the opposite effect since Jackie picks up the speed. And what should have taken them thirty minutes, Kurt finds themselves outside of Eric's place less than ten minutes later.

Jackie shuts off the engine. She drops her head back against the headrest of the seat and lets out a heavy breath. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" She covers her face with her hands.

Kurt starts to grow worried something terrible happened. "Jackie, what's wrong?"

Jackie slams the palm of her hand against the steering wheel a few times after lifting her head. She curses a few times.

"You're starting to worry me," he says after she's calmed down.

"I'm sorry. It's just..." She breathes and turns in her seat to face him. "I shouldn't have taken you there. It was a stupid idea. I didn't think..."

"Think what?"

"I didn't know he was going to be there."

"Who?"

"Blaine," Jackie breathes out. "I was told he would be gone until next week."

"What does it matter if he was there? Who is he, Jackie?" Kurt wants to know everything about the sexy stranger who seemed dark and dangerous.

Jackie takes a breath. "He's dangerous, Kurt. And I'm not talking about those lame bad boys that go to our school. I'm talking about the kind of bad boy that got out of prison last year. He runs with the Dark Demons. You've heard of them, right?"

Kurt nods his head. Everyone has heard of them. They're a notorious motorcycle club. Known for violence and wealth and power. They run drugs and weapons. There's even rumors of some of the dark things they've done. Things that no amount of asking for forgiveness will grant them peace.

"Yeah, well, he's a member. One of the more fucked up ones, I've heard."

That nugget of information has Kurt thinking back to the small bomb Jackie dropped in his lap moments before. "You said he was in prison."

Jackie nods her head.

"For what?"

"What I heard, and it could be total bullshit, but apparently he beat some guy to death when he was seventeen. Who knows, though? It could be for something else."

Where that piece of information should scare him, Kurt finds himself mostly unaffected. He isn't suddenly terrified of the guy who went to prison. In fact, he finds himself curious for what the truth really is about Blaine's reason for being in prison.

"Stay away from him, Kurt," Jackie says when she catches him contemplating things. "He is nothing but bad news. Did he tell you anything?"

Kurt thinks of what Blaine told him before Jackie interrupted them. Thinks of Blaine's words You'll be fun and knows he can't tell Jackie about them. That she'll go crazy and do something even crazier.

"No." He shakes his head. "He just wanted to know my name."

"Good. Maybe he'll stay away."

"Maybe." Although he says that, Kurt finds himself hoping that isn't the case.

It should scare him that he wants to see an ex-prisoner who is apparently as twisted and fucked-up as they come. But for some reason, it doesn't.

There was something about Blaine that drew him in.

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

A few weeks pass and nothing happens. His life goes on like normal. He hangs out and parties with his friends. Fools around with his friend Colin that he messes around with from time to time. He goes to school and acts like everything is okay at home.

The entire time Blaine is there in the back of his thoughts. He wonders what he's doing or how he's doing. If he's alone or with someone. If he's thinking about him.

Kurt hopes Blaine thinks of him. That he pops up in Blaine's thoughts in the middle of the day.

He doesn't want to be forgotten.

"Are we still on for tomorrow?" Jackie asks one Friday after school almost two months after meeting Blaine.

"Yeah. What time are you picking me up?"

"Early. Seven in the morning."

"Okay. That sounds-" Kurt comes to stop when he steps outside and sees who's there.

Leaning back against his bike, ankles crossed and hands gripping the seat of the bike, Blaine looks as devilishly handsome as ever. In a dark shirt, jeans, boots, and Aviator shades covering his eyes, he pulls off the bad boy, biker thing extremely well.

"Shit!"

Kurt barely hears Jackie's soft exclamation when she spots Blaine. His world has been reduced to this mysterious, sexy man.

Their friends around them all murmur and ask who that is. He pays them no mind. Only cares about the man who has been his go to fantasy when getting off these past few weeks.

He knows the moment Blaine sees him. Sees the grin spread across his face. His heart gives a hard thud in his chest at the sight.

Kurt takes a step forward.

Jackie grabbing his elbow stops him and pulls his attention away from Blaine.

"What?"

"Kurt, don't. He's bad news."

"I know. I just..." He locks eyes with Blaine. "I just want to talk to him."

Like a magnet, he feels drawn to Blaine. Like he's the innocent fish being reeled in by the tempting bait as he makes his way to the man who's been at the back of his mind since he last saw him.

As he makes his way over to Blaine, he notices students, guys and girls, curiously eyeing Blaine. Some wear looks of interest. Which isn't surprising since Blaine is extremely attractive and probably pulls attention wherever he goes.

Blaine pulls off his Aviator glasses. Kurt finds his breath catch at those dark hazel eyes watching him with so much interest and desire it sends a sharp thrill through him.

He stops right in front of Blaine. "Hi."

A devilish grin spreads across Blaine's face. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you again."

Kurt's pulse races. "H-How'd you find me?"

"Easily."

Blaine pushes off his bike and stands at his full height. He takes a step closer to Kurt. Kurt feels the heat radiating off him. Feels that heat wash over him. It intensifies when Blaine grabs the back of his neck like he did that night weeks ago.

Heart racing and cock pounding, Kurt is so desperate for whatever Blaine might do next that he would let him strip him naked and fuck him right there in the parking lot for everyone to watch and see.

Blaine stares into his eyes with his dark hazel orbs. "Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?"

It takes a second for what Blaine asked to register. "W-What?"

"A bike." Blaine gestures with his free hand to his behind him. "Have you ever ridden one?"

"Oh... No."

"That's okay." Blaine lets him go and climbs onto his bike. Kurt goes weak in the knees at how sexy he looks straddling the powerful machine. He doesn't stop Blaine when he grabs his wrist and pulls him onto his bike. "Hold tight and don't let go."

Arms wound around Blaine's midsection, he holds tight like instructed. He jumps a little when Blaine starts the engine and revs it a few times.

As Blaine begins to drive away, he looks over at his group of friends who all watch him with shocked and surprised expressions. Except Jackie. Jackie wears an expression of worry and regret.

He doesn't let the look get to him. Forgets about everything he should have done, and will happen to him when he gets home, and instead focuses on how it feels to be pressed close to Blaine's backside. The power of the engine between his legs. The sensation of the cool wind whipping against his face and through his hair. Head dropped back and eyes closed, he smiles at feeling free for the first time in a very long time.

A hand on his right thigh squeezing the flesh has him pressing closer to Blaine. Even more so when Blaine drags his hand up and inside his jean-covered thigh and covers the bulge between his legs.

It's extremely fucking sexy the way Blaine teases him with one hand while guiding the bike with the other. He should probably yell at Blaine to put both hands on the handles. But he feels too good; somehow trusts Blaine. Remembers Blaine has probably been doing this for a long time.

Blaine drives until he's out of town and goes into the country. Kurt is not worried at all when he turns onto a gravel road and drives until an old farm house comes into view. The house has two levels. A large porch is on the bottom level. A hanging porch swing gently sways from the wind. The paint is chipped and grass is seriously overgrown. But Kurt sees past that and can see the appeal the place has. Sees how a family could live there.

He climbs off the bike after Blaine comes to a stop and cuts the engine. "What is this place?"

"This is my parents' old farm. It's mine now."

"Really?"

"Why the surprise?"

"You don't really scream farmer to me."

Blaine chuckles. Kurt likes the sound. "What do I scream?"

Kurt eyes Blaine up and down. "Trouble."

Blaine grins and lifts a brow. "Do you like trouble?"

"I do."

Hand taken by Blaine, Kurt follows him past the house and to the old barn that has seen better days. He takes in the old structure when they go inside. Sees old, rusted farming tools and equipment. There's a wooden ladder that leads to an upper loft area.

He doesn't question anything when he follows Blaine up the ladder to the loft area. Where he expects it to be dirty like the rest of the barn, he's surprised to find it's clean. Everything looks to have been taken away. The only things up there now are an old couch, some rugs, an end table, and a lamp.

"What is this?"

Blaine walks over and drops down onto the couch. "My safe space, I guess you can call it. I come here when I need to get away from everything and think."

Kurt goes up to the open doors and looks out at the view. "This is nice." When Blaine says nothing, he looks back and finds him eyeing him. "What?"

"Come here," Blaine softly growls while tipping his head.

The command has Kurt instantly moving his feet over to the mysterious man he can't stop himself from wanting.

Stood in front of Blaine, heart pounding, a small squeak escapes him when Blaine suddenly hooks a finger through one of his belt loops and pulls him down into his lap. He bites back a moan when he feels the hard length of Blaine pressing against his ass. Every nerve ending suddenly firing and demanding attention. His body shakes with need.

It should terrify him what he's allowing to happen. He tries to remember he barely knows this guy. But those thoughts are outnumbered by how good he feels. How right this feels. That it doesn't matter that he only met Blaine once before for less than five minutes. Because those few minutes were enough to greatly affect his world.

Those short minutes were enough to awaken something inside him that had been dormant for too long.

"Why does this feel so right?" he muses out loud while running his fingers through Blaine's dark hair.

"I don't know." Blaine strokes a thumb over one of his flushed cheeks. "But it does."

The racing of his heart, the wild fluttering of the butterflies in his stomach all calm when Blaine pulls him down and their mouths brush together. A sharp shock courses through him at the teasing touch. He immediately wants more.

With one of Blaine's hands holding his hip, he moans when Blaine crushes their mouths together. His eyes flutter close and hands clutch at Blaine's shoulders. The kiss creates sharp tingles that race through his body.

Lips part under Blaine's demanding tongue. He groans when Blaine teases their tongues together. When they push and glide against each other.

The hand on his hip moves to grab at his ass. And where he shouldn't want the touch, should shove Blaine's hand away since he barely knows him, Kurt finds himself wanting more. He wants Blaine's hands on him. Wants Blaine to touch every inch of him.

He wants to feel a soft touch where there's only been roughness.

Blaine slips a hand under his shirt and splays it over the heated skin of his lower back. The area grows warmer under Blaine's touch.

The kiss intensifies. Blaine deepens it. A shudder wracking his body when Blaine nips his lower lip and sucks on it before pulling away.

Kurt breathes heavy as he comes down from the high of the best kiss he’s ever had.

"Is it true?" The question spills from his mouth unprompted a few moments later. He never meant to ask it aloud. Would have sufficed continuing to go on in the dark. But the question is out there now, and there's no taking it back.

"Is what true?"

"Were you really in prison?"

Blaine takes a breath. "Yes. Do you know why?"

"I've been told rumors."

"What rumors?"

"Jackie said-"

"Jackie?"

"My friend. You saw her that night at the party."

Blaine seems to mentally go back to that night to recall his friend. "What did this Jackie say?"

"She said you killed someone." Kurt looks away for a few heartbeats before turning his attention back to Blaine. "Is it true?"

"Will you think differently of me if it is?"

"I... I don't know."

A few minutes of loud silence follows. Finally, Blaine softly says, "I didn't kill anyone."

Kurt lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "What did you do?"

"It doesn't matter. I served my time. And I don't regret what I did."

Kurt presses closer to Blaine. No kind of fear surfaces at Blaine's confession. His feelings don’t change. He still wants this man. Is deeply affected by him in a way that has caught him by surprise.

"Let's go swimming."

Down by the small lake, Kurt watches Blaine as he begins to undress.

"You joining me?" Blaine pulls off his shirt.

Kurt stares at Blaine as he stands there shirtless. Stares at hard muscles covered in black ink. Fingers and tongue itching to trace and learn every line of Blaine's muscles and tattoos. He’s intrigued to know every story behind them. To know which ones are the most important to Blaine.

He's been with guys who were fit and had tattoos. But not like this. Not a man who looks every bit the dangerous he is. A guy who could easily wrap his hands around his throat or haul him over his shoulder. A guy who is the true definition of a bad boy, and not the watered down version Jackie called the ones at their school.

"Kurt?"

Kurt shakes his head and lifts his eyes up to Blaine's that hold laughter. "What?"

"Are you going to join me?" Blaine gestures to the water.

After quickly stripping down to just his underwear, Kurt takes Blaine's offered hand and jumps with him into the warm water. He breaks the surface, sputtering water and laughing. Feeling the happiest he's been in a long time.

Blaine pulls him close and kisses him.

His heart flutters and stomach swoops.

They lose time kissing and swimming. Kurt barely notices the passing of time. Minutes feel like seconds. Time somehow ceases to be at one point. It's just the two of them and what feels like forever.

Where he fears his feelings are one-sided, that fear is put to rest when Blaine pulls him close and says he feels it too.

Kurt isn't sure what is happening. But he knows it's something special and magical and a once in a lifetime experience.

Out of the water some time later and lying on the warm, soft grass, they hungrily kiss like it's been days and not minutes since they last did so.

Thighs parted and Blaine lying between his legs, Kurt moans at their nearly naked, wet bodies pressing close together. Heat swirls in his belly as his cock grows hard. Against his hip, he feels Blaine hard as well.

Blaine reaches down and palms at his bulge. "Can I taste you?"

Although something reminds Kurt he barely knows Blaine, that he's still a complete stranger to him, he finds himself nodding his head. Because something else, something that overshadows his other thoughts, is yelling at him how right and perfect this feels.

Blaine pushes up onto his knees and hooks his fingers in the band of his underwear. Kurt lifts his hips to let him pull them off. His hard cock springs free and smacks against his belly. Blaine pulls his underwear and tosses them in the direction where their clothes are.

Lying on the grass naked, the sun warm on his wet skin, Kurt feels beautiful and wanted as Blaine looks at him with a hunger no other guy has ever looked at him with before. He wants to be owned by Blaine. To fall into this wonderful moment forever and forget about the horrible secret he's keeping. A secret that made the decision to come with Blaine easy.

Lips press kisses down his neck and along his shoulder. They brush over the scar on his left shoulder. The one he got when he was eleven. He sees the curious question in Blaine's eyes when he lifts his head.

"Please, don't," he softly begs. He can't let Blaine ask about the scar. Because he'll break and tell him. And he doesn't want him to know. Can't let him know. "Please..." He grabs the back of Blaine's head and pulls him down to kiss him. Against his lips, he softly pleads, "Please, don't question it."

He breathes a sigh of relief when Blaine nods his head and begins trailing kisses down his chest and stomach. Tenses when Blaine brushes his fingers over the scar on his left hip while his lips brush a kiss to the scar just above his belly button. He relaxes when Blaine continues his path down his body and doesn't question it like he begged for.

The first drag of Blaine's tongue along the underside of his cock has him loudly moaning.

Blaine doesn't tease him. He kisses the tip of his cock before taking it into his mouth. Gives a long, hard suck before setting up a steady rhythm.

The sensation is wonderful. Kurt finds himself quickly on the edge. Cries out not long after from a powerful release. He shakes and trembles as Blaine pulls off and kisses him. Is still doing so when he shoves his underwear off and starts to jerk his cock.

He looks down and watches Blaine fist his cock. Watches the leaking, purple head push through the tight fist of his hand.

Blaine drops his head on his shoulder and grunts and groans as he chases his release. "Fuck. I... Can I..."

"Yes," Kurt moans into Blaine's ear, knowing what he wants. "Come on me."

Those three words trigger Blaine's orgasm. His cock jerks as he spills over his fist and onto his chest and stomach. Kurt softly whimpers as Blaine's release covers his skin.

He's never felt more owned and desired.

A laugh escapes him after Blaine collapses on top of him in a breathless, boneless heap with a soft fuck.

As they peacefully lie there in a comfortable silence, the sound of their breathing mixing with the sounds of the world around them, the sun starting to set, Kurt wishes time would stop so he could spend the rest of his life in this perfect moment.

"We should clean up," Blaine says after a while when the cum on their skin begins to dry.

Kurt agrees. Follows Blaine back into the water. Smiles when Blaine pulls him close not long after and claims his mouth in a rough kiss.

They get off together one more time before climbing out of the water. They lie on the grass lazily making out while drying off. Start to get dressed once they are.

The sky is turning dark when Kurt climbs onto Blaine's bike behind him to head home. And the sun is completely gone when Blaine finally pulls up in front of his house.

"Nice house."

"Thanks," Kurt mumbles, hiding his hatred for the place where he lives.

He climbs off the bike.

"I had a great time," Blaine says.

"Me too." It was the best time he's had in an extremely long time.

"Can I see you again?"

Kurt lets out a soft giggle when Blaine pulls him close and grabs at his ass. "Yes."

"When?"

"I'll call you."

"I'll impatiently wait."

Kurt laughs and kisses Blaine bye. And as he stands there and watches him drive away, he's left to wonder if the Blaine he was told about was just Jackie talking shit. Because the guy he got to know today didn't fit the person described to him.

He turns on his heel and walks to the front door of the house he hates. The house that feels more like a prison than a home.

The moment he steps into the house a hand roughly smacks him across the face. Kurt stumbles the slightest but shows no reaction to the hit. Has learned to contain his anger and hurt when struck. To project any kind of emotion, he learned at a young age, will only draw out the punishment.

Head lifted, the left side of his face stinging, and lip burning where it was split open by the ring, he stares at his stepdad. At Caleb Rothstein. The man he regrets his mom meeting and marrying.

The first time Caleb laid a hand on him was when he was seven. He was playing around in the living room and accidentally knocked over a vase. Caleb was beyond pissed and punched him in the stomach so hard he threw up the lunch he ate. He cried until he fell asleep.

Life since then hasn’t been the same.

"Where were you?" Caleb snarls at him. His eyes are hard with anger and rage, both of which he doesn't contain.

"With a friend."

Caleb slaps him again. This time he falls to the floor. "That's bullshit! Jackie called and said you left with that criminal!"

Kurt breathes through the pain radiating on the side of his face. He glares up at his stepdad. Mentally tells himself he only has a few months left before he leaves this place, and this man, for good.

"Tell me the fucking truth!"

Instead of lying and being punished even more for doing so, he decides to just be honest and deal with whatever Caleb does.

"I was with Blaine."

"You son of a-"

Kurt pulls in a gasping breath when Caleb roughly kicks him in his stomach. Tears well in his eyes after Caleb does it several more times. He curls into a ball to protect himself.

"You stay the fuck away from him! I find out you're with him again and I'll make you regret it."

The threat doesn't scare him. Not like it would have when he was younger.

Only after hearing Caleb's retreating footsteps does he slowly push himself up and escape upstairs to the safety of his room. Once there, he locks the door and pushes the dresser in front of it. Knows from experience that Caleb sometimes isn't finished with him and will come into his room and take out whatever anger he has on him.

Later, as he stands in front of his bathroom mirror after a shower, towel around his hips, he eyes the bruising already starting on his stomach. He brushes his fingers over the discolored skin. Hates that he knows the bruise will take at least a week to disappear. Which means there's no point in him going with his friends to the lake tomorrow. The bruising will be worse by then.

As he lifts his eyes to his split lip, barely touches a finger to the broken skin, he touches his other fingers to his lips. A smile turns up his mouth as he thinks about Blaine's mouth on him. How right and amazing it felt. How he wants to feel that again.

He dresses and climbs into bed. Ignores his stomach when it growls. Would rather go to bed hungry than risk going to get something to eat and running into Caleb.

He grabs his phone to text Jackie.

Kurt: Can't go tomorrow. In trouble.

It's total bullshit since Caleb told him nothing about not being able to go with his friends. But there's no way he can go with them and explain his injuries.

Jackie: Why?

Kurt: You know why

Kurt: I'll talk to you later

Kurt shuts off his phone to avoid Jackie's reasoning for telling his stepdad about Blaine. He knows she only meant well. But he wishes she wouldn't have said anything at all. Because now he's holding a pillow to his tender stomach while fearful of what else Caleb might do to him.

As he lies there, though, he thinks of Blaine and how even with Caleb's threats, he won't stop seeing him.

#klaine #klaine fic #klaine fanfiction #Kurt Hummel #Blaine Anderson #hope you like it #shiraz66

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

Every Little Thing.

Part 3!! You can find all the info about why this is such a mess in Part 1 and read Part 2 here! This is the last part sort of. I’m planning on an epilogue of sorts though!

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader, stalker

Word Count: 8681

The next time you open your eyes, the first thing you see is the shadow of an unknown person looming over you. Your instincts are screaming danger and without thinking about it, you start fighting your way out of their hands. They are trying to restrain you, so you fight back harder. You can’t stop hearing the lamp crashing on your head. It’s reminding you over and over of the danger you are in. Your self-defense training kicks in when the person wraps an arm across our chest. Afterwards, you think it should have occurred to you that the person wasn’t really fighting back so much as trying to calm you down, but you’ll blame your poor observational skills on adrenaline. It just all happened so fast.

You form your hands into “large claws” as the instructor called them in class, and swiftly shove them between your body and the arm of the attacker. Gripping the arm, you throw your weight diagonally forward, curling your body in toward your left knee. You end in a one legged kneel, having thrown the person over your shoulder. The thud they made upon hitting the floor was highly satisfying, until you looked down and recognized the face.

Derek Morgan was staring at you from his new found position on the floor, you kneeling over him with a slightly crazed look in your eye. You would start apologizing, but you are so stunned you don’t move until Morgan gets up and guides you back to the couch.

Apparently the team had been trying to reach you or Reid for a while. Neither of you answered, for reasons that were obvious now, so the team rushed over to check on you. Nobody mentions how you just threw Derek over your body as if he were a ragdoll. It doesn’t seem like the time to be joking around.

You tell them everything you can remember, starting with everything you told Spencer about the man you recognized and ending with the sound of the lamp cracking over your head. You’re surprised you didn’t cry through the whole story. Maybe you’re out of tears, physically unable to produce any more because your tear ducts dried up. If Spencer were here he’d tell you some fact about how your tear ducts never really dry out, your body just becomes dehydrated and water is diverted to more essential tasks.

At the thought of Spencer, a few tears do spring to your eyes. “Why would he take him? I was right here! He could’ve just taken me and been done with it. Oh, god. I was right there and I couldn’t stop him. No, no, no no no nonono.” You can feel all the signs of panic setting in, but you don’t have the power to stop them on your own. The team is trying to help you. They are, but you don’t hear them. You’re too worried about what is currently happening to Spencer.

It feels like time has slowed down. It’s like you’re swimming through syrup, desperately trying to stay above the surface, but the liquid is heavy and it’s sticky and it’s pulling you down. You hear what people are saying to you, but the words don’t make sense in your brain. They might as well be talking to a toddler, because all you can do is babble incoherently and point at the pieces of lamp on the ground.

You are relieving the same two scenes over and over. The look on his face when you made eye contact in the park. Then the sound of the lamp hitting your skull in the dark. The look on his face. The sound of the lamp. The look. The sound. His face. The lamp. It’s repeating in a never ending cycle. Your brain is moving so fast, you’re combining the two experiences. Logically, you know it was way too dark to see him holding the lamp, but you can see it clear as day in your head.

He’s walking across the room. He stops to pick up the lamp. He’s got both hands wrapped around it, as if he needed all the force he could possible create. HI lifts it above his head, and crash- wait. He’s holding the lamp like a mic stand. He’s holding the lamp like a mic stand!

“The lamp!” Your exclamation is so loud, Hotch looks as if he could’ve been surprised.

“He hit you with the lamp. We know.” Morgan’s voice is soothing, but your brain is moving through everything too fast to listen. You must look certifiably insane.

“No, the way he held the lamp.” Your brain is moving too fast for the words coming out of your mouth to catch up.

“You said it was too dark to see anything. How do you know how he held the lamp?” JJ looks confused more than anything at your behavior.

“I don’t. I mean, I do. I don’t know.” You’re being pulled back to the couch again. It’s as if the syrup has you in a bubble. You’re moving at a different frequency than the rest of them. You’re in a daze, not speaking as clearly as you are thinking.

“Y/N.” Hotch says your name with such a commanding presence, you’re focus is returned to the team. They’re staring at you with various expressions. Rossi looks so concerned you can’t help but think of the song you started for him. He really is the parental type. The rest of the team wear expressions that perfectly balance confusion, concern, and worry. Except for Hotch. He looks as stoic as ever, but there is a glint in his eye that seems to indicate he’s worried. “What about the lamp?”

“You’re right. I didn’t see the lamp in his hands. It was too dark.” This clears the confusion, but the concern and worry haven’t left their faces. “I can picture it though. And in my head, he was holding the lamp like I would hold a mic stand if I was trying to adjust the height.” You mime the grip in front of you. “That’s a weird fucking way to hold a lamp. So, why would I picture that?” They give you sympathetic looks, but nobody has an answer for you.

You’ve risen from the couch to pace back and forth across the room. The team starts speculating where the unsub would’ve taken Spencer, but you’re not listening. You are so sure there’s a reason you picture the lamp like that. You aren’t paying attention to them, and they aren’t paying attention to you. At least, that’s what you thought. You’re practically muttering to yourself when you figure it out. “I’ve seen him adjust a mic stand.” Hotch must have ears like an elephant because his head instantly swivels in your direction. You make the briefest of eye contact, a small smile forming on your face as you dart back toward the team.

“You’ve seen him before yesterday?” Hotch asks, cutting off the conversation currently going on between the agents. The group turns toward you, just realizing you’re no longer walking in circles talking to yourself.

“Yes. Yes, I’ve seen him adjust a mic stand. That must be why I pictured it like that in my head. The lamp I mean.” Hotch gives you a gentle nudge, encouraging you to reach a conclusion. “He works on the crew. His first show was the Louisville show.” Morgan already has Garcia on the phone, narrowing down the names for newer hires only.

“That’s still 42 names.” You can hear her nerves through the phone, and you’ve only met her once.

“Right, we hire a lot of new people for the US leg of the tour. It’s usually the biggest part.” You try to remember anything else about this man, wishing you had Spencer’s memory.

“Y/N, what else can you remember about him?” JJ’s words are gentle, but the look in her eyes is anything but. It is her best friend that’s missing.

“I don’t know. He’s never talked to me. I tried to introduce myself once and he just awkwardly ran away. The other crew guys he was working with, though they said something though.” You start tapping the side of your head, trying to recall the memory from nearly a month ago. “They said he’s been like that since he started. A little shy, I mean. They thought he was star struck.” You know they said something else, but it feels like you’re trying to catch individual grains of sand. You can just barely see them before they land in the water, fading away. “His name! One of them said his name. Jake or John or something with a J.”

“Three names.” The hope was evident in the way Garcia said the two simple words.

“What are they? I know they said his last name too, it’s just harder to remember because I didn’t talk to him personally.”

“Jacob Hawthorne-“

“No, it’s not him. He works in lighting, great guy. Cute kids.”

“Jordan Crawford”

“No, he’s a set designer. I talk to him all the time about switching things up between shows.”

“Last one, Joshua Gr-“

“Graves! Josh Graves That’s the name. That’s him!”

“Y/N, stay here. Agent Anderson will make sure you’re safe.” You can still hear his commanding voice as he leaves the room with the rest of the team. “Garcia, look for addresses where he-” The door swings shut, cutting you off from the rest of the information.

You gave Agent Anderson a small wave, asking if he wanted coffee or tea. You were still trying to be a good host, even if the room was a crime scene.

Crime scene. Suddenly, the idea of staying in this room any longer made you feel physically ill. You threw on a pair of sweatpants and a baseball hat, grabbing your keys as you headed for the door. Before Agent Anderson, or Grant as he introduced himself, could speak a word of protest, you had the door open.

“I can’t be in that room anymore. We can go wherever you want, I just can’t stay there.” He nodded in understanding, but still looked nervous at the idea of ignoring Hotch’s order to stay put.

The elevator doors opened to a mostly deserted lobby. You instantly walk over to the small café tucked into the corner. The barista recognizes you immediately, reaching for a bag as if you had already ordered.

“Ms. L/N, a man ordered this for you earlier. He said to give it to you as soon possible, but I didn’t want to wake you up since it’s still so early.” She has a sweet smile on her face, one you try to return but fail miserably.

“Thank you.” You’re far too stressed to worry about who ordered you a pastry before 5:45 in the morning on a day you were definitely not planning on being up this early. Agent Anderson, though? He was suspicious.

As you sat down in the arm chairs just outside of the shop, he politely asked for the bag.

“Why?” You said it with genuine confusion, but apparently he wasn’t actually asking. He had the bag open and the contents dumped onto the table in a matter of seconds. A blueberry muffin, you’re favorite, and a napkin topple onto the surface of the table in front of you.

“Are FBI agents trained to waste perfectly good muffins?” It’s hard to hide the slight mirth in your voice as you stare at the muffin that rolled of the table and onto the floor. Grant must not have heard you, or maybe he just chose to ignore you. He was still looking at the napkin. He took a picture on his phone before finally returning his attention to you. Of course, now your attention was trained on the napkin. It was your turn to move quickly, sliding it over to you and holding it out to prevent him from taking it back. The message on it was written in sloppy, rushed handwriting, but it was still legible.

“You belong with me. Not him.”

“His story is bound to have dust on every page when I’m done with him.”

“The slope was treacherous, the path reckless.”

“Do you think there’s enough blank space for him?”

You aren’t proud of the first thought that popped into your head. It was true, but you still would’ve liked to think your first thought would somehow tell you where Spencer was. Or at least be about Spencer, but no.

So rude of him to use my own lyrics for this.

You moved passed it quickly though, ignoring the fear you felt at seeing an unreleased lyric in front of you. There must be some sort of clue in the note. Why would he leave it for me if he doesn’t want me to find him? Grant managed to snatch the napkin out of your hand, but you had already read it. The damage was done.

“Y/N. You cannot leave this hotel. The team will find him. They know what they’re doing.” His words were a warning. One you intended to ignore.

“Fine. I’m going to get another muffin.” You tried to sound normal, but that’s probably what gave you away. Nobody would sound normal in this scenario. It didn’t matter if he figured out your plan though. You had a distraction for him. You waved at the barista as you walked into the shop.

“Hi, can I get another muffin? Accidentally dropped mine, whoops!” You smiled at her in a conspiratorial kind of way before leaning closer. “By the way, my friend over there” you nodded toward the agent who hadn’t taken his eyes off you as you walked away, “he thinks you’re cute. You should go talk to him!” Before you knew it, she was out from behind the counter, waving to her colleague to get you a muffin. She stood right in front of Grant, twirling her hair, but more importantly blocking his view of you.

You didn’t wait for the muffin. You slipped out the side door that lead straight to the main street, repeating the clues in your head. Dust. Treacherous. Blank Space.

Somewhere dirty, dangerous, and empty?

Ideas are flying through your head, but they don’t make any sense. The clues aren’t specific enough to tell you everything. It has to be somewhere you’ve been. Realization hits you as if a piano just fell out of the sky.

The arena. There was a staircase and some back rooms that were closed for construction. Dust, check. Unsafe conditions, check. Empty rooms, check. That has to be it.

You hail a cab, texting Hotch once you are on route to your destination. You know he’s going to tell you to stay put, but you want to make sure he knows where to go.

“The arena. They were doing construction.” You put your phone on airplane mode before returning it to your bag.

You expect to arrive at the arena to see it surrounded by black SUVs and police cars, but everything is eerily quiet. You must have beaten them there somehow. You pay your driver before walking up to the main doors. It seems like the best plan of action is to get inside and then find the construction zone. Weirdly enough, the front door is unlocked.

The sound of your shoes hitting the floor echoes in your mind as you wander through the building. It should be a fairly straightforward path, but you’re all turned around. Everything feels different. It’s no longer the nervous butterflies you get right before you perform. The syrup is coming back, only this time it’s pulling you in every direction except for the one you want to go in. You’re fighting your own sense of self preservation. Your brain is screaming at you to leave. You aren’t trained for this. You’re barely trained for anything that doesn’t involve music. But there is a part of you that still feels like this is all your fault. Maybe if you had just talked to him that day things would be different. You could’ve prevented all of this. Maybe…

The sound of Spencer’s voice pulls you forward. He sounds like he’s in pain, but the words are powerful.

“She’s not going to come. Even if she does get the note, there is no way the FBI would let her anywhere near the building.”

More guilt overwhelms you. It’s as if, all at once, the extreme stupidity of your actions hits you. You are putting Spencer’s life at risk. Hell, you are endangering the lives of any agent who has to walk into this building to protect you. You don’t know what will happen to Grant. You left him behind when all he was trying to do was protect you. You made it so he couldn’t do his job properly.

Your body leans into the nearest wall with a soft thud. You barely heard it, but it was apparently loud enough for Joshua.

“Someone’s hear.” His voice sounds playful, as if he’s really enjoying this. “Let’s hope for your sake it’s her.” You’re frozen in place as the footsteps grow closer and closer. You can’t hide. You can’t run. You can’t do anything except wait for him to walk around the corner and see you standing there.

Seeing him again isn’t like you thought it would be. You thought you’d be angered. Mostly, you’re just tired. Multiple panic attacks in one day could do that to a person. You also probably had a concussion that was influencing how you processed the emotional side of everything going on.

Seeing Spencer was different than expected as well. There was no huge wave of relief at discovering he was relatively unhurt. You felt relief, but it was like a tiny puddle surrounded by an ocean of guilt and sadness. There was mostly guilt, and no matter what anyone said before it felt different now. He was only in this position because of you. If he had not have been the one to go undercover, he wouldn’t have been targeted. And, it was your brilliant idea that landed him undercover in the first place.

He looked so panicked at the sight of you. A flurry of emotions ran across his face before settling back into a carefully controlled blank stare.

You wanted to run to him, but you couldn’t move. Yes, Josh was holding your arm in a grip sure to leave bruises, but your legs also felt like jelly. You kept thinking over and over that you shouldn’t have come. That you are only making everything worse. That everyone else’s jobs are so much harder now that you’ve put yourself here. Spencer must see it written on your face because the first thing he says after you enter the room is “It’s not your fault.”

Hearing it from him, you’re almost inclined to believe it. All you can do is nod, tears springing to your eyes.

Josh isn’t pleased with you sharing any sort of a moment with Spencer. He somehow tightens his hold on your arm, drawing a slight yelp from you. You try to remember what Hotch told you that first night. It feels like it happened months ago, but maybe you can talk your way out of this by remembering something useful. Or at least talk Spencer’s way out of it. You’ve been listening to him talk about profiling for the past week, time to put your skills to the test.

“I’m here now. You can let him go.” You don’t know who is more shocked at your words. Yourself, Josh, or Spencer. You’ve never seen Spencer speechless, but apparently you trying to talk down a psychopath who is obsessed with you and rapidly devolving is enough to manage the feat.

Josh pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants. He throws you into the wall before angrily pacing through the room.

“Josh, look at me.” It takes everything in you to pretend like this is a script. As if you are playing a role in a movie. “You have me. We can be together, but you have to let Spencer go.” He’s staring right into your eyes, trying to read your thoughts.

“You’re lying. He has to die, or he’ll always come between us.” He slowly raises the gun, not quite pointing it at any one, but enough to cause your heart rate to soar.

“Josh, think about it. I’ve known you for so much longer than I’ve known him.” You nearly choke on the next words that come out of your mouth. “He’s not important to me. Not like you.”

“STOP LYING TO ME. I KNOW WHAT I SAW.” Oh no. No no no. He’s frantically waving the gun around the room as you inch closer to Spencer. You notice movement near the door you came in, but you don’t have time to investigate. When Josh aims his gun at Spencer, you don’t think before you act- a recurring theme with you today. With all the grace of a newborn deer learning to walk for the first time, you jump in front of Spencer right as the gun goes off.

You’re not sure if it’s an echo but you would’ve sworn you heard two resounding bangs instead of just one.

Spencer catches you as you fall to the ground, bleeding from the bullet wound in your abdomen.

“Spence,” you take a shuttering breath, trying to gain the strength to talk to him.

“Shh, Y/N. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” He turns to yell at someone out of your view. “I need a medic! Now!” He sounds just as panicked as he looked earlier.

“I’m sorry.” You squeeze his hand when he tries to interrupt you again. “I’m sorry, for coming, but not for sav-saving you. The world- it needs you to pr-pro-protect people. Th-thank you. For every,” you couch a bit as you try to get the words out. “For everything.” You know he is remembering your heartfelt speech to him and Morgan from a few days ago, or at least you hope he is. The last thing you say before your vision fades to black feels so random in comparison. “Don’t blame Grant.”

“Spence,” your breathing is choppy and rough, contrasting the smooth skin beneath his fingertips as he assesses your wound.

“Shh. Y/N. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” His thoughts are running wild with everything he wants to say to you, but he can’t get anything meaningful to come out. Instead he’s yelling for a medic, frantically looking at all the faces of his closest friends. “I need a medic! Now!” He can hear the panic in his voice, but no amount of training or profiling knowledge can get him to control his emotions.

“I’m sorry.” He tries to interrupt you. To tell you it’s not your fault. That you did everything right. That Josh’s profile said he wouldn’t back down without a fight. Anything, but you squeeze his hand and he can’t breathe, let alone speak. “For coming, but not for sav-saving you. The world- it needs you to pr-pro-protect people. Th-thank you. For every,” he leans in closer, wishing he could do anything to stop your pain. “For everything.” He can’t help but replay your previous conversation with Morgan. Tears are falling down his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Don’t blame Grant.” It takes him the entire ride to the hospital to understand why you mentioned Anderson. Even with your brain shutting down from a lack of blood flow, you were still trying to make sure nobody was blamed for your actions.

He barely listens to the EMTs and the hospital staff as he watches them wheel you back through the all too familiar ‘Authorized Personnel Only” doors.

Spencer doesn’t bother to hide his emotions when the rest of the team arrive. He doesn’t have the energy in him to muster enough energy to hide how he’s feeling from the group of profilers. They all come to the same realization simultaneously. Spencer is a wreck. There’s no other way to describe it. He spent hours in the waiting room before anyone could even convince him to wash your blood off his hands.

He just keeps thinking about how he didn’t get to say goodbye. Hell, he didn’t really say anything. You were bleeding out in front of him, having just jumped in front of a bullet to save him, and still you had more strength than he did in the moment.

Another few hours later and he still hasn’t said a word. JJ’s tried. Derek’s tried. Hotch, Penelope, and Emily tried. Nobody can get through to him. He’s either pacing back and forth or staring at a wall. Of course, his mind is racing, the words just don’t come out of his mouth.

He thinks about how much he hates hospitals. He goes over how germ-ridden every surface is, how much money is spent on healthcare in America, how many people are pronounced dead in hospitals- and then he cuts his own train of thought off.

He thinks about the statistics of gunshot wounds next. He’s hyper focused on how clean shots with an exit wound are less lethal, but yours didn’t have and exit wound so that meant you were less likely to survive- and again he cuts himself off.

He’s begging his brain for happier thoughts. Anything that won’t lead him down the rabbit hole of statistics and how likely you are to die. He clings to the first memory that pops into his head. The night he first saw you.

Hotch, Emily, and Spencer arrived at the arena while the show was still going, if the fireworks were any clue. Normally, one flash of a badge would get the team through any checkpoint, but security at this place was no joke. They called to confirm the identities of the agents before escorting them to the head of security.

That’s when Spencer saw you for the first time. Hotch was arguing with the head of security, a woman named Carrie. Emily was interjecting, trying to convey how important it was that the three agents speak to you immediately without giving away any details about the case. Spencer, if not for his eidetic memory, would have no idea what had been said. His attention was drawn elsewhere when you ran off the stage.

He knew it was the last song of the night because of what Carrie was saying. It was clear to them she was stalling the team, so you could finish the show everyone was there to see.

You had a bright smile on your face, but it seemed off to Spencer. There was a slight sadness in your eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to ask you why. The feeling perplexed him. He’s never been a social butterfly, but your presence was captivating.

He watched your smile transform into genuine happiness when you slid your arms into a new jacket for the final performance, and he wanted to ask about that to. He wanted to learn everything he could about you.

He would’ve thought his heart had skipped a beat when you made eye contact, but he knew logically he would’ve required medical attention had that actually happened. The moment was brief. Your expression, although still happy, transformed into slightly quizzical when you glanced at the three agents. He watched as you thought about who they could be before discarding all thoughts from your mind to focus on the grand finale. He kept watching as you ran back on stage, the smile only growing in size and authenticity when you looked out at the crowd.

He replays that memory in his mind, all the while ignoring the concerned glances and attempts at conversation from his friends. He desperately clings to the way he felt during that 30 second interaction.

He doesn’t understand the feelings that started in that moment. It’s like as soon as he saw you, something in him shifted. He can’t explain it. He’s not blind. He saw the smirks and subtle glances the other profilers were giving when they saw him interact with you. He was just as surprised by his willingness to comfort you, both emotionally and physically. He’s never been one for touching people he doesn’t know. There’s too many germs. But with you, everything is different... With you, he wants it all. Every little thing.

Spencer has never believed in love at first sight. He’s always been too practical, has always thought too logically. But, after the tenth time reliving that moment, he still has no other explanation for the desire he felt. The desire he still feels to learn everything there is to know about you.

All week, he’s chalked it up to his inquisitive mind. He’s always loved learning, so that must have been what was happening here. He’s never spent any considerable amount of time with a musician before, so it’s only natural that he would want to learn from the experience.

That’s a much easier explanation to accept than love. People can’t fall in love in a week. Even if it was a week spent nonstop with each other. But something in the back of his mind was screaming at Spencer to tell himself the truth.

And so he did. And it only confused him more. He’s a man of science. Proving theories with facts, not emotion. Of course, he’s always wanted to be in love, but life has shown him again and again that it wasn’t probable for him. That’s why he nearly fell out of the chair he was in when the realization dawned on him.

“I haven’t had enough time.” It’s barely a whisper, but all his friends are right there hanging on his every word. They wear cautious expressions, as if he could be easily spooked back into silence.

“Enough time for what, kid?” Morgan’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. Even in his most calming moments, Derek always puts power behind his words. It’s why he’s so good at helping people, but this is different. He can tell Spencer is hurting, and he doesn’t want to spook him back into complete silence.

“I’ve barely scratched the surface. I have so much left to learn.” Although he’s still whispering, Spencer’s voice is growing more frantic as he looks between the concerned and confused faces staring back at him. His brain is moving too fast to really explain the thought process going on inside. He can’t put into words how it wasn’t love at first sight, but rather the desire to love you. He saw you and just knew he could love you. That desire to learn everything about you somehow turned into love in the span of a week. Before he can fall even deeper into the rabbit hole he’s found himself in, Spencer is jolted out of his head by the feeling of Rossi’s hands gripping his shoulders.

“I know, kid. You’ll have more time.” Rossi’s words are so confident, Spencer has no choice but to accept them as fact. His heart slows back down to a normal pace. His breathing becomes more regular. His legs stop bouncing. His hands stop fidgeting. And he accepts the comforting words from his family.

You’re running. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how you got here. But you know you’re running.

You feel at ease. You don’t know why. You know it to be true though. You feel safe. Peaceful.

You try to look around. Try to figure out why you’re running. Are you running toward something? Away from something? For fun? It feels fun.

You hear voices. It sounds like laughter. Slowly, you put the pieces together.

You’re in your backyard. Playing with your children. Yours and Spencer’s children. There’s three of them. All girls. The youngest is 4. The other two 6. Twins. You have twins with Spencer. You bask in the joy of it all.

You’re running because you’re playing tag. With your daughters and Spencer. He’s got the all teamed up against you. It feels unfair, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

There’s a song playing in your head. One you’ve never heard before. It’s beautiful though. So happy. You’ll have to write it down. Find out if you’ve written it in the moment or if you are simply remembering it from long ago.

You still can’t remember how you got here. All you remember is dark. And cold.

Dark and cold. Dark. Cold. A gunshot.

The memory is foggy, but it’s there. The scene in front of you changes. The song is still playing. Its positivity doesn’t match the scene.

It’s like you’re watching a movie. Spencer is holding you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You want to go back.

Back to your kids.

Back to being happy with Spencer.

Back to running. Playing. Being in love.

Then you hear beeping. It’s quiet at first. Drowned out by the song in your head.

Then the song is getting quieter. The beeping getting louder.

Then the song is gone. You can only hear the beeping.

You remember everything when you open your eyes. It comes back to you like a wave crashing over your head, dragging you back into the ocean.

Instead of focusing on the trauma, you focus on the song.

It only takes 30 seconds for you to find your phone on the table next to your bed, open it to the voice memos app, and start recording.

You sing as much of the song as you can remember. It’s not hard since the feelings behind it are so strong. The first verse comes from the forth night you spent with Spencer. You couldn’t sleep so you convinced him to get coffee with you. It didn’t take much convincing for the coffee part since he’s pretty much addicted to the stuff. It took some convincing for him to agree to where you wanted to go though. You wanted to go back to his favorite coffee shop, but he said you could just get some in the hotel. You managed to convince him to go though. He insisted on driving since he now knew you didn’t like it much. The gesture did not go unnoticed. You knew he didn’t like driving either.

The chorus, second verse, bridge, and breakdown are jumbled, but they’re all there. It’s harder to get it right because it’s not coming from memories of you time with Spencer. It’s coming from what you hope to do with him. After a few tries, you’ve got the whole thing in order.

You lay back in your bed, the song replaying in your mind as you fall back asleep.

5 hours and 42 minutes. It’s been 5 hours and 42 minutes since you were wheeled into surgery. Every member of the team has gone up to ask about your condition at least once.

The nurse they’ve been bombarding with questions walks into the room and immediately all eyes are on her.

She escorts the team out of the waiting area into a private room before she says anything. “Since Ms. L/N is a high profile patient, we have a certain protocol to follow. All I can tell you right now is that she’s out of surgery, and she’s stable. Her security team is on the way and will need to approve any and all visitors. Once approved, her doctor can give you more information.” And then she leaves before any questions can be thrown at her.

Everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief when they hear that you’re stable. That relief is replaced by frustration when they realize they have to wait to see you. Especially for Spencer. If he could walk more than two steps in this tiny room, he’d be pacing it. Once he starts rambling, not a single team member dare to interrupt him.

It must have been 25 minutes of fidgeting, mumbling, and checking their watches before Carrie walked into the room, interrupting Spencer’s rant.

“I don’t see why our badges aren’t enough proof that we can- Carrie. Finally, can we go see her now?” Based on the look in Spencer’s eyes, anything other than an affirmative answer would not end well.

“Spencer, of course. I just had to confirm your identity in person. It’s standard procedure when she’s in the hospital. For safety reasons. The doctor should be coming in any minute and she can take us to her room.” As if on cue, the doctor walked in.

“Hello everyone, sorry to keep you waiting. Ms. L/N’s surgery went very well. The bullet was removed and all the internal bleeding was stopped before it got too bad. As you know, we’ve got her in a private room. She can have visitors, but limit it to one or two people at a time. Do you have any questions?”

Spencer knows somewhere in his mind that he should ask the doctor everything about your condition, but he can barely keep it together enough to shake his head no. He doesn’t trust himself with words right now.

“Alright, follow me to her room.” A parade of agents, along with Carrie, follow the doctor down twisting hallways to the private wing. “Now, remember one or two at a time. Last I checked, she was still asleep.” Spencer’s gaze drifts from the doctor to look at you through the window. At first glance, he would’ve sworn your eyes were open, but when he looked back again they were closed.

“Once I go in there, I’m not coming back out until she’s awake.” He turned to the rest of the group.

“Spence, it’s okay. You go in. Let us know when she’s awake.” JJ gave him a reassuring hug before her and the rest of the team wandered back to the waiting room.

Spencer and Carrie walked in slowly, as if any sudden movement could hurt you. For the first time in his life, Spencer’s mind was completely empty.

There were no statistics. No miscellaneous facts. Nothing.

He looked at you, asleep in a hospital bed after you saved his life, and he allowed himself to just feel.

It took a strange amount of concentration for him to only feel. His brain wants to butt in with statistics about the surgery or to count your breathing so he will notice any change in the pattern. But, he blocks it out. For you.

He sits down in the chair beside your bed, grabs your hand in his, lays his head on the side of your bed, and feels everything.

He feels all the love he’s been denying for the past week. He feels all the relief of knowing you are okay. He feels all the pain of watching you slip away from him. He feels everything he’s ever blocked out with numbers and statistics. And it’s exhausting. To feel so much at once.

Without thinking about it, he feels his eyes grow heavier with each added emotion.

Love.

Relief.

Pain.

Sadness.

Greif.

Anger.

Fear.

Gratitude.

Happiness.

Just the prospect of being happy is heavy enough that Spencer falls asleep.

The first thing he notices is that he’s running. He’s chasing someone. But not like he normally has to. No. There’s no unsub. Nobody is in danger. He’s playing a game. With children. His children. His and Y/N’s children. He has three daughters. The twins are older, around 6. The youngest is 4. They are helping him chase their mom. His wife. He’s built quite a future for himself in his head. He listens to the sounds of laughter, memorizing each individual’s laugh.

He feels something squeeze his hand and he’s awake. Groggy, but awake. He wants to go back to the dream. To remember what pure happiness feels like.

Then he remembers where he is. And why he’s there. The grogginess is gone. He’s alert in an instant. He’s looking at you, but you aren’t focused. You’re mumbling under your breath, looking for something in the sheets with your one free hand.

“My phone. Where’s my phone? Was it real? Did I dream it?” You seem so flustered, and he can’t fathom why your phone could be so important, but he finds it for you nonetheless.

“Thank you!” He watches as you rapidly open your phone, intently staring at the screen as if it might disappear.

“What are you-” Before he can finish the thought, a voice- no, your voice is playing from your phone.

“It was real…” You are clearly in a daze, but the happiness in your voice is contagious. Suddenly Spencer is smiling, pulling you closer to him as the lyrics to your song play in the background. He peppers soft kisses over any piece of skin he can reach. Your giggles fill him with even more love. Even more happiness.

When the two of you finally separate, he asks the first question he can think of. “When did you write this?”

You think back to your dream. The love. The joy. The pure happiness. You feel Spencer brushing the tears off your cheeks before you even realized you were crying. “It came to me in a dream. I… I guess I woke up earlier and I wanted to remember it. The dream. The song. It was all so beautiful. So happy. You were there. And then when I woke up I just recorded everything I could remember.”

Spencer is looking at you with such adoration that you almost feel shy. You want more than anything for that dream to be a reality. Not right away obviously, but in the future for sure.

“It’s beautiful.” His words are soft and low.

“It’s about you.” If you weren’t in a hospital bed, you might be inclined to think you were still in a dream. “About us.”

“I love it. I love you.” Spencer whispers the words into your skin. Almost like it was involuntary, it slipped out like a breath.

“I love you too.” He kisses you again, before the sound of the door opening breaks you two apart.

Carrie rushes in when she sees you’re awake, not realizing the moment that had just occurred.

“Oh, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re okay!” She squeezes you lightly in a one armed hug, the other hand carrying a tray of coffees and a paper bag. “I brought coffee for Spencer and a scone for you!”

“Well, I hope you poured a mountain of sugar into it. He likes it sweet.” You turn to smile at the man only to find him already looking at you.

“Only as sweet as you.” You laugh at the cheesiness of the moment, but you blush anyway, squeezing his hand. “Thank you, Carrie, for the coffee. I should go let the team know you’re awake.” He kisses your forehead before he walks out of the room.

“Oh honey, you have a lot to fill me in on.” Carrie is looking at you with the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen. She has been your head of security for 4 years, and the two of you have become close friends through all the crazy experiences. Although, nothing as crazy as this.

“What do you mean? I told you I thought he was cute…” You really have no hope of hiding this from her, but you can mess with her a little bit.

“Yeah, but kissing you on the forehead? Calling you sweet in the corniest of ways? What’s going on? Tell me!!” You could leave her hanging, but you are really feeling the need to gush.

“I wrote him a song. In my dream. I think it conveys everything pretty clearly.” You play the song for her, again remembering how you felt in the dream. When it’s over you’re nearly in tears again.

“It’s stunning. Just so beautiful. I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you so happy.” You can tell she’s nervous about something, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what.

“Carrie, don’t worry about me. I really think he’s the one. I’ve never felt this strongly, especially so fast. And I know what you’re thinking, fast might not be good, but we’ve spent so much time together. I mean, think about it. How long does the average date last? 2, 3 hours? At that rate, we’ve already been on roughly 37 dates! And that’s if you don’t count the hours we spent sleeping, which we also did together!”

Carrie snorts at that. “Yeah, sleeping.”

“No, I mean actually sleeping.” You try to stress the point. “He kissed me once, but the rest of the time was spent getting to know each other, writing songs, him working on the case, and sleeping. Eyes closed, pajamas on, sleeping.”

Her eyes soften, the smile on her face widening before she responds. “Okay. I won’t worry… too much.” You’re just about to tell her about the dream when the door opens again.

Penelope comes storming into the room with flowers and a teddy bear, whisper shouting about how happy she is that you’re okay. Just before you turn to give her your full attention, you can see Derek and Spencer talking in the hall.

“Come on Pretty Boy, what’s going on there?” Derek’s wearing his usual smirk for whenever Spencer’s love life is concerned.

“What do you mean?” Try as he might, Hell would have to freeze over for Derek to stop this line of questioning.

“I mean, I see how you look at her. Hell, we all watched you fall apart in the waiting room. What’s the deal? C’mon man, fill me in!” Spencer doesn’t know how to describe it. He doesn’t know how to convert the emotions he’s recently accepted into words, so he tries something else.

“She wrote me a song.” Spencer’s words are wistful. He’s transported himself back into dreamland. Back to the kids and the games. Back to happiness.

“Kid, it’s more than that. She wrote all of us songs.” Derek’s words cause the dream to sleep away yet again. .

“No, well yes. Although technically we wrote that song about me together. I mean, she wrote me an entire song. In a dream.” This time, Derek replies too quickly for him to slip back into the dream.

“Reid. You’re not making sense. You dreamt that she wrote you a song?” Derek’s words are comforting, like he’s trying to figure out the best way to help Spencer convey his emotions without pushing him too far.

“No. She said after her surgery, she had a dream. About me. About… us. The song was playing in the background.” Derek nods, finally understanding his friend.

“Okay, so what was the song about?” Again, his words are soft.

“Us. The time we’ve spent together and the time she wants us to spend together in the future.” It’s taken Derek this long into the conversation to realize why Spencer seems so out of it. He’s happy. He’s not faking it. He’s not hiding behind statistics. He’s just happy. Plain and simple.

“And that’s what you want to?” He can’t help but smile, really truly smile, at the pure look of adoration that Spencer wears when he looks through the window at you.

“More than anything.” Derek pulls him into a hug. Normally, hugs like this are typically reserved for when they just saved each other or after a particularly bad case. This case, although involving Spencer’s kidnapping and a trip to the hospital, had a rather positive outcome.

“Good. You deserve it man.”

A few days later and you are itching to leave the hospital. You’ve been working to reschedule your tour dates so you can fully recover before performing again, but even with that it’s incredibly boring to be stuck in the hospital for so long.

“Good news. You can leave the hospital tomorrow!” Spencer walks in, followed by the rest of the BAU team. They’ve been taking turns visiting you, something you suspect Spencer asked them to do, but you don’t really mind. You’ve actually become good friends with most of them.

“Yay!” Before too much celebration can occur, you’re passing out USBs to each team member. “I’m glad you’re all hear. I managed to record some preliminary versions of your songs! Listen to them whenever you’d like, or don’t that’s cool too. Either way, I’ll make sure to get you the properly recorded versions when I get a chance to go into the studio. I included some thoughts about other inspirationsas well, so don’t feel bad if there is a lyric that doesn’t really match you.” The majority of the team give you thanks and endless praise before Hotch clears his throat.

“Our songs? Did I miss something?” You chuckle at that. The man clearly doesn’t miss anything ever.

“Nobody told you? The first day I met you all, Pen asked me to write a song inspired by her. Trust me, it wasn’t hard. She’s a fountain of inspiration. Then when I was waiting for Spence to get back so we could go to the hotel, I came up with one or two for everyone!” You can’t tell if Hotch is more or less concerned now than when he was out of the loop.

“So I have a song? What is it?” The rest of the team can’t hide their smirks. It’s clear they never get to see their boss act this nervous.

“Well, it’s on the CD!” He groans at the idea of waiting when everyone else already knows. “But, since everyone else got a sneak peak, I’ll give you one too. Wasn’t it beautiful running wild till you fell asleep? Before the monster’s caught up to you… It’s okay, just wait and see. Your string of lights is still bright to me. Oh, who you are is not where you’ve been. You’re still an innocent.” You give everyone a minute to think about the lyrics before the silence is too much for you to take.

“I’m sorry if that’s weird! It’s just, the first time I saw you, and there was this look in your eyes. In all of your eyes, but yours the most.” You are looking straight at Hotch. “Like you’ve been through some really terrible things, and maybe you had to do some things that can be hard to deal with. But, that doesn’t make you a bad person or anything, ya know? That’s where the inspiration came from…” You can’t tell if your rambling helped or not. The profilers are so hard to read. Pen is subtly crying near the side of your bed, so you pull her in for a hug. Before you know it, the rest of the team is joining in.

“It’s not weird at all. You are pretty good at reading people, ever consider becoming a profiler?” Hotch is clearly trying to lighten the mood, but his expression conveys how much he appreciates the song.

“I think this will be my first and last case. Clearly I’m not that great at talking down the bad guy.” You shudder to think of putting yourself in that position again.

“From what I heard, you did a pretty decent job. The ending was exactly what we expected unfortunately. Plus, you can definitely hold your own. I heard you flipped Morgan over your shoulder like a ragdoll.” Rossi’s comment earns laughs from the entire group.

“Please, I just caught him off guard. Although, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face afterwards.” Again, the groups laughs. “I just wanted to thank you all. For protecting me, but also for visiting me so much. You really know how to see the positive side of things.”

“Anyone willing to jump in front of a bullet for Spencer is definitely a friend of ours.” JJ chimes in.

You can’t help but truly smile at the team. It seems you’ve found yourself another family, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

tag list:

@mac99martin , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @spencerhotchner , @girloncorneliastreet , @itsametaphorbriansblog , @moonshinerbynight , @meowiemari , @justanotherfangirl , @im-so-wonderstruck , @eevee0722 , @raining13lemonade @dilaudidwinchester , @silverdagger69 , @thatsonezesty13 , @ladyravenclaw , @uwucorpse , @dark-night-sky-99 , @thechloethings , @http-cherries , @emilouu

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

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winterscaptain · 4 years

Text

nightmare, recalled

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: the hearing. next part up is the slave of duty. we are reaching the end of this arc, and we will do some healing, i promise. thank you all for waiting on this part! it’s a little short breather before we get slave of duty tomorrow night.

words: 2k warnings: discussion of violence, language

summary: “when someone you loved was depending on your lie, it was perfectly easy.” - liane moriarty, big little lies

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

You arrive at the office in the early morning, not looking half as exhausted as you feel. It was your own fault - you begged and begged to be the first in the back-to-back team testimonies today. If you were first, you reasoned, you never once had to leave Jack once he and Aaron arrived.

Jess is taking care of the final arrangements today - handling the catering for the wake with her parents, sourcing roses, all of the wretched little tasks you’d much rather take on yourself - for the funeral this weekend.

But alas, Strauss needs to continue her warpath on Aaron, and you need to defend him.

You sit outside of the eighth-floor conference room, just down the hall from Erin’s office. You have tissues tucked in your hand, not trusting her to provide them and saving your pride in the process. You keep your eyes down as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her.

As you expected, about three minutes later, she pops her head out. “We’re ready for you.”

Inside the room is one of the deputy directors, in addition to a lackey from the inspector general’s office.

Gang’s all here...

You take your seat opposite Erin, keeping your hands in your lap.

“Please state your name and rank for the record.”

You do, clear and steady.

“How long have you worked in the BAU?”

“I was assigned to the BAU as a New Agent Trainee in the summer of 2007, and was assigned to the unit as an agent at the end of that year.”

“So, two years?”

“Just about, ma’am.”

The other people in the room start taking notes, but Erin keeps her eyes on you. It’s unsettling.

“How was it that you were assigned to the BAU as a NAT?” There’s something hidden in her question, so you answer somewhat comprehensively.

“I requested a unit assignment based on a recommendation from Jennifer Shepard, the late director of NCIS. I was intrigued by the guest lecture given by Agents Hotchner and Gideon and requested the BAU.”

“Who approved your transfer into the unit?”

Your brow crinkles. “I’m not sure of the specifics ma’am, but the SSAIC informed me that she’d spoken to Agent Hotchner prior to my assignment.”

“Do you feel indebted to Agent Hotchner?”

Ah. There it is.

“No, ma’am.”

She narrows her eyes. “How can that be? He was directly responsible for a massive acceleration of your career within the bureau.”

“All due respect, ma’am, I believe my academy coursework and the Director’s Leadership Award on my desk speaks for itself. Agent Hotchner and Agent Hemingway both recognized my potential and made their decisions accordingly.” You try to keep the sass out of your tone, but you have to throw her off this train of thought somehow.

She hums - once, staccato. “Given that...recognition, do you feel obligated to defend Agent Hotchner?”

“No, ma’am. I do not feel any obligation or debt to Agent Hotchner.”

She narrows her eyes again, but makes a note in her small notebook before speaking again. “How would you describe Agent Hotchner’s recent behavior in the field?”

Without hesitation, “Motivated.”

She’s not impressed. “Would you say he’s been taking unnecessary risks in the field?”

Lady, if you only knew the half of it.

“No, ma’am. I believe his choices in the field have been effective.”

She chuffs a little laugh, unamused. “Very cute, agent, but that’s not what I asked.”

You blink at her, waiting for another question.

“Why did Agent Hotchner step down from his position as unit chief?”

Careful. Careful.

“He promoted Agent Morgan so the team could continue our work unhindered.”

“What were the hindrances?”

Shit.

“By transferring his responsibilities, he had the opportunity to explore more investigatory avenues regarding George Foyet that he would have been unable to prioritize while in his post as unit chief.”

Good save.

“Can you characterize the transition of power?” She raises an eyebrow. She’s baiting you.

You don’t take it. “Amicable. Seamless. Peaceful.”

“So you wouldn’t say there was tension between Agents Hotchner and Morgan regarding the division of responsibilities?”

“No, ma’am. I did not experience or witness any dysfunction arising from the transition. Agent Hotchner was exceptionally respectful and deferential to Agent Morgan following the promotion. There was never any confusion about the chain of command.”

And that was actually true.

She pushed and pushed and pushed you to say something that would condemn Aaron for his behavior in the previous eight weeks. Though you were plenty frustrated with him, you didn’t budge.

Soon enough, she asked about what happened on the afternoon of November 23rd, 2009. You started from the beginning - The Fox, the letters, the medication.

+++

“Who made the decision to breach Foyet’s apartment?”

This was wearing on you, well into the second hour. “Agent Morgan, ma’am.”

“Didn’t Agent Hotchner have anything to say regarding the tactical plan?” Strauss looks tired too, but she better rally - her efforts are getting weaker as you continue to answer her questions with steady candor and she still has seven more interviews to conduct today, not to mention the paperwork.

“No, ma’am. Agent Morgan, even in normal circumstances, is the established tactician of the unit. In this instance and others even while he was in the unit chief position, Agent Hotchner deferred to Agent Morgan’s expertise regarding SWAT deployment and tactical decisions.”

+++

“Do you believe it was Agent Kassmeyer’s fault that Agent Hotchner’s family was compromised?”

You shake your head. “No. I’m sure you’ll hear it more than once today, but torture is seemingly endless. Agent Kassmeyer took everything Foyet threw at him and still refused to compromise the Hotchner family’s location. There was nothing more he could have done to prevent Foyet from making contact with Haley Hotchner.”

+++

“Did it occur to you to join Agent Hotchner as he separated himself from the team?”

“No, ma’am. And I disagree with your characterization of the situation - Agent Hotchner did not separate himself from the team. He pursued a lead with Agent Kassmeyer, who requested his presence as he was dying in the back of that ambulance.”

She purses her lips. “What was your next plan of action?”

You take a moment.

This is the hard part.

“Once the scene was in-process, I took a car and followed the ambulance to the hospital. When I arrived, Agent Anderson had already found Agent Hotchner a car, and he was in touch with the team regarding the next plan of action.” You wet your lips. “He then received a call from Foyet.”

+++

Her eyes remain cold and detached as you walk her through the conversations with Foyet, with Haley. With a certain degree of frustration, you push through your tears as you relay her last words, the gunfire.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened after that.” You stare down at your hands, focused on the way the pad of your thumb feels against the side of your middle finger. “I remember pulling up to the house and getting out of the car...The - the door was open. I found Agent Hotchner while I was clearing the ground floor. Foyet was dead, at that point.”

“What had happened to Foyet?”

“He’d been...beaten.” Your voice cracked. That was an understatement. “I subdued Agent Hotchner until the rest of the team arrived.” You press the tissue to your eyes for a second. “He was...understandably distraught.”

Strauss examines you across the table, sees the emptiness in your eyes behind your tears, the grief, the sorrow, the horror of having to relive it. “What happened after that?”

“I realized,” you continue, “that I hadn’t found Jack. I remembered what Agent Hotchner told him, and we both got up and ran to his home office, off the kitchen. I found Jack Hotchner in the storage trunk beside Agent Hotchner’s desk.” You look up at her. “I can’t begin to articulate the relief I felt at seeing him alive.”

+++

“When Haley’s sister, Jessica Brooks, arrived, I kept her away from the crime scene for the sake of her health and safety. She met up with Agent Jareau, who had Jack at that point. I -” You stutter and swallow before taking a breath. “I returned upstairs.”

Your voice shakes, and tears make their way down your cheeks again.

“I returned upstairs, where Agent Morgan was sitting with Haley’s body. There wasn’t - I couldn’t, um - I couldn’t do anything for her. She was gone even before Aaron - Agent Hotchner - arrived.”

The representative from the IG’s office looks a little misty now, as does the deputy director. You press your hands to your face.

“It was... She’d been shot at least three times - that much we heard over the phone.” You voice breaks, but you forge ahead. “She had also been stabbed...There was…” You take a quick breath, but it’s not enough. “...so much blood.”

Strauss’s voice is quiet when she asks. “What was the nature of your relationship with Haley Hotchner?”

You look her square in the eye, not shy about the grief washing over you in waves. “She was one of my best friends. My boss’s wife, the mother of a boy I consider my family.” You turn your gaze to the table, the fake wood grain suddenly very interesting. “I will miss her beyond measure.”

A breath echoes around the room as the others collect themselves.

“I have one last question for you.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“What do you think would have happened if Agent Hotchner had allowed George Foyet off of that floor?”

You level her with a look that makes her sit back. “He would have killed Jack. He would have killed me.”

“And?” There’s one more thing you have to say.

“He would have let Agent Hotchner live, and he would have told him it was his fault.”

The rest of the room looks shaken, and you know you’re right. Even beyond the profile, Foyet’s obsession with Aaron was clear.

Why can’t they see it?

“Thank you, Agent. No further questions.”

+++

When you get back to the roundtable room, JJ is there with Derek. You offer them an approximation of a smile.

“What are you still doing here?” Derek asks. “You can go home, if you want.”

You shake your head. “I’ll be here until Aaron’s interview is finished.”

+++

You can’t help the way your face lights up when Jack sprints across the bridge in the middle of the afternoon, leaping ahead of Aaron.

Rounding the table, you kneel and open your arms to him, letting out an oof when he runs into you full-tilt. You can’t help but smile.

But then again, Jack has always had that effect on you.

“Good morning, bud.”

He wraps his arms around your neck, still impossibly tight. “Hi.”

You stand in the doorway until Aaron gets there. Jack’s familiar travel bag is slung over his shoulder, and he tosses it down in the corner. “Emily’s in right now, and then it’s you.”

Aaron nods, taking a seat. You follow suit, reclining in your chair so Jack can relax against your chest. The rest of the team watches you both, equal parts mournful and hopeful.

JJ watches the way Aaron presses a kiss to the side of his son’s head right before he sits down, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder for balance.

Penelope watches the way Jack clings to you, playing with the buttons on your shirt, comfortable and safe.

Derek watches the way Aaron watches you, brown eyes soft and absent of concern.

Dave watches the way you watch Aaron, can see the way your fingers ache to reach out for him, to take care of him.

They all watch the three of you - understanding, but not knowing.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali talks cm #a joyful future #shut up tali #a joyful future fanfic

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evangeline-perry · 3 years

Text

Their parents reaction to their sons' girlfriend being immigrants

A/N: This was a request I got on my Wattpad profile and I thought I’d post it here too. if you like, you can go follow me on Wattpad also @ Evangeline_Perry :)

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Neil

Neils parents: rude AF

· You and Neil met in the theater during the auditions of A midsummer night’s dream and hit it off rather quickly

· It didn’t take him very long to ask you out

· But it also didn’t take long for Mr. Perry to hear about his son’s relationship and his commitment to the theater from one of his colleagues whose child was also part of the theater group

· When he first heard about it, he was furious

· Firstly, because his son was doing a play behind his back

· Secondly, because his son had a girlfriend behind his back

· And third, because he’d heard this girlfriend was not a born and raised American

· He’d read about immigrants, mostly those who’d fled their homes for America during the Second World War, but none of those news outlets showed these people in a positive light. As a result, his views weren’t positive -or at the very least sympathetic- either

· Because of this, Mr. Perry came bursting through Neil’s bedroom door, and seeing his son on his bed with his arms around that girl, his rage only grows, and he demands Neil break off his ‘relationship’

· What Mr. Perry didn’t anticipate however, was his child’s reaction. Neils arms tightened around the girl he loved as his expression hardened. ‘No’, he states firmly.

· ‘What?’

· ‘No’, Neil repeats, ‘I am *not* breaking up with (Y/N) and you do *not* get a say in who I love. You need to leave, right now.’

· With a small but stern shove, Neil removed his father from his room, closing the door in his face and turning the lock, preventing Mr. Perry from re-entering

· A short tense moment later, Neil turned around, his angered expression softening into a smile once he laid his eyes on his shocked yet relieved girlfriend

Todd

Todd’s parents: awkward

· You and Todd were reading in his room. One of his arms around you and your legs entangled while sitting on the bed

· Both of you jumped when suddenly the door opened to reveal Todd’s parents

· Seeing his son with a girl in his bed, caused both to stop in their tracks as well

· Todd jumps out of bed, standing up and coming face to face with his shocked parents

· After another long tense moment, Todd’s father was the first to break the silence. ‘well, Todd, would you please introduce us?’ he asked somewhat awkwardly.

· Todd froze, unable to speak as his entire body tenses up. Instead, you stand up, reaching you hand out for Mr. Anderson to shake: ‘I’m (Y/N). Nice to meet you, sir.’

· Mr. Anderson shook your hands after a moment’s hesitation

· Todd’s parents both seated themselves on Neil’s empty bed and motions for his son and his girlfriend to do the same. ‘I’m going to be honest with you both. I did not expect you,’ he motioned at Todd, ‘to be getting a girlfriend, especially not one who’s clearly-‘ he caught himself, ‘-especially not since you’re not the most social boy.’

· With this he turns his attention to you: ‘Do you go to school in the area, young lady?’ You noted that you do. This is where the still awkward smalltalk begins, though most of it is Todd’s parents asking you questions as your boyfriend only occasionally chimes in, which you don’t mind, you’re just glad he hasn’t completely frozen up in the presence of his parents

· The smalltalk goes on, until it finally reaches the topic of parents: ‘and, if I may ask, what do your parents do?’

· ‘well, my father is a teacher, and my mother is a housewife’, you tell them.

· ‘And.. uhm… may I ask where-‘

· ‘where I am from?’ you ask, trying to sound as neutral as possible, ‘Well I am from (American State) …but my parents were born in (country that isn’t in north-/south-American). They moved here during the war.’

· The parents simply nodded in understanding before sharing a look and standing up, causing both you and Todd to follow suit.

· The parents shook their son’s hand and yours one last time before bidding both of you goodbye

Charlie

Charlie’s parents: surprised but chill ft rude Welton teachers

· Both of you go to different schools so one of you always had to sneak out to the other’s school.

· But this time a professor walked in on you and Charlie when you were kissing behind the Welton building

· The professor, of whom you didn’t know the name, was beyond himself with rage, dragging both of you to the headmaster’s office

· Headmaster Nolan sat behind his desk, shot both of you a look of annoyance and disgust and simply informed you he’d called both pairs of parents.

· With that he motioned you to sit in the chairs in front of his desk.

· You both sit there in silence for a while until both your parents arrive

· When you both turn to face your parents, you can clearly see a short flash of shock come across Charlie’s parents’ faces as they lock eyes with you parents

· The reason for that was all too familiar to you, you weren’t even surprised

· Once the parents were seated next to their respective children, headmaster Nolan relayed what had happened until you noticed something;

· ‘So, Mr. and Mrs. (L/N), your daughter had sneaked out of her school domain without permission and convinced one of our boys to abandon his schoolwork-‘

· ‘excuse me sir’, your father’s voice suddenly interrupted, ‘but it seems to me that it takes two people to kiss. You are sitting here blaming my daughter, when I am sure this young man was more than willing to put his schoolwork down.’

· You blushed at your father’s blunt statement and after you saw Nolans shocked face you had to do your best to conceal your giggling

· You shoot a look at Charlie only to see he was blushing and holding back laughter also

· The meeting was concluded shortly after that with Nolan demanding both of you get detention for at least 2 weeks

· With that you all leave his office and lead your parents to the exit of the school. Charlies parents say their goodbyes to their sons, after scolding him one more time, telling him to behave. They also shoot you a friendly nod and both fathers exchange a handshake.

· After a short moment, your father turns to Charlie: ‘you seem like a smart young man. You treat my daughter with respect and there’ll be no problems. Alright?’

· Leaving Charlie to stiffly nod before shaking your father’s hands.

Meeks

Meeks’ parents: patronizing

· Unlike most of his friends, Steven Meeks told his parents about his girlfriend before they could hear about it from someone else

· Meeks had let you know they’d invited you both to dinner one evening. You were a little nervous since you knew Meeks’ family was full of doctors and professors and they might think you’re not good enough for their son

· And your fear turned out to be true. The evening was filled with passive aggressive questions with a patronizing undertone. But you just smile, linking your hand with Meeks’ under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

· ‘so (Y/N), how are your grades in school, Meeks is a straight A student.’

· ‘yes Ma’am, I know. So am I’, you say smiling.

· That statement was caused an annoyed side-glance to be shared by the two parents.

· The night goes on like that, yet your smile never wavers as it is clear you exceed all their expectations (much to their annoyance)

· At the end of the evening Meeks dropped you off at the school gates, while giving you a hug he apologized for his parents’ behavior

· ‘It’s alright’, you tell your boyfriend, giving him one more peck before re-entering the schoolbuilding

Pitts

Pitts parents: very nice

· Like Meeks, Gerald Pitts told his parents about his girlfriend before they could find out from a third party or before you and he got caught sneaking around each other’s campuses.

· And thus, one night you got a phone call from your tall boyfriend inviting you to a coffee date with his parents.

· You knew he was going his parents about you, but you were nervous none the less.

· Pitts seemed to notice this in your silence: ‘don’t worry. They are going to love you. I promise.’

· His kind words put a smile to your face as you accepted the invitation as you began to count down the days until you got to see your loving boyfriend again

· That day soon came. You walked into the coffeeshop Pitts had specified and scanned the room looking for his familiar face.

· You soon found him, his face lighting up when he saw you. A soft blush spread across your cheeks

· When you arrived at their table Pitts scooted over so you could sit next to him after pecking you on the cheek.

· His parents smiled at you before introducing themselves

· As you all sipped your coffee, Pitts parents asked you many questions, one of them being: ‘how did you meet our son?’

· You told them the story of how you’d met after bumping into him at an assembly of your school and his and had kept in contact ever since

· At the end of the ‘coffee date’ Pitts’ parents offered to drive you back to school, all the while commenting on how they were so glad their son was seeing such a nice girl.

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astarryon · 4 years

Text

1980s Horror Film

No Good Deed

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: typical criminal minds stuff

Chapter Summary: You’re beginning to think your unadulterated hatred for unknown phone calls is actually justified.

A/N: The first installment of my Halloween inspired mini series! This fic was dreamt up during a very long, very intoxicated conversation with @johnmulaneyslut and my mind hasn’t been able to focus on anything else since! I hope y’all enjoy, and if you want me to add you to this fic’s masterlist, shoot me an ask or a message!

Masterlist

—

“There are horrors beyond life’s edge that we do not suspect, and once in a while man’s evil prying calls them just within our range.”

- H.P. Lovecraft

—

The agents were starting to get on your nerves.

There really wasn’t any good reason for it. They were being perfectly kind — when they bothered to talk to you like you were actually in the room, that is, though with three other victims of the deceased variety and a serial killer actively gunning for you, you figure you shouldn’t take that too personally — and the one named Jennifer had asked more times in the last hour than anyone else in your life had in maybe, well, ever if there was anything she could get you. You declined each time, sometimes rudely, sometimes in defeat, but that never stopped her coming back to ask again. When this was all over — and you prayed that an end would come quickly, if only so you could go back to not being quite so on edge — you’d need to be sure to thank her for all her efforts to make you comfortable.

But that wouldn’t come until later, when you were safe, and each of the agents in the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI didn’t pause every six seconds to analyze you in some attempt to figure out the psyche of the serial killer gunning to cut you open. In some ways, you understood — you were, currently, the only direct key they had to understanding how the serial killer who was after you selected his victims, though it wasn’t like you could answer any of the questions they had about the matter. Just because you understood, though, didn’t make the wandering eyes any less irritating, and you were counting yourself lucky that they were all just about to head home for the night so you wouldn’t have to worry about snapping in the next few hours.

“Okay,” Jennifer began as she approached, yet another kind smile occupying her features. “I’m stepping out for the night. The rest of the team will be leaving shortly, but our colleague Agent Anderson won’t be far. If there’s anything he can do for you, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

You try for a small smile of thanks, but it’s hard to say whether it reaches your eyes. Judging by the poorly concealed concern in Jennifer’s gaze, you don’t think it does. “Thanks, but I’m all set. I already got this cozy cot set up in your boss’ office. What more could a girl ask for?”

Jennifer frowns, something like guilt tightening her perfect features. “I know the situation isn’t ideal, but this is—“

“The safest place for me to be, especially since this psycho likes to strike at night,” you sigh, unable to help a dejected roll of your eyes. “I know. I’m grateful, truly, but this still isn’t exactly what I would call great.”

“We’re gonna catch him,” Jennifer assures you. She sounds so resolutely positive that you’re inclined to believe her, even though there’s the issue that they still can’t even tell you who he is. “Just… try and get some rest tonight, okay? You’re safe here. I’ll have whoever from the team leaves last come check on you one last time before they head out. Good night.”

“Night,” you tell her, and she smiles one last time at you before heading out the office door, once again leaving you to your lonesome.

You should try to get your mind off it, you know. Thinking of something else was imperative to getting to sleep for the night, and though that was the last thing on your mind right now, trying to wind down was certainly more productive thank sinking into your own body numbing panic. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done, and now that you were by yourself, you had all the time in the world to think.

Someone wanted you dead. Someone out there in the world, someone you’d had contact with in your daily life, someone wanted to kill you. You hadn’t managed to get much information out of anybody — There’s no point in working yourself up over it, Jennifer had told you. You’d wanted to scream at her, tell her she’d be of a different opinion if she was the one whose life was hanging in the balance, but you’d managed to hold yourself back. Though you had every excuse in the book to lose your cool, she didn’t deserve you your verbal abuse. Even in your state of frightened paranoia, you could recognize that none of this was her fault.

Why this was happening to you, you didn’t know. You wished you did. If whatever was making you a target for the rampaging serial killer was something changeable, you’d take care of it in a heartbeat. If it was the way you dressed, you’d fix it. If it was your willingness to be kind to strangers, you’d be meaner. Anything, anything to get you out of this terrifying mess. Anything that meant you got to go home and sleep in your own bed and not have to worry about whether someone was going to break in to your apartment and—

“Are you doing okay?”

The gentle voice startled you out of your reverie, though you couldn’t help flinching out of reflex at the sudden intrusion despite how quietly it had been spoken. Blinking yourself back into focus, your eyes shot over to the door, where you found the tall, lanky frame of one of the BAU agents taking up space in the doorway. The one with softer features than the rest, though you didn’t know whether that spoke more to his youth or his naivety. The one with a certain boyish quality about him that you couldn’t quite place, though he carried his head high and had a surprisingly confident set to his jaw, one that contrasted directly with the sheepish, almost bashful tone of voice he’d had when speaking to you. The one whose name you couldn’t quite recall, which was a testament to the ordeal you’d been through in the past few hours because you’d never be careless enough to forget the name of such a beautiful man on any regular day.

The itch of tears trailing down your skin brought you back to your senses, and as you reached up to swat them away, you realized there was no way he hadn’t seen them. “Just peachy,” you snarked, instantly feeling badly over the tone you’d taken. Whatever; there was nothing to be done for it now, and you could agonize over your rudeness when a pretty stranger wasn’t busy witnessing your terror. “Really just having the time of my life. Can’t you tell?”

And you swear if you concentrate, really concentrate, you can just make out the ghost of an amused smile curling the corners of his lip upward in response to your bitter attempt at sarcastic humor, but it quickly becomes overshadowed with concern at spying the tears still brimming in your eyes. “Sorry to interrupt it,” he murmurs, stepping out of the entrance and closing the door behind him, and something about his tone is so meaningful that you believe he’s genuine. He detours by the desk at the far side of the room to pick up the box of tissues sitting on its corner before making his way over to you and setting them on the filing cabinet just beside your cot. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Agent Jareau asked if I would check in on you before I went home for the night.”

You blink, reaching for a tissue and wiping the rest of your tears away, thankful that this man is kind enough not to force you to talk about your emotional state. At his introduction, though, you pause, the familiarity of the name taunting at something in your mind. “You… you’re the one who called me. Before.”

Spencer nods leaning his weight against the filing cabinet he’d set the tissues on and absentmindedly tucking a particularly unruly strand of hair behind his ear. “That was me,” he confirms, leveling another kind smile your way. “I, um, I was actually the one to get you out of your house, too, but… I mean, you were pretty upset, so you might not remember much of that.”

The unfortunate truth, actually, was that you remembered Spencer collecting you from your home and escorting you into the protective arms of the FBI a little too well. More specifically, you remembered having nothing short of a mental breakdown on the phone at the news that a serial killer was targeting you, looking to murder you in some horrible, awfully gruesome manner, and all for some reason that Dr. Reid had declined to inform you of over the phone. He’d been kind enough to talk you through all your debilitating paranoias, kind enough to stay on the phone with you until he’d gotten to your home with his partner — Morgan, if you remembered correctly — and rushed in to make sure you were in one piece. Though he’d told you on the phone that they were just outside, though he’d warned you that they’d be coming in to collect you and take you into protective custody, you’d still lost your mind at the sight of a stranger in your home and immediately rushed him, kicking and screaming and begging for your life, your safety, your… well. Everything, really.

Luckily for Spencer, you were a horrible right hook and ended up doing more damage to yourself than to him, but unluckily for you, you’d been out of your mind in that moment, and had lost the impulse for self preservation. Spencer had calmed you down and restrained you long enough to stop your attempts at gouging his eyes out in self defense, but every last bit of composure you’d been clinging to instantly vanished, and you’d been left a bawling mess, falling apart in the loose, awkward embrace of his arms as you begged him not to let anything happen to you, as you desperately implored him to keep you safe.

More than a little embarrassing once you’d managed to calm down, to say the least.

“Right,” you muttered, dropping your eyes to the floor. It was nothing against Spencer, with his kind eyes and reassuring expression, but you were just about at your wit’s end, here, and you really didn’t have enough composure left in you to be the sweet, dainty girl you assumed he’d enjoy interacting with. “Well, all things considered, I’m just fine. So, if that’s all…”

Instead of taking the hint, instead of leaving you to your solitude and allowing you to wallow in your misery, Spencer simply readjusted his position against the filing cabinet and folded his hands together. “I’m… Look, I don’t mean to pry, but you’re crying, and I… kind of get the feeling that when you say you’re fine, you’re not really telling me the truth.”

“An astute observation, Dr. Reid,” you muttered, wringing your hands together. “Really, someone ought to give you a medal.”

“Well, if you wouldn’t mind passing that along to my boss,” Spencer chuckles, and the gentle joke is so at odds with the defensiveness that anyone else would have responded with that it practically jolts you into civility. By the time you realize this, he’s already shifted from the filing cabinet to sitting at the edge of your cot. Not quite close enough to invoke feelings of familiarity, but just enough to let you know that if you want to, you can confide in him. And, it’s silly, but you kind of think you want to. “So… you don’t have to tell me why you’re crying—“

“Oh, thank you for the permission.”

“— but if you want to,” Spencer presses on, “I’m here to listen. No offense, but I imagine pretending nothing’s bothering you gets to be exhausting after a little while.”

“You’d be the expert,” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest, but you turn more fully to face where Spencer’s seated himself.

He was being kind to you — that alone was reason enough to grasp at some manners and stop being so defensive, but there was another, more personally beneficial one as well. Jennifer had been awfully tight lipped about the man pursuing you — who he was, what he did to his victims, why he was so interested in you. But… Spencer wasn’t Jennifer. Spencer also felt kind of bad for you. Taking all that into consideration, maybe he would be more willing to give you the answers you were looking for.

More willing, and more interested.

“You know, I do have a few questions” you begin, hugging your legs to your chest and tucking your chin against your knee. You wondered if you looked as small and pathetic as you felt. “I don’t… know that you’d be willing to answer any of them, though.”

Spencer arches a brow at you, and you subconsciously take note of the way that his eyes narrow the slightest bit, though it’s hard to tell whether that’s fascination or a sweeter kind of curiosity. “Well, I can’t try to answer them until you try asking them.”

Alright, well. Worth a shot at least.

“I was wondering...” You trail off and set your jaw, clearing your throat before trying again. “I want to know about the man who’s trying to kill me.”

—

#spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #cm #mgg #matthew gray gubler #mini series #this fic is partially inspired by the songs 1980s horror film and drunk on halloween by wallows #tis the season i guess #mystery #angst #thriller

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ficsbynani · 3 years

Text

Chasing Delilah (1)

Chris Evans/OC

March 22, 2018

Atlanta, Ga

Honeylux Studios

"Thank you for filling in on such short notice. Kendra is sick and can't do it."

Delilah nodded fixing her hair in the mirror in front of her, she had heard the same thing from stuffy nosed Kendra when she called a couple hours earlier, so she didn't want to hear it again from their supervisor, Kelly. Doing the interview didn't bother her, the constant last minute changes was starting to annoy her.

"What is this interview for anyway?"

"It’s for endgame."

“Like Avengers? Marvel?”

Kelly stared at her and nodded slowly, “Yeah. What else would I be talking about, Delilah?"

Turning away from the mirror Delilah stared at her for a moment about to say something smart until she heard one of the assistants call her name. She approached the assistant accepting the cards she was handed. The assistant ran through how much time Delilah had for the interview, what to expect for the duration and all of her angles.

"Got it, honey. How much time do I have until they get here?"

"He was supposed to be here about 10 minutes ago but he's running a little late."

Delilah nodded. "And how long ago was that?"

The assistant looked at her watch and hummed, “About twenty minutes ago. He's probably stuck in traffic or coming from filming. He should be here soon."

"He's here now. I assume you two were waiting on me."

Both women looked away from each other toward the voice. Delilah walked towards him with a polite smile and her hand extended to him. "Glad you made it safely. Hope it wasn't too much trouble."

He shook her hand enthusiastically with a big, wide smile. "It was no problem at all. I'm sorry to have kept you ladies waiting like that on me. I'm usually pretty punctual."

"It's no problem, Mr. Evans, we didn't mind waiting."

Delilah shook her head a small smile on her face, "Speak for yourself, I did mind."

"Please call me Chris," he chuckled, “Well in that case, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting..." His voice trailed off waiting for her to tell him her name.

“Its Delilah, Chris."

"Accept my apology, please, Miss Delilah."

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Delilah nodded at him with a polite smile. "I guess l accept your apology Chris. You ready for your interview or you need a little time to get yourself together?"

"No ma'am I'm ready to get down to it if you are." he replied smiling.

Both went to their respective seats, neither spoke as they were given last minute touch ups from hair and make up. Delilah was given some last minute information from Kelly just before the cameras started rolling.

Delilah put on her big, bright smile looking into her camera, “Welcome to Honeylux Backstage Pass, I'm Delilah Anderson. With us today we have Captain America himself, Chris Evans." She paused for him to speak to his camera. "I'm glad to have you here today."

His brows rose playfully, "Thank you for inviting me, Delilah. That's a great dress by the way. You look gorgeous."

"Thank you, I see you trying to match me, Chris."

A hearty laugh escaped him when he looked down at himself and back at her realizing that they were pretty much wearing the same shade of brown. "So that was you I saw peeking in my bedroom window this morning."

Delilah smirked, “Oh, Chris, if I'm going through all that to peek in your window, I’d go all the way and climb right in."

A light blush rose across his cheeks that he tried to conceal by wiping his hand over his mouth and beard. "Noted, duly noted."

Delilah laughed, glancing down at her cards. "Since I've gotten you all the way here, tell me what you've been up to."

"As you know I'm here in Atlanta filming Endgame. And that's why I was a little late today, we got a little behind in our schedule."

"A little late? " She asked, chuckling. “Since you brought it up, you were not a little late, you were a lot late. You didn't want to come see me and Honeylux, Chris? I'm hurt.”

Chris laughed again, starting to get a little flustered, unable to hide the blush that creeped into his cheeks. "No, that's not it. I wouldn't do you like that, Delilah.”

“You wouldn't do me like that," she repeated playfully, “Then how would you do me, Chris?" They held each other's stare for a few moments before Chris broke and looked away rubbing his hands over his clothed thighs trying to dry his sweating palms "Chris, what do you like to do when you're not filming? I know that you've pretty much been in Atlanta on and off for the last two almost three years."

"I really don't do much. I go to a good restaurant every now and then, go to the gym and go home."

"Come on, Chris. I know you do more than that. You don't seem like a homebody to me. In fact a little birdie told us that you're a bit of a night owl."

"I... Who told you that? Was it RDJ?” he laughed.

Delilah laughed giving him a playful innocent shrug, "I can't reveal my sources. "So let's try this again, what does Chris Evans do when he's not filming?"

"When I'm not filming I may, possibly go out to a bar or two or have a little party or go to a party."

An hour later, they wrapped their interview and Chris left her with a promise to not be late next time and a big hug. Delilah avoided her boss knowing that she wanted to talk about the flirtatious parts during the interview. If they were gonna make her do that interview last minute then she was going to do it her way.

---

"Here you go. A strawberry lemonade vodka."

Delilah look up from her phone frowning, "I didn't order this. You can take it back."

"Its from a gentleman in the booth across from you. He asked me to bring it." The waitress discreetly nodded her head in the direction. "Trust me, you wanna take it."

She looked around the waitress spotting the patron who sent it and slid out of her booth. "I'm gonna move over there. You can send my food there." Not waiting for a response, Delilah grabbed her drink and crossed the bar sliding into the empty side of the booth. "An apology drink?"

"That depends. Are you accepting?"

"Hmmm … I accept but this doesn't completely make up for it."

Chris laughed, his hand going to his left pec, "This is not gonna be easy, I see. So what are you doing here? Alone at that?"

"I'm here to get my fried pickles."

"And why are you alone?"

"Hmm … maybe you should've been a journalist. You're pushing that question of yours," she responded taking a sip of her drink.

He shrugged, turning his baseball cap backwards. "Learned from the best I guess."

Shaking her head, Delilah stirred her drink around with her straw. "You didn't. If you had then you would've known why I was here alone before you asked the question."

"Okay, you got me there. Can I have an answer?"

"I'm alone because I'm always alone, Chris. I hope that answers your question."

"So since you're alone and always alone you wouldn't have a reason to turn down an offer to go to a more comfortable place."

"Comfortable place like," she drug out staring at him, "your place?"

Chris returned her stare, feeling sure of himself in the moment. Mentally applauding himself for not blushing the way he did during the interview. "My place. It's a few minutes down the street. You keep pulling on the sleeves of your sweater so I assume that you're cold in here, its an unusually chilly evening and my place just happens to be pretty warm. Got a fireplace."

Delilah smirked looking away for a moment, "Observant. Tryna get me to your place using your fireplace. Smart."

"Thank you. So you'll have your pickles and drink and then we'll go try out this fireplace. It's a date."

"I guess so then. But what are you gonna have?"

Chris peered over at her from the top of his glass as he drank from it. Once she returned his eye contact, he winked at her.

---

The pair enjoyed their drinks, food and conversation with no interruptions. Chris' cute family stories and funny stories from set had their flirtation a bit forgotten by Delilah. Their conversation became animated a few times leading to one or the other reaching out for small, innocent touches every now and then. Their playful banter continued on their walk to his condo.

He spoke politely to the men coming out of the building as he and Delilah entered. Their conversation ceased on the elevator ride up. Chris whistled softly to fill the silence until the elevator pinged on the 20th floor.

"Ladies first," Chris offered playfully.

Delilah walked out in front of him, tucking her clutch under her left arm. She looked down between them when she felt him hook her pinky with his then at him laughing at the smile on his face.

"Don't want you to get lost or anything. It's a pretty long hallway." He kept her pinky hooked tight until he let them into his condo. She stood in her spot looking around as soon as he cut the lights on, she could hear him locking the door. "This is my temporary home. Not bad right?"

She shook her head slowly, "Not bad at all, Chris. Now where's this fireplace?"

Chris shrugged off his jacket and took off his hat sitting them on the stand beside them. He put his hand the the small of her back giving her a gentle push. "Let me give you a tour. I'll make the fireplace our last stop."

Chris stood with his hand on the doorknob of the last room he needed to show her. "What do you think so far?"

"It's nice. I could almost buy you being a homebody when you have downtime," she joked, "Almost. But I like it. The floor to ceiling windows and that shower are definitely being added to my wishlist."

"You like the shower? Well if you're nice, I'll let you use it." He joked opening the last door. "And the reason you're here, lounge room. Or if you'd like the fireplace room."

Laughing, Delilah walked into the room and tossed her clutch onto the sofa. Her eyes lit up a bit when it lit up. She assumed he did it from behind her with a remote. "Fireplace room, I like it, we'll call it that."

Standing behind her, Chris put an arm loosely around her neck pulling her closer to him sending a chill through her. "Cold still?" He asked in her ear.

"Uuuh," she hummed biting down on her lip, "You could say that."

"I can warm you up, if you want." He spoke in a low tone moving his other hand to her waist, gripping it. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Had he not been so close to hear and felt the vibrations from her body as she spoke, he wouldn't have heard her answer. Releasing his hold on her, Chris pulled his shirt over his head then removed his shoes and socks. He approached her again, this time kneeling in front of her undoing the clasp on her right heel then the left and tossed them aside. His hands traveled slowly up the outside of her legs, from her ankle to her thighs, disappearing under her dress.

His hands went to her panties, slowly pulling the thin straps down her hips from under her sweater. She braced herself on his shoulders stepping out of the thin fabric. Drawing back a bit, he pushed her sweater up above her navel holding it there looking directly at her pussy. Delilah pulled the sweater off, tossing it into the sofa on top of her clutch.

Chris caressed her thighs, her back arched slightly, and his hand moved from her thigh towards my quivering center. Using his other hand, Chris put her right leg over her shoulder pulling her closer. Gently he parted her lips and ran the palm of his hand against her clit, stoking Delilah's inner fires. A soft chuckle escaped him when her body jerked in response, followed by a deep guttural groan. His head lowered a bit moving in closer, deeply inhaling her scent. Then leaned closer and started to lick at her wetness, from bottom to top, the long smooth strokes, making her knees buckle prompting him to hold her up as he worked. Giving only hums in response to her moans, her groans and her whimpering.

He sucked on her clit, and swirling his tongue around it at the same time, pushing her to the brink repeatedly. Her hips bucked against his face, lifting and rolling in an instinctive rhythm. Chris followed Delilah relentlessly, devouring her and then slid one finger deep inside her, following with another. They slid in and out while Chris focused his attention on her clit. Delilah could feel herself slowly building as the flames were in the fireplace were.

Chris double his efforts, feeling her push his face into her center. Delilah's body locked, becoming rigid as the convulsions hit me, staggering in their intensity. She came crashing down as the flames started to crackle a bit louder.

She cried out loudly as her stomach muscles clenched and tightened. Her body shuddered with the aftershocks and Chris stayed there slurping and sucking as the aftershocks faded slowly away from her. Pulling away, Chris started to plant slow kisses up to her stomach, looking wickedly up at Delilah.

"Warmed up?" He asked standing to his full height licking remnants of her from his lips.

"Very. Helluva first kiss."

Closing the small gap between them, Chris lowered his head capturing her full lips in a kiss. His hands instinctively went to her ass, grabbing and massaging it while her hands rubbed up his chest meeting at the back of his neck both deepening the kiss.

"How was the second one?" His words were a soft whisper against her lips.

"Just as good as the first."

Chris grabbed her hands and kissed her palms then placed them on his belt. "You mind giving me a hand with that?"

An audible groan passed Delilah's lips as she tugged his belt open. Her eyes met his, silently asking him for permission to unbutton his jeans, smiling when he ever so slightly nodded. Delilah had them open and down in seconds, her hands went to grab him. Chuckling, he stepped out his jeans putting his hands on top of her easing them off. He pulled her in front of the sofa and turned her around, her back facing him.

"You remember what you said to me during the interview, Delilah?"

Delilah paused to think. "I said a lot to you."

"You said that I didn't want to come see you. Ring a bell?"

"Yeah, I remember."

Chris caressed her sides, "Put your knees up on the sofa and grab the back. And I said I wouldn't do you like that. What was your response to that?"

Delilah did as she was told, looking over her shoulder at him. "I asked how would you do me."

Leaned down to kiss her lower back, using his tongue to trail up her spine to her neck. Her back arching in response, curses falling from her lips as she tilted her head back.

Chris gently pushed her hair away from her ear, nipping at the skin below it. "You asked me how I would do you. My answer," he bent his knees a little lining himself up with her entrance slowly pushing inside her, "Like this. Hold on, beautiful."

He moved slowly at first, standing back up straight and placed a hand on her back keeping it arched. He gave her just a little. Not going all the way in, and pulling back out.

He teased her this way a few times, until she started begging him to give it all to her. In that moment all she wanted was for him to bury his dick inside inside her. He smirked moving his hand to her shoulder and thrust his dick deep inside her. Delilah moaned loudly and gripped the sofa right as he pulled back and thrust again. Slow, long, hard thrust, in and out. In and out.

Chris started moving faster acknowledging he desires she was moaning out to him. Him burying his shaft deep inside of her wasn't enough. She started moaning, begging for more, faster, harder. She wanted all of him. He picked up the pace, moving faster, careful not to disturb her curls. He wet a finger and reached around to stimulate her clit while plunging deep inside of her. Chris felt her start to squeeze him and his smirk grew into a wide grin. He thrusts hard and fast, until she screams for mercy, cumming again. He was more than pleased with himself to have brought her to a second orgasm.

Chris eased himself out of her watching her head drop and slowly start to catch her breath. "Turn around and sit down," He instructed gently. Delilah turned slowly, now eye to eye with his dick and her mouth started to water. "Can I touch your hair?"

"Yes, Chris. It's already sweated out," she joked softly.

A chuckle escaped him, one hand went to the back of her head urging her closer and the other brought his dick to her lips tapping for her to open which she did.

She sucked him the same way he had just fucked her. Hard and fast. Careful not to hurt her, Chris gripped Delilah's hair, holding her in place. He paused for a second to firmly plant his feet before thrusting into her face. Strings of curses and groans came from him feeling her stroke and massage his balls with his nails as he fucked her face. He groaned louder, telling her that he was about to cum. Delilah braced herself just as he exploded, filling her mouth with his seed. Delilah swallowed every drop and slowly licked his dick clean as he released his hold on her and pulled out.

---

Waking up warm, Delilah felt an arm around her waist and slowly opened her eyes. The events of the night before all coming back to her. A great night that she wasn't sure what it meant, her body was sore beyond belief but she was satisfied. Her mind and body was conflicting with her. She enjoyed herself but she didn't know what to say to him. Maybe it was a one night thing, a good end to a heavily flirtatious day.

Easing his arm off of her, Delilah crept out of the bed putting a pillow in her place. She limped around the room looking for her clothes for five minutes until it hit her.

"Fireplace room, duh," she whispered limping out of his bedroom.

Dressed aside from her panties that she couldn't find, Delilah rushed as fast and quietly as she could out of his condo. She fought hard against herself on the elevator ride down to the lobby to keep herself from going back up to his place and starting again.

She decided against sitting in the lobby while she waited on her Uber and stood outside. Texts from Kelly about other interviews she had lined up came through momentarily taking Delilah's attention from the man she'd just left. But nothing could take her attention from the ache at the apex of her thighs.

#Chasing Delilah #Chris & Delilah #Chris Evans/OC #chris evans #chris evans fic

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mamapamanderson · 3 years

Text

One on One Time | Mother and Son

Who: Pamela & Blaine Anderson ( @blaineandersonsub )

When: Tuesday 2.23.21

Where: On Campus Cafe

What: Pam and Blaine have lunch to catch up.

Pamela Anderson

It was no secret that Pam adored her son and it was a matter of time before she was jumping onto the opportunity to spend some one on one quality time with him. With her handbag clutched in the crook of her elbow and her heels hitting the floor and filling the small space with the sound of her presence, she approached Blaine with a smile and opened her arms for a much needed hug. "I know I just saw you yesterday, but I was missing you already. Come here, anak."

Blaine Anderson

Having his mom back meant everything to Blaine. He loved his dad, but he'd always had a special connection with his mother. When he noticed his mother approaching with outstretched arms, Blaine stood from the table he was sat at and moved to hug her tightly, letting out a soft laugh. "I was missing you too, mama. I'd be wrong not to see you as much as possible while you're here."

Pamela Anderson

As soon as he was in her arms, she wrapped them tightly around him, bringing him in close as her hand cupped the back of his neck and her nose nuzzled into his perfect hair. "Well I would hope so, it's been too long since I've been able to see you everyday. You kids grew up way too fast, I was just telling your father on the phone." Reluctantly, Pam pulled away from Blaine, pressing a kiss to his forehead and smiling as she took the seat in front of where he was sitting. Pulling her purse holder from her purse, she hung it to the edge of the table beside her and hooked her handbag right on it, smiling at the satisfaction the little contraption gave her. "Okay, so what kind of place is this? What will you be ordering for your Mama?"

Blaine Anderson

Blaine smiled softly at the nuzzling, followed by the kiss to his forehead. "I actually have to agree with you on that one. Feels like just yesterday I was leaving for college," He said, gaze following his mother as he slid back down into his chair. "Oh, you spoke to dad? How is he? Where did work send him this time?" He asked curiously, unable to stop the chuckle as he watched her hang the purse holder on the table next to them. It was always nice to see his mother getting so happy over employing small, innovative things like that, he could tell they brought her some level of joy. Getting to see things like that also gave him potential future gift ideas. "It's a sandwich and coffee shop. I got us two coffees, some water and a chicken and cranberry on ciabatta with tomato soup. It's on the healthier side of the menu, but it's one of my favorite combos here."

Pamela Anderson

"They have him somewhere in Singapore right now," Pam responded absentmindedly as she looked over the menu, just to see what they had. It was a normal thing for them, Mark going off on his business trips. At first Pam protested him traveling so much, but she grew accustomed to it and wasn't going to complain about how it was the reason she was able to live so lavishly. She never wanted for anything and for her that meant success. Especially if her kids got to go to a school as lavish as this one. "That sounds lovely, anak," she said with a brith smile, leaning over to cup his face with the palm of her hand. "Thank you. So we didn't really get to catch up yesterday at the pool. I want to know everything. Who have you been sceneing with? Spending time with? Is there a special someone?" She continued, giving her son a wink

Blaine Anderson

Blaine nodded, smiling over at his mother as he leaned into the touch on his face. After a moment, he sat up straighter, maintaining the smile as he listened to her talking about his dad, and then his food choices. "Of course. Only the best for the best mom ever to walk through the gates of this campus," He teased, though the affectionate look on his face proved that he meant it, because he absolutely did. However, he hadn't been prepared for that next line of questioning, but he maintained the smile on his face as their food was brought over and set in front of them. "I've been scening with Queen Max and she actually has me under orders Monday too, I helped Miss Mercedes unpack so I guess that counts, and then I did a scene with Sir Sebastian. However, I can't say I haven't enjoyed those experiences. As for someone special, no. Not yet anyway," He smiled, quickly grabbing his cup of water to take a sip after the waitress had left.

Pamela Anderson

Pam always had a close relationship with Blaine and she was just happy it could carry on over to when he was grown and away from home. She loved all of her kids, she really did, but there was a special bond she had with Blaine, ever since he was a baby. It was why she dug in a little deeper when asking him about his time at the academy. She was concerned with Princess and Carter's progress, but was far more invested in Blaine's. Pam pulled back, scrunching her face right away. "There is someone walking around here calling themselves Queen?" She asked, before shaking her head and taking a sip of her own water. "I see. I guess we really are among the rich and entitled, hah?" It was so like Pam, to be judgmental right away before meeting someone. "I'm just happy you are meeting people and doing scenes. I was worried about you when you first come here. You'll find someone special." She reached out and covered Blaine's hand with her own. "Because you are the most special person I know."

Blaine Anderson

"Yeah, I thought it was a joke at first, but nope. However, someone else uses Fire Lord as a title, so I guess people are just really into the unique titles here," Blaine smiled down at the table, drumming his fingers on the side of the cup. Adjusting to the new title usage was a little hard to remember at first, but he quickly caught on, as he did with most things. "I was concerned when I first got here, because I hadn't seen Princess or Carter in so long. But once I got over that hurdle, it was easy from there. Speaking of, would you mind giving me Princess' phone number? I have her in my phone but I want to make sure it's up to date phone number wise," He said, taking another drink of water as he smiled down at the way his mother's hand rested over his. He felt a little wrong going behind Princess' back to get it, but he hadn't spoken to her much since he'd first come in. "Thanks, mama, that really means a lot to me. I've already met a few cool ones, and I know I should be focusing on finding a claim, but... I'm more worried about upholding the legacy. I need to keep my grades up to do that, and I don't want to distract myself." That was at least halfway true, anyway.

Pamela Anderson

Pam rolled her eyes. Not at Blaine but at the way this new generation seemed to be butchering the use of titles. As Blaine went on, it didn’t help her annoyance. “Is Princess still being hard headed?” She asked, her accent thinker than ever. It always came out when she talked about her oldest daughter and she didn’t know why. Kalangitan, that’s why. “Yes, I will send it now.” She reached into her purse to pull out her phone and sent the contact to Blaine. “Focus on what makes you happy.” His father didn’t agree with that sentiment, but his father wasn’t here.

Blaine Anderson

Blaine smiled and pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly saving the contact in his phone just to be on the safe side. He'd text her at some point, when he managed to find something actually productive to say. As he slid his phone back into his pocket, he chuckled softly. "I... well, it's Princess. She's never quite been a fan of me, but... I'm working on it. We're kind of stuck together now," He informed, nodding once. When he was told to focus on what made him happy, he paused for a moment, but he new better than to argue. He simply nodded, offering her a small smile. "I will. I might have... exaggerated a little earlier. There is one boy, I guess. But he's taken."

Pamela Anderson

"I can talk to her if you like," she offered, knowing exactly how hard headed her daughter could be. She was the spitting image of her mother after all. As Blaine went on, he captured Pam's full attention. She knew there had to be someone special. Blaine was always someone who poured love and affection, most people didn't deserve it but she would never stand in the way of something Blaine wanted. "He is not pulling on your a string... no, what is the word... Oh. He is not leading you on, was he?" She asked with concern in her voice.

Blaine Anderson

Blaine shook his head quickly, chewing on the inside of his lower lip for a moment. He knew that would just do more harm than good. Not to mention, they weren't children anymore. He had to be able to work things out with Princess without running to their parents for help. "Not really, no. Sorry. I kind of just need some kind of direction, mostly. I want things to be better, but I also know it's going to take time. She didn't just... start feeling this way overnight, and I don't want to minimize whatever happened that got her to this point," He tried to explain, offering Pam a small smile. "She actually got coffee with me when I first got here, so that was a positive," He quickly added, hoping to talk Princess up some so it didn't seem all bad. Then, of course, the part mentioning Sebastian came back, and he really didn't know how to answer. "Well, no. It's mostly me putting myself in this position, you know? It's not the first time I've gotten... feelings for a straight guy."

Pamela Anderson

Pam nodded. "I think she just misses her Papa and doesn't... hasn't figured out how to deal with it," she offered sadly. Pam tried to do so many things to help Princess, even therapy, but none of it stuck. "Just let her know that you won't give up. That none of us will, not matter how much she wants to pull away." Pam smiled at Blaine's effort and just offered a nod. "Well I am glad some progress is being made." Then as Blaine went on, Pam's heart just ached for her son. "Oh, anak," she said with a frown. "I am sorry." She pressed her hand to the side of his face again and ran her thumb along his cheek bone. "It's preparing you. It's all preparing you for finding the love that you're supposed to have. It will work out for you one day."

Blaine Anderson

Blaine nodded slowly and offered Pam a small smile. "I understand," He murmured, looking down at his hands for a moment. "I'll do that. I guess I need to start pushing more, instead of waiting for her to come to me. Thanks, mama," He said, glancing back up as his smile only grew. It felt like everything was starting to make more sense, and he almost wondered why he hadn't connected the dots sooner. "It is getting better, yeah. It was fun, even." When she pressed her hand to his cheek again, he maintained the same smile and nodded once. "Thanks, mama. I appreciate that. Just need to stop making the same mistakes over and over." Except he's not straight, he's just pretending to be. The thought almost made Blaine roll his eyes, but he knew better than to do that while having a discussion with his mother. That was just bound to end in disaster.

Pamela Anderson

"You're very welcome, my son," she offered with a soft smile, pulling back just in time for their food to get there. "I'm so glad I was able to come here and spend some time with all of you. And don't worry about those mistakes," she went on. "It's how we all learn. And how we grow." She pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out and rubbed some into her hands before reaching out and dropping some into Blaine's hands. "I'm very proud of you and the man you've become. "And so is your father." He was a little more absent than she liked and wasn't always the kindest to Blaine, but deep down she knew he loved his kids as well. "I can't wait to see what else is in store for you."

#blaine #para: blaine #( my shining star )

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crackedoutgiraffe · 4 years

Text

The Stars in Your Eyes

THIS IS PART 2 OF TO THE MOON AND BACK

Part 2: Chapter 1 Part 2: Chapter 2

A/N: I’m thinking of starting a one-shot “series” based off of songs, send me a message with any songs you want to see!

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 4,898

9/30/2015

A string of murders across the country led Hotch to tell Rossi and Morgan to fly out to Seattle to investigate. The victims had peculiar face paint when they were found.

Reid was at his desk reading books insanely fast when you both noticed Hotch and Garcia enter the bullpen. He gave you a look telling you to follow him. You both stood from your desks and made your way to the conference room.

“Is it the same unsub?” you asked as you and Reid rushed in.

Rossi was looking over some files when you entered, “yeah.”

“Two murders on two coasts in two days,” Morgan flipped the pages in front of him. “This guy is on a mission and he’s not going to rest until he completes it.

Hotch entered on the tail-end of Morgan’s thought, “neither will we.”

“But we’re still down two profilers,” Garcia looked around the room with a sour look on her face. JJ was on maternity leave and Kate quit.

“Our six brains against his one,” Rossi pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Everyone take a few minutes to review the case and we'll meet back in 20 minutes,” Hotch grabbed one of the files from the table and left. The rest of you followed in his footsteps, grabbing files and leaving the room.

Reid went to sit at his desk and you sat on the floor next to it. For some reason, you always worked better on the floor than at a desk. The twenty minutes flew by and you all returned to the conference room.

“We know for a fact that victim number one was bound and gagged,” Morgan read a page of the file, “but it doesn’t look like number two was.”

“Windows in both residences were tampered with,” Reid noted.

“So he knows how to get in and out undetected,” you finished his thought for him.

Garcia piped up, “ok, so that’s impressive because aluminum foil is super crinkly.” The team looked at each other with different looks of confusion. “I’m sorry, I’m not a profiler, I’m trying my best.”

“No, it’s a fair point,” Rossi leaned forward in his chair. “He snuck up on a tweaker who probably hadn't slept in a couple of days.”

“M.O. said this guy is good at hunting,” you leaned back in your chair.

Hotch flipped through the pages with a confused look on his face, “Cause of death?”

“Cardiac arrest, but Dr. Mertz in the crime lab can’t pin down how,” Morgan sighed and rested his face in his hands.

“He might hide it under the face paint,” you held your hand out to Reid under the table. “What we’re assuming is a ritual might be a forensic countermeasure,” Reid interlocked his fingers with yours.

“What do we know about the face paint?” Rossi asked.

“Traditional greasepaint used by clowns,” Reid like to talk with his hands so he had to let go of yours, “but, applied to resemble a Pulcinella.”

Garcia pulled her phone out, “ok, I totally know what that is, but I’m going to google it in case someone doesn’t.”

“Sorry,” Reid leaned forward. “The clown archetype that we recognize today actually dates back to a 16th-century stage tradition called commedia dell’arte, where actors wore masks to resemble their characters. The Pulcinella was a trickster character, usually without a voice. He used a horn to make funny noises.”

“Maybe the victims tricked him, and he’s remaking them in death how e saw them in life,” Rossi added.

“So this is a vendetta by the unsub and not a compulsion,” Hotch’s phone started to ring as he finished his sentence.

“It’s gonna make this guy really hard to profile,” you sighed.

Hotch picked up his phone, “Alright, Dave, keep working on victimology. Morgan, stay on the M.O. Reid and Y/N, dig deeper into the ritual. I’ll be right back.” He stood from the table and left the room. You figured he had to talk to some of the applicants to replace Kate.

The group of you left the room. Morgan headed to the crime lab. You grabbed a map from down the hall for Reid to work on. When you wheeled it back into t bullpen Rossi and Reid were already hard at work.

“Thank you,” Reid gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing a marker. Rossi stood up and opened the file in his hand, “well this doesn’t clear up much. Vic number one was a divorced dad who got custody of his kids.”

“And two was the local drug supplier,” Reid paced in front of the whiteboard.

“What connects these guys?” You sat on Reid’s desk.

Rossi sighed, “nothing.”

“And we would never have made the connection if it weren’t for the face paint,” Reid looked incredibly confused. “Which begs the question, why do it at all?”

“To taunt us, feel superior,” you added.

“It’s obviously a message,” Spence started to rummage around his desk. “My assumption is has something to do with the mouth.” He picked up the book that was next to you and flipped to a seemingly random page. “Look at this,” he showed Rossi a picture from the book, “the colors of the Pulcinella are oddly inverted. Traditionally the character has a black face and a white jaw, he’s painting it the other way around.”

“You said that this character was the precursor to today’s clown because he couldn’t speak, right?” you hopped off the desk and stood next to him.

“Yeah that’s right,” he glanced at you.

“So he was also the first mime, too,” you pointed at a few of the pictures of the board.

Reid turned to look at you, “very much so, which means he himself might have an injury to the jaw.”

Morgan came into the room and joined the three of you, “our unsub can’t eat solid food.”

“How do you know?” you turned to him with a look of confusion.

“Dr. Mertz found a nutritional supplement in the stomachs of the victims,” he pointed to the board, “what have you guys figured out?”

“Y/N, can you get Hotch and Garcia, I think I know what’s happening,” Reid grabbed a few papers and books from his desk and went to the conference room.

You did as he asked and got Hotch and Garcia to go to the conference room. When they got there Reid was standing at the front of the room while Morgan and Rossi were sitting.

“What is it, Reid?” Hotch sat down in the chair next to Reid.

“The unsub has a feeding port in his stomach,” he said such a gross sentence very nonchalantly.

“He has a feeding port in his stomach?” Garcia looked disgusted.

“The nutritional supplement that Dr. Mertz found in both victims would be ideal for someone who couldn’t eat normally,” he was very cute when he talked with his hands. “So if the unsub sustained an injury to the jaw, it would also suggest that he is unable to speak.”

“Hence the Pulcinella mask,” Rossi leaned back in his chair. “It’s his way of communicating.”

Garcia was listening very intently, “what is he trying to say?”

“Well let’s work our way back to that based on what we know,” Morgan picked up the file in front of him. “We know this guy travels thousands of miles in two days. So he probably doesn’t sleep. He’s able to sneak into a suburban house or a drug den undetected. He overwhelms his victims silently and then injects them, and then as they lay there dying over the course of an hour, he simply sits over them and leaves them a highly symbolic message, but it’s a precise message. His victims are seizing up right in front of him, but this guy does not miss a brushstroke. This is a man who’s been around death before. It doesn’t faze him. Who else would leave this type of message?”

“Drug cartels,” Reid’s face lit up. “Cutting the tongues out of snitches and the hands off of thieves.”

“The mafia,” Rossi leaned back, “sleeping with the fishes and all that.”

“Oh my god,” you picked up your file, “he’s a hitman,” the team shot you confused looks. “Think about it only a contract killer could be this good.”

Morgan nodded, “his message isn’t for us, it’s for his customers.” With this final revelation, everyone sighed.

There was a knock at the door behind you. You turned around to see Anderson standing with a file in his hand, “Sir, they discovered a new body.”

“Thank you, Anderson,” Hotch followed Anderson out of the room.

You leaned back in your chair, “do you guys want to go get lunch?” Everyone agreed except for Garcia who had to help dig up for information on the newest victim.

Once Garcia left you all quickly decided on a restaurant and piled into your car. You got to the restaurant and enjoyed an incredibly normal meal for your insane life. Rossi paid and you all made your way back to the BAU. As you pulled in Rossi got a call from Hotch saying that we are ready to give the profile. The four of you made your way upstairs and to the bullpen. Hotch got you caught up on the new information. The group of prospective agents was called in and you all prepared to deliver the profile.

“The unsub that we're looking for is a contract killer who is doubling back to kill his former customers,” Morgan started. “This man is highly skilled and well-trained. Under no circumstances should he be engaged without back-up.”

“So is this a case of organized crime tying up loose ends?” one of the agents asked.

“Organized crime's got nothing to do with this, at least not in the traditional sense,” Rossi warned

You could see the gears turning in Reid’s head, “in 2013, the Bureau took down the Silk Road network. Our initial assumption was that it was an encrypted online market for illegal drugs, which it was, but upon further inspection, we were stunned at the breadth of goods and services being traded online. Weapons, child porn, even hitmen.”

“And the payment scheme was escrow based, in which the buyer would put down half as a deposit and the other half when the seller delivered,” you clarified. “We've now confirmed that all 3 victims hired the unsub over the past year through a similar escrow system.”

“So why is he killing his old clients?” the same recruit asked.

“Hitmen

don't leave a message unless you pay them to,” Rossi always had an answer. “The exception is to leave a warning for customers or competitors.”

“This unsub suffered some sort of injury to his jaw or voice, most likely as a result of something these customers did,” Reid said. “The Pulcinella mask is his statement on revenge and justice-- betray the oath between customer and contractor and you pay the price.”

“Now, normally a man with this kind of defect would attract attention,” Morgan started. “The fact that he hasn't indicates that he has deep pockets and a network of resources at his disposal.”

“Share this profile with your local divisions and with law enforcement. Search for escrow payments to match the unsub to his clients. One of those clients will be his next target. Thank you,” Hotch finished. With that, all of the starry-eyed recruits fled from the bullpen.

Morgan and Garcia fled the room as well, leaving you and Reid to fend for your selves. The two of you sat at your desks for an hour without saying a word. You eventually got up from your desk and went to sit by him. You sat on the floor and rested your head on his lap. He used one hand to flip through the pages of his book and the other to pet your hair. You felt your eyes starting to close when Morgan and Garcia frantically ran into the room.

“We found the next victim,” Morgan held up a piece of paper. Hotch and Rossi came down from their offices, you and Reid both stood up and went to meet them.

“Name and location?” Hotch said as the five of you rushed to the elevator.

Garcia waved her phone at you, “already sent.”

The doors of the elevator closed on a smiling Garcia. You all quickly jumped into your SUV’s and drove to the beat-up garage in Baltimore. Hotch told you that there wasn’t going to be much time to get ready hen you got there, so you had to get your vests on now. Reid and Morgan put theirs on while you kept your eyes on the road. When they were done, Reid helped you squeeze into yours while keeping at least one hand on the wheel.

You pulled into a parking lot with ten cop cars and two SWAT units. Morgan quickly sought out the SWAT team captain to coordinate your entry “how do you want to do this captain?” You all shook the captain’s hand.

“We’ll breach and clear,” he pointed to the building behind him. “When it’s locked down, the site is yours. Sound good?”

You all nodded in agreement. The captain started to walk back toward his team and you all followed, drawing your weapons. The SWAT team threw the doors to the garage open and worked there way inside, “Police!” one of them yelled.

“Don’t shoot, do not shoot,” a voice called out from behind a car.

The captain found the car and raised his weapon, “come out with your hands up!”

“That’s gonna be real hard, real hard,” the voice yelled. “Look!”

You were the first to go around the car to see what was happening, “Morgan, get everyone out of here,” you holstered your gun and looked back at Morgan with a worried look on your face.

“What is it?” Reid furrowed his brow and moved closer to you. “Grenade!” he shouted when he finally saw what you were staring at.

The SWAT team started to yell at him to drop it but he yelled that he couldn’t.

“Put your weapons down!” Reid lowered his gun and approached him, “you mean that literally, you literally can’t drop it.”

“Yeah,” his temper was short.

“What’d he use? What’d he use?” Morgan repeated with more ferocity each time.

The man nodded his head toward the cart next to him, “over there.”

“It’s dried and set,” Reid was holding the man’s hands in his own, “he glued over the pin-hole.”

“Do you have any acetone?” you knelt down at his side to examine it yourself.

“That won’t work, that won’t work,” the victim kept repeating this to Reid over and over.

Morgan picked up the bottle the man gestured to, “Y/N, he’s right. It’s an industrial acrylic. It holds car parts together.” The SWAT team was leaving to set up a perimeter but you four were going to stay.

“Look, you gotta do something, ok?” the man kept pushing his hands closer to you.

You tried your best to stay as calm as possible, “we’re going to do everything we can.” Reid was frantically looking around for a solution.

“My hand is cramping, just do something, all right?” the man yelled at you this time.

“Y/N, four cars,” Reid was still looking around the room.

“Each car has a battery, right?” you stood up and looked at him. “Each battery has an electrolyte solution of 62% water, 38% sulfuric acid.”

“Y/N, that won’t work,” Morgan sighed.

“Why not?” Rossi was definitely confused at this point.

“Because the acrylic will still stay bonded to the metal,” Morgan grabbed the man’s hands to help keep them still.

“Absolutely true, but it will also create a saponification effect on his flesh,” Reid explained. “The grenade will literally slide out of his hand like a wet bar of soap.”

“Of course, there will be an intense burning sensation on the skin, and the smell will be horrendous,” you pointed out.

“You can't--you're not burning my hands! You're not gonna do it!” he shouted \.

Stay still!” Morgan shouted back

“Hey, listen, pal. We have two geniuses working to save you so just shut up,” Rossi said sternly.

Reid ran to find a turkey baster and quickly got some of the solution from the batteries. You, Morgan, and Rossi all put on gloves to protect your hands.

“Sit down,” Morgan snapped at the man.

“This is gonna hurt, but you'll survive. Is everybody ready?” Reid came to meet you with the solution.

“Yeah,” you were the one tasked with grabbing the grenade as it slid out of his hands. “Just watch your aim. All right, my hand's on the lever.” Reid started to dispense the solution on his hands. It was difficult to listen to the man screaming, but you knew it was for the best. After a while, the man’s hands detached from the grenade and it slid right into your hands, “I’ve got it,” you shouted.

Morgan wrapped his hands in a towel and tried to soak up the acid, “Are we safe Rossi?”

Rossi examined the miniature bomb in your hands, “yeah the lever’s st-” he paused, then you heard it. The click that it was armed. “Run!” Rossi shouted.

Your instincts took over, you threw the grenade as far as you could and high tailed it out of there. Right as you ran through the door you heard the explosion. The five of you ducked behind a police car and covered your heads.

“You guys ok? Anyone hurt?” Reid asked as everything settled down. “You ok?” he asked while wrapping you in a hug.

“I’m fine,” your breathing was heavy but that you were fine.

Rossi grabbed the man you just saved from being blown up and shoved him in the back of a police car. The rest of you hopped into your SUV and headed back to Quantico. Morgan grabbed the ‘victim’ and dragged him to an interrogation room.

Before you went to your desk, you took a trip to the bathroom to clean yourself up a bit. You were splashing some of the cold water onto your skin when you saw Reid walk in.

“Are you okay?” he had worry in his eyes and on his face.

You turned around and leaned against the sink, “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a tight hug.

“I’m not,” you sobbed into his shoulder. “I don’t want to live without you.”

“You’ll never have to,” he placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. The two of you stayed like that for well over an hour. Morgan texted you to come to the bullpen right away. You cleaned up your tears, grabbed Reid’s hand, and made your exit.

“Ok, so, a week ago, this guy stumbles into the Atlantic City E.R., having been shot in the jaw,” Garcia started as you walked into the bullpen. “Can't give them his name 'cause of the whole shot in the mouth thing. But his fingerprints lit up the Rome police database like a Christmas tree.” “Italian,” Rossi interjected. “That explains the pulcinella influence.”

“Yeah. They were able to get a name-- Giuseppe Montolo, but by the time Jersey P.D. got there, Montolo had been patched up and made his escape,” Garcia finished.

“And now he's on some type of payback gig,” Morgan started. “He has no idea who double-crossed him, so now he's killing every customer that he suspects might have done it.”

“I tried to use Al's username and password to flush out other clients, but they don’t call it the Darknet for nothing,” Garcia seemed distraught that she couldn’t anything.

“Then we let it go,” you chimed. “We're not going to catch him that way.”

“What other way is there?” Garcia asked.

“Montolo changed his M.O. drastically with the last victim,” Hotch pointed out. “He went from up close and personal to collateral damage. Al blows himself up or we kill him. Either way, it's a win-win.”

“If he made that dramatic a shift, it was a mistake,” Reid noted. “That's how we catch him.”

“All right, then let's do this old school,” Rossi stood from his seat. “Morgan, you took Al’s confession. Walk us through it like you're the unsub.”

“I got my victim on the ground, and I have the syringe in my hand,” Morgan started to walk around the room. “I have total control over him. This is my moment. I'm gonna make him pay for what he did. But Al said he got a text. I don't like what I see. Now I have to change my plan. What was on that text?”

“Someone tipped him off,” you shook your head. “He wouldn't deviate that much otherwise.”

“But that would mean that,” Garcia paused.

Hotch nodded, “we have a mole.”

“There's a lot of new faces around here want to join the BAU,” Rossi looked around the room at the people hanging around.

“I don't think it's a federal agent,” Reid narrowed his eyebrows. “I think it's someone in local law enforcement.”

“Based on what?” you turned to face him.

“The clock,” Reid pointed to a clock hanging on the wall across from him. “According to Al, the unsub left 5 minutes before we showed up. That's a narrow window. Too narrow for him to wait around for an embolism, but he had to figure out a way to deal with his last victim. Montolo changed his M.O. at the last moment because he learned about us at the last moment.”

“So the last on to hear the cavalry was coming is the Judas,” Rossi nodded. “That means a local cop.”

“Or SWAT. You said Wilson pulled his men off the scene?” Hotch asked.

“He said he wanted to box the unsub in,” Rossi reminded. “But maybe he really wanted to ensure he got out.”

“We profiled that the unsub would have support and resources,” you pointed out. “An ally in SWAT would give him both.”

Morgan sighed, “we go after a captain, we need more than a profile, we need proof.”

“The security perimeter they set up, they would have recorded every license plate-- Garcia,” Hotch turned to the perky blonde.

She rushed over to the laptop she had set-up, “yes, sir. Ok. Cross-referencing last name Wilson. Uh, ok. I got a Ford Taurus. It is registered to Betty Wilson, wife of Captain Phil Wilson.”

“Quite a plan these 3 have,” you scoffed. “He waved his own wife through the checkpoint. And she secured the hit man's escape.”

“Montolo has them both working under duress,” Morgan shook his head. “Wilson has to be a customer.”

“Which means he's also a target,” Hotch sighed. “Dave, you get to the wife’s house.”

Rossi quickly got up and headed for the elevator. Within 20 minutes he called saying that Montolo had taken Phil. Hotch sent Reid and Morgan to drive around until we can get them an address. Garcia ran to grab some equipment that Hotch needed to call Phil.

“You ready?” Hotch asked Garcia, who was setting up the phone call.

She connected aa wire and started to type on her computer, “Almost. Setting up caller I.D. Spoofing and... Dialing.”

Hotch turned to you and handed you the phone, “ok, all you have to say is, ‘It's me. Can you talk?’ And I'll take it from there.”

You held the phone to your ear and tried to change your voice a little, “It’s me, can you talk.”

“Yeah,” you could hear the shakiness in his voice.

You handed the phone to Hotch, “not on speaker,” you whispered.

“Captain, this is Aaron Hotchner with the FBI. We're going to get you out of this. Just drive normally and follow my prompts. Can you talk? Yes, it's fine, or not right now. Did you enter the address in the map apps on your phone? We're getting the address from your phone, sir. My team is going to beat you there. You're gonna drive him straight to us. Sir, you are the last errand. He's going to kill you.” Hotch shortly set the phone down. You all waited around and held your breath waiting for a call from Morgan. Rossi had called Hotch and left his phone on so we could hear his conversation with the wife.

“3 years ago, I had two miscarriages, back to back, just like that,” you could hear a crying woman. My O.B. prescribed painkillers, and after a while... My...dealer wanted me to do things. He wouldn't leave me alone. That's when I read about Silk Road. I could buy the drugs anonymously, and... And more than that. I kept it all a secret until he showed up at our door. Then I didn't have a choice. When I told Phil... He said he still loved me. God, I'm so sorry.”

“You get all that?” Rossi asked.

“Yeah,” Hotch answered. “Relay that to Morgan and Reid. As soon as Montolo lands, he's gonna kill Wilson. There'll be no time to intercept or talk him down.” As Hotch was talking, you noticed he was staring at one of the new recruits.

Shortly after Rossi hung up, the phone started to ring in the bullpen, “oh, dear, Captain Wilson is calling us, he’s calling home,” Garcia said as she saw the caller ID.

“I can try to fake it,” you stuttered to Hotch.

“All right, everyone quiet,” Hotch announced. “Stay off your phones. No one makes a sound. Lewis, you're up,” a pretty black woman started to approach the desk you had set-up at.

“H-hello?” She picked up the phone. “What is it? Is everything ok?”

“Hotch,” you heard Morgan’s voice through your earpiece. “He just landed.”

“Phil?” She continued. “Just do what you need to do and get home, ok? Sweetie, I can hear it in your voice. What is it?”

“Morgan, do you have a shot?” Hotch asked.

“Do you have a visual?” you assumed Morgan asked one of their SWAT members. “Hotch, this is negative. Wilson's in the way.”

“Honey, talk to me, baby,” the new agent was really good. “Tell me where your head is at. I know. I'm so, so sorry about all of it, but just keep your head down and we'll get through this. Ok? Do you hear me, baby? Just keep your head down.” You saw both Hotch and the new agent pull the phone away from their faces. The new agent set the phone back on the receiver.

“What happened?” you asked.

Hotch set his headphones down, “someone fired.” You hated this part of the job. You weren’t able to know who was shot and who was shooting, for all you knew Reid could have been laying a puddle of his own blood.

You waited in agony for a few minutes before Garcia’s phone started to ring, “It's Reid,” she answered the phone. Reid, what happened? What happened? What happened?”

We got both of them,” you heard Reid over the phone and let out a long sigh of relief. “Alive.”

“Yes!” Garcia practically screamed.

“Good work,” Hotch smiling was a nice sight to see. “We'll see you back here.”

“Look, I just want to say, even if I don't get the position that this was the best job interview ever,” the new agent was smiling from ear to ear.

“Penelope Garcia,” Garcia stretched her hand out to the new agent. “You're marvelous. She's marvelous.”

“I’m Dr. Y/N Reid,” you went to shake her hand.

“Reid?” she furrowed her brow. “Are you and that other agent siblings?”

“We’re married actually,” you gave her a warm smile.

“Agent Lewis,” Hotch interrupted. “I believe I asked you to wait and that was about 36 hours ago.”

“It was completely worth it,” Agent Lewis was still smiling.

“Maybe we could have that sit-down now?” Hotch asked.

“Yes, 2 a.m. is my jam,” she started to walk toward Hotch’s office. You turned around and started to pack your stuff up. You hadn’t even realized it was that late.

“Sir?” Garcia stopped him.

Hotch turned around to face Garcia, “Yes.”

“Do I have to organize the other applicants to follow her?” Garcia whispered.

Hotch smiled, “no, you can tell them the position's been filled.”

You liked agent Lewis and smiled at Hotch’s answer. The two of them went to his office and closed the door. Garcia grabbed her equipment and headed back to her office.

The bullpen was quiet, which is an odd sight. You laid your head down on your desk and closed your eyes. You made a promise with yourself that you wouldn’t fall asleep. Unfortunately, you were woken up by Reid who was crouching by your side and playing with your hair.

“Let’s go home,” he smiled at you when he saw your eyes open.

You yawned, “please.” Standing from your seat you grabbed your car keys from your pocket.

Reid grabbed the keys from your hand as you got to the elevator, “I’m driving,” he smirked. You pouted at his chivalry.

When you got to the car you snuggled into your seatbelt to try and fall asleep again, “I love you,” you whispered as you fell asleep. Before you were knocked out you heard a small scoff and an ‘I love you too.’

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic

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lotusthekat · 4 years

Text

Flashes

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Rating: T

Relationships: Familial Hank & Connor (please do not ship them)

Characters: Connor, Hank Anderson, Original Minor Characters

Summary: Flashes are what keep coming back to him. Flashes are what alarm him, take him away from reality - only for it to retribute with a deadly force.

Or, Connor suffers a car accident.

Word count: 2225

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: My first fic on this blog! This was an idea I had one night, without knowing it was Connor’s birthday on the 15th. I decided to torture him as a birthday present then, haha.

I did my own take on the car accident prompt, even though I don’t really know how to write car accidents, so I hope this is good enough. Enjoy!

WARNINGS - car accident, near death experience, fear of death, major character injury, implied past death, trauma, panic attack and swearing.

Connor only sees flashes. White, blinding blurs. Thirium blue, its metallic smell sickening. He hears and sees and speaks static. Nothing makes any sense, and the android is aware his eyes burn inside.

Until, in the next moment, his optical components are stabilized. He still sees mainly white but rebooting system messages give him a rather positive diagnosis: aside from a couple, non-severe injuries, Connor seems to be alright.

However, the android takes a while to acknowledge other presences in his surroundings. He recognizes an android technician using the computers, controlling the unliving machines that are looking after Connor’s body. Beside them, a human woman accompanies the procedure; soon enough, she turns around expectedly, maybe knowing Connor awakens through the screens.

It’s only then that the RK800 concludes he’s in an Android Repair Center, especially when he takes notice of their uniforms – different tones of gray and blue, though they no longer have the CyberLife brand, the company having been shut down a month or so after the first stage of the ongoing Android Revolution.

The woman approaches Connor with a sympathetic smile.

“Hello, Connor,” She says. “How are you feeling?”

(Feeling. Times truly have changed, for this question to be directed at him.)

The RK800 blinks several times before replying, still growing used to the bright room, and yet bothered by his lacking memory.

“I’m…” He doesn’t know what to answer, as there is only one question lingering in his processors: “What happened?”

Her smile falters a little. “You…” She looks down for a moment, as if to plan her words. “You suffered a car accident.”

Connor gapes at her. “I- I did?”

She sighs, not in annoyance but concern. “Your car crashed into a tree; although you had no deadly injuries, you fell onto hibernation mode due to your stress levels before we treated you.”

After this, the android says nothing. Flashes return to him. Cold, biting cold creeps in his thirium vases, causing him to tremble. Logic is far from his senses, as he knows he’s approaching the inevitable, the endless darkness.

Loud, deafening “ping” sounds are heard somewhere, and voices try reaching him, yet Connor can’t seem to find their sources. He sees the same blurs, hears the static again.

It’s cold, cold, cold.

He’s going to die.

He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t—

… nor. Connor? Can you hear me? You’re safe.

A telepathic voice has reached him. It sounds to be the other android in the room. They begin to form again in his vision, a dark void.

Calm down. You are in the Android Repair Center. You’re not there anymore. You’re safe, they repeat. You’re going to be alright. You just need to listen to me. Can you do that?

Desperate, Connor nods, at this point crying helplessly.

You’re not going to die, Connor. You’re almost healed, and you will be ready to leave soon. I promise.

The RK800 struggles to breathe, to calm his loud, hammering pumps. Connor replays the words in his head several times, even repeating it out loud to himself until his thirium pressure returns to normal. The other android is still present, staying for him, and just that helps.

Finally, Connor is back in the room, both technicians relieved. The blaring pings are no more, and the android doesn’t feel cold anymore.

“You’re alright, Connor,” The woman says. “We will do one last check-up, and then you’ll be free to go, okay?”

He nods.

“As for the car, it was already taken for repairs,” She reveals. “We contacted Mr. Anderson and he’s waiting for you outside.”

Connor tenses up. Hank…

Oh, goodness. He crashed Hank’s car. He’s screwed.

“You’ll be okay,” The woman insists, in a lower volume; maybe noting he’s distressed again.

Connor silently lets the technicians finish their job. The android eventually accepts the furious scolding that’s coming for him.

It’s snowing outside, though it’s not so dangerous, which is why Connor agrees to this.

Hank is apprehensive to let him wander around in the snow, yet Connor reassures him it’ll be alright. The android offers himself to go to the market, after everything the former lieutenant has done for him. Connor might as well let the man rest for tonight and get the groceries by himself.

Given many humans have evacuated Detroit in a short amount of time, the available markets are farther from Hank’s neighborhood, so Connor takes the car. The groceries themselves are quick to get done, taking roughly forty minutes. The ride home is tranquil, not too many cars share the same snowy road tonight. Connor texts Hank that he’s on his way back, quickly getting a reply.

Hank: don’t text while driving

Connor: Mind you that I am, according to your own words, a “walking smartphone”.

Hank: scratch that, you’re a smartASS phone

Connor: A highly-advanced smartass phone, indeed. :-)

Hank ultimately replies with a middle finger emoji, bringing a smirk to Connor’s face.

The radio, one of Hank’s favorite stations, plays Joy Division in a satisfactory volume. Connor finds out he enjoys the sound and wanders in the night. There’s still half of the way left. He already anticipates Hank’s sassy remarks regarding the healthier food the RK800 has bought; he imagines Sumo jumping and trying to snatch the treats Connor buys for him, whilst Hank complains he spoils the dog too much.

He feels… warmth. A feeling he’s become familiarized with. The warmth of home.

Except it fades once Connor realizes how… foggy and dark is outside. The snow seems faster, stronger; going against what the weather updates have told him before he left home. Connor is careful and attentive, managing to drive at a soothing speed.

But the more time passes, the snow worsens. It’s not a blizzard yet it does little to calm him.

Somewhere, Connor is aware his stress levels are higher than recommended. His hands hold tight onto the wheel. Regardless, he doesn’t lose control of the car.

However, his enhanced attention fails when he needs the most.

Once the flashlights blind his view, the android barely realizes what’s happening. Rather than following his programming, he follows what is most likely his flight or fight response – which leads to complete failure.

He dodges the other vehicle but at the cost of Hank’s car drifting furiously along the snowy, wet asphalt. Connor screams as he’s unable to stop it, until the crashing glass and metal deafen his audio processors.

His hearing is static and painful, vision at first darkened by uncertainty. Connor slowly awakes, eyes stabbed by blaring warnings, even though they’re not numerous. The android looks at his side, multiple glass shards having attacked the right seat. His right side hurts for that matter, and he tastes thirium. He’s just barely touching whatever the car has crashed into. Either way, Connor can still move, and he chooses to get out of the ruined vehicle.

Which gets even worse, as he’s caught by the freezing wind outside. Connor gasps for air, until he realizes there’s next to nothing. He can’t go so far, his limbs hurting, burning, and so he falls onto the snow, having what’s remained from the car to support his body. Connor is long gone when it comes to his high stress levels, and he does try to call the emergencies. Problem is, he cannot speak.

“Help…” He begs, throat wracked by the cold. “P-Please, help me… I-I’m cold…”

There’s a voice trying to talk to him, but the snow is so loud that he can’t understand it. He’s distantly aware that tears are rolling down his face, only for them to freeze and bite his eyes and cheeks.

Connor doesn’t feel the car anymore. He detects nothing but the snow. No light. No life.

He’s trapped again. And he’s… he’s not getting out this time.

He won’t go back home.

He won’t see Hank and Sumo again. He won’t see Markus and Josh, and North and Simon again. He won’t feel the sunlight on his face, or the rain softly wetting his clothes.

Right now, he’s shot by the freezing snow.

He’s going to die.

“Please…” Connor whispers, growing numb at this point – and so desperately trying to stay awake. “Help…”

I need more time, he begs.

But another voice arrives with the harsh truth: one that sounds too much like Amanda.

It’s too late, Connor.

You failed.

The way to the waiting room feels endless.

Connor looks down, trying to come up with a rational explanation of what happened, failing in the end. He’s not willing to tell Hank. This might be the turning point for the man to decide not to live with him anymore – and that’s really alright. If anything, Connor will do everything to pay for what he did.

Finally, he arrives. The Center’s waiting room is less white and neutral – its shades of blue are vivid. Though it’s not what draws his attention in the slightest, as he realizes there’s only one person waiting there.

Hank sits uncomfortably on one of the chairs, restless. He’s grabbed the nearest clothes he could find, as Connor judges by his mismatched socks and shoes, his home sweatpants and his worn, thick jacket. Hank is hiding his face with one of his hands, practically leaning onto his arm for support. He doesn’t appear to detect Connor’s approach at first, so the android finally voices his presence.

“Hank?”

The older man raises his head only a little, enough to reveal red-rimmed, swollen eyes, contrasting his light blue. Knowing Hank, he must’ve been crying in silence the entire time, and once he lowers his hand, Connor’s suspicions are confirmed by obvious tear stains. Connor has never seen Hank in such a tragic state.

The RK800 stares back, guilt creeping in his chest.

“Hank… I—”

The moment the android opens his mouth, Hank jumps from his chair and tackles Connor in his arms. He’s mindful of any injuries he might have, but at the same time Hank engulfs him so he never leaves.

“Jesus Christ, Connor!” Hank curses wetly. He can’t see his face, but Connor feels the other’s tears wetting his neck.

Connor considers for a moment, yet he doesn’t resist for long. He crushes the older man in both relief and fear, fearing he might go back to the snow and pain if he doesn’t let go.

Hank’s heart rate is high, too high. He’s barely holding it together, his sobs silent and muffled by Connor’s shoulder. After what feels like forever, Hank manages to pull away, looking even more terrible.

“Fuck, Connor,” He says, a hand gently reaching Connor’s face. “Are you okay?”

The android nods. “My injuries weren’t so grave, and the remaining, less severe ones will be healed by my own healing system.”

Hank sighs in a confusing mixture of feelings, drying his own tears with one of his hands. “Good fucking God…”

Connor lowers his gaze, remorseful.

“I’m sorry for crashing your car, Hank,” He apologizes. “I couldn’t—”

“I don’t give a shit about the car, you fucking idiot!” Hank snaps and faces him again, firmly grabbing his shoulders. Even so, the man is far from angry; he looks like he’s about to have a complete breakdown. “I could’ve lost you! I can’t-!” His voice breaks, crying harder. “I can’t fucking take this again, Connor. I can’t.”

Again…

Connor freezes, feeling stupid for not acknowledging why Hank is so distressed. Not that the man has ever been pleased with Connor risking his life and even dying once. But it’s been months, everything has changed. Everything between them has changed, and Connor knows Hank much better than before.

Of course Hank would be devastated. A car accident, of all things, to take Connor away from him in a snowy night…

The android cries along with him. “I’m sor—”

“Shut up, Connor. I just—” Hank takes a deep breath and pulls him close again. “I’m just glad you’re alright, son.”

The same warmth returns with these words, specifically the last one, and Connor buries his face in Hank’s shoulder. “Me too. I was…” He fists Hank’s coat and whispers, “I was so scared, Hank.”

The older man squeezes him. “I know.”

Finally, Connor relaxes in his hold, so much that his legs no longer cooperate with his weight. Hank supports him either way, smoothing his brown curls. After another squeeze on his shoulders, he lets go of the android, though not allowing him to go anywhere out of his sight.

“Come on, let’s go home,” Hank tells him. “Sumo is worried sick about you. Dog’s probably got a ‘Connor In Danger’ radar at this point.”

Connor smiles sadly at the thought, yet he finds himself staring at Hank and how his smile doesn’t meet his eyes. Hank guides him outside and calls a taxi, his arm firm around Connor’s shoulders. The latter feels him calming down, despite the hesitance of letting Connor go.

The taxi arrives in a couple minutes and so Hank and Connor share the backseat. The way home is silent, though their beating organs are soothing and clear. Connor lies on the former lieutenant’s side, while the other smooths his brown hair over and over. Connor takes a deep breath and finds himself slipping into a peaceful slumber, warm and welcoming and loving.

(Thankfully, it wasn’t too late.)

#detroit become human #dbh #connor #dbh connor #hank anderson #whump #fanfiction #car accident tw #death mention tw

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shaekingshitup · 4 years

Text

unintended part three

A/N: I forgot I wrote this but @twistedcharismaaa reminded me that I did. I didn’t have the wonderful @glittermakesmesmile sooo bare with me if you be seein mistakes. Please lmk what you think! I’m lowkey tipsy sooo I may have to come back and re-edit this later lol. I lowkey lost my taglist. Imma find it and make a new one soon. So hakuna matata. Also, the quality of some of these photos are trash but we gone live. It’s better than Teddy’s wifi. So, we good.

WC: about 3994 (Sorry C!)

Warnings: mmm like maybe PG smut? Like for real I chickened out on that. So no worries boo.

Jayden’s OOTD:

Jayden was shocked that she had held onto her composure thus far. The exchanges that she’d had with Trevor had been spicy from jump. Neither had sent any nudes, but the innuendos and open ended interpretations on what would happen the next time they were in the same room left her mind occupied every night since she’d met him three weeks ago.

This was her second trip around his block trying to find a parking spot.

“Oo oo ooo!” She said throwing her car in reverse and slowly retreating from the stop sign. The owner of the parked Kia Soul that had just beeped was going to be getting all of the good karma today. She patiently sat in her car as the woman who vaguely resembled Gwen Stefani started her ignition and departed. Jayden parallel parked her Honda Civic SI 2018 coupe perfectly into the spot. She flipped the visor down to do a final check of her beat before she grabbed her handbag and the drink tray from her passenger seat. She double checked the address on her phone and approached the door.

Ringing the doorbell she did her best to quell any nerves that she felt. She instead allowed her mind to swim with thoughts on how good this man was going to look opening up this door. She could see movement through his front window and jutted her hip out a little further so that the slit in her skirt accentuated her leg a little more.

Trevor opened the door with a smile that held her full attention. “Hey J” he greeted. She cheesed back at him unable to cease the wrinkles that this man would be destined to leave her with. As her eyes trailed down his frame she took note of his pink distressed sweater, the grey joggers and the black socks which adorned his feet and completed his outfit. Trevor watched her watch him and observed the question mark which took over her disposition. She didn’t ask any questions outright but it was plain on her face.

“Hey,” she gave back with a deflated smile. Trevor opened the door wider for her to come in. They stood in his entrance and Trevor took the drink tray from her as Jayden removed her shoes and placed them on the small rack that was next to his front door.

“This is really convenient,” she noted as she allowed her soles to meet the cool tile of his floor.

“Yeah, this way I don’t have to worry about too much people bringing outside inside my home. Come on,” he said with a tilt of his head to indicate the direction they were headed. Trevor brought her into his kitchen which was adjacent to his living room. He placed the drink tray containing his coffee and her water cup on the counter.

“Thank you for this by the way,” he said, grabbing his coffee and taking a sip. He had never felt awkward in his own home before. But I suppose there’s a first for everything. He had been feelin this woman since day one. Now three weeks later here she was looking devourable in his kitchen and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Well one of us had to keep up our end of the bargain,” Jayden quipped. She replaced her deadpan expression because she wasn’t trying to start their encounter off on the wrong foot. “What’s this?” she asked gesturing to the large tupperware bowl filled with water and some meat and the assortment of vegetables and seasonings he had on his countertop.

Trevor cocked his head at her. “These are the ingredients we’re going to need for our dinner tonight.” He leaned in a little closer to her. He was guzzling that coffee down and Jayden was wishing that his lips would be attached to her instead. “But, uh, what do you mean I didn’t keep up my end of the bargain?” Jayden raised her eyes from his mouth to stare at him as she tried to determine if he genuinely wasn’t certain what she was referring to or if he was just playing dumb to mess with her. She blinked slowly and gave a small chuckle deciding that it was the former of the two.

“The day we met. You looked me dead in the eye and said that because you’re a nudist, you would be answering the door with a big cup of joe and nothing else. Obviously because we decided that I was going to be the one to bring the coffee, I figured you’d make a few adjustments. This,” she Vanna Whited to his sweater and joggers, “ was not what I had in mind,”. She reached for the water cup and attempted to quench one of her thirsts .

Trevor was caught off guard. But once his mind had processed what she’d said he tried and failed to stifle the laughter that was dominating his body. “Girl, you are somethin.” He wiped some water from his eyes, placed his cup on the counter and crossed his arms at his chest. Leaning back against the sink he asked, “So, you’re upset because I have on too many layers? I can be naked in less than thirty seconds if that’s what you want Jay. Just say the word.” There was no question. The thought was intriguing to Trevor but she needed to clarify.

“I’m not that thirsty.” Jayden said punctuating her statement with another sip from her water cup only to find that it was already empty. Trevor’s left eyebrow shot up in a manner that catechized her without speaking. She powered forward as if she hadn’t seen that, “I’m just trying to see if you’re a man of your word Jackson,”. Before the period had even been placed at the end of her sentence, the sweater was up and over his head. The joggers were next to go. Trevor watched her. He’d actually made her speechless. He closed the distance before them and continued on with his cheeky behavior.

“Is this better Miss Pierce?” He asked in a low voice as he towered over her, “Do I need to ditch the socks and the boxers next? It’s your call,”

Jayden couldn't even feign that she was unbothered. His appearance. The timbre of his voice. His proximity.They were causing her mind to cloud. She tried to give herself a little room to breath but she was pinned by the kitchen counter. There was nowhere to go but forward. So, she advanced. Staring up into his eyes, daring Trevor to make the next move.

The additional temptation wasn’t what Trevor was looking for. He stared back into her eyes again speaking without forming words.

“Show me you want this. ” his eyes called. Jayden licked her lips and fixed them into a smirk.

“I want you.”

It was game on.

Trevor grabbed her by the waist and placed her atop his kitchen counter. He left his left hand on her exposed thigh and used his right to hold her chin in place as he maintained their connection. He was aware of her everywhere and they hadn’t even done anything yet. The rise and fall of her chest. The wanting in her eyes. The way she fell into a submissive role at his first display of dominance. He was savoring this moment because he knew that whatever happened after this had the potential to be his downfall or his triumph. Hell, when it came to Jayden the possibility of both was also on the table. Quite literally. Whatever the outcome, he was ready to eat.

Trevor dove in without abandon. His right hand fell to her neck as he tasted her lips for the first time. She gasped, whether for additional breath or out of shock Trevor wasn’t sure but he used it. His tongue explored her mouth and she took this opportunity to spar back with him. Sucking his tongue and deepening the kiss she moaned. Jayden bit his bottom lip and moved to bring her left hand to grip the hand he held around her neck. She swiped something on the counter on the way up to reaching him. She jumped and bit him a little harder than she’d intended.

“Fuck!” Trevor hollered. He laughed into their broken kiss but didn’t break his distance to her. Their foreheads touched as they panted into one another’s space.

“Maybe we should..” Jayden trailed off.

“Yeah. Uh, yeah. Maybe we should wait until after dinner’s ready” he picked up glancing down to the floor to see the chili powder, salt and paprika bottles that had fallen. Thankfully none of them had opened up.

Jayden reached out to caress his cheek and guide his attention back to her. “Dinner ain’t goin nowhere. But, we can move this party from the counter to the couch,” she offered. Trevor didn’t need to be told twice. He scooped her up causing her to giggle and wrap her legs around his waist. When he sat down on the couch she adjusted herself to straddle him.

“It’s not fair that I’m over here in my drawers and you got all of this fabric between us.” he pouted. Jayden laughed rolling her eyes. “Are you gonna be a baby or are you gonna do something about it Jackson?” she challenged, “matter of fact, how is it that you’re not listening to any music right now?”

“Well, damn girl. I was waiting for you to come over so that I could be a gentleman and let you pick. But, we can forget that at this point. Hey Alexa, play “Piercing my Thoughts” playlist.”

The opening to one of Jayden’s favorite 70s songs flooded his living room. Surround sound. Jayden could not keep the smile off her face as she sat up in his lap and created a little more friction between the two of them.

“Bold. You are bold sir,” she laughed as she leaned her head down to kiss this man beneath her while Al Green serenaded their adventure.

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

Do you want to make it better?

Do you want to stay together?

If you do

Then let's please

Make some new

Memories

Jayden woke up..satiated. She continued to lay there until she gathered her thoughts. Anderson Paak and Smokey Robinson were asking her questions. She was no longer in her skirt but now a large Black Plaid Ombre Shirt that could stand to have a lot more buttons used. She sat up to fix this and searched for her handbag. Spotting it in one of the kitchen chairs, she walked over opening the bag to grab the pair of underwear she hadn’t worn when she’d shown up. Trevor may be comfortable with the nudist thing but she wasn’t at that level yet.

But you at the level to fuck within the first fifteen minutes, Jayde? Asked her subconscious. Jayden retreated from the kitchen in search of the bathroom. She probably should have made this man give her a full tour of his place before she decided to climb him. But, hey. She was here now. She walked to the right of the kitchen already knowing that the living room was to the left. She came upon the dining room and briefly admired his decor.

This man has good taste. And not just in women.

The backyard was just off of this room and when she walked over the sliding door and took a glance outside, she saw a pool, a lounging area with a tv and a fire pit and.. a dog house. It looked empty.

“I haven’t seen any dogs” she pondered aloud.

“That’s because he’s at the groomers.” answered her from directly behind where she stood and Jayden damn near jumped out of her skin . Trevor, walked up behind her snaking an arm around his flannel that was draping across her body. He watched his backyard with his chin resting on her head. “How was your nap?” he asked.

“Good. Thanks for the shirt by the way. How long was I out?”

“Barely 20 minutes. You should have drank some coffee. I guess you were tired,” she didn’t need to look at him. She could hear the pride and the smile in his voice. Jayden exhaled loudly to cover up her smile and the fact that she was heavily inhaling his scent.

“You stay with the jokes,”

“You stay feelin it too.” he countered and licked a long strip on her cheek.

“OH MY GAWD! Where’s your restroom anyway?” she feened an eye roll. She was trying not to get too caught up over the fact that she was standing in this man’s shirt with nothing else on.

“There’s one right off of the front door.” She turned around fully facing him, in all of his nude glory. She quickly looked away and made a beeline for the restroom.

When she was done freshening up, she found him in the living room again writing in a notepad as a Dan + Shay ballad caused him to drum his left hand to the rhythm of the song.

“Tequila?” she mused? “This has been piercing your thoughts?” she inquired.

“Nah. That playlist is still a work in progress. I’m still tryna figure out some stuff. You ready for the rest of the tour? I just set the oven to pre-heat.

“Sure. But we’re not gone glance over the fact that you have a whole playlist inspired by me.”

“No. We not. Plus, we’re gonna talk about how you got one for me too. I follow you on Spotify ya know.” Jayden wasn’t trying to concede to anything. So, she switched it up.

“I see we’ve returned to the joggers.” She spoke as he stood from the couch.

“I want you to be comfortable when you with me. I know that you’re not about that nudist life yet. I peeped how quickly you made your way to the bathroom. Stick around me long enough and we can change that,” he took her hand and guided her through his home. Jayden adored how often his corny humor peaked out while he told her short stories about random furniture and events that had occurred in his home. He lent her a pair of his boxers too. By the time they made it back to the kitchen they were ready to get to preppin their dinner.

“What’s on the menu for tonight Chef Jackson?”

“Shrimp Fajitas. I already deveined the shrimp before you got here,”

“Oh, okay. A true gentleman I see.”

“So, we got some bell peppers that need some slicin if you want to get started on that and I’ll worry about seasonin the meat.”

“Aye aye Cap’n.” she mock saluted. They settled themselves into their roles at the countertop. Working side by side was exactly what Jayden wanted. She could steal glances without openly gawking at the specimen of man he was.

“So, about your playlist..” he opened

“What about it?” Jayden asked.

“What do you think? About the music I mean. I saw you put damn near every song I ever released in a playlist,”

“Woww. We are out here lurkin lurkin in these streets.”

“Says the girl who downloaded my whole discography. What better way to know someone than through their taste in music? So, what’d you learn about me?”

“Well, from the way you’ve been blowin up my DMs and some of the songs I’ve heard, I’ve learned that you are definitely in a lane of your own.”

“Hmm. How’s that?” she had his interest peaked.

“I mean you’re an artist who has been in the game long enough to know the rules and you completely disregard them. Nigga,” she said shifting her body and the knife she was using to cut peppers in his direction,” while most artists are over here talking about Versace, Gucci, YSL and Louis, you are over here flexin in CROCS! CROCS, my nigga!” she cackled and glanced down at his feet in case they might manifest just because she mentioned it.

“You cute when you laugh,” he answered unafraid to openly admire her. “But, you look crazy wieldin that knife. Watch it J.”

She rolled her eyes. She had just discussed his music and he wasn’t even focused on that. Too busy complimentin her. So odd.

“Anyways, like I said you in your own lane. I can tell by the way you choose to direct your own videos as well. You have some out there concepts. Not Gaga meat dress out there. They’re simply abnormal to the culture, highly intellectual and yet it makes sense.” she continued.

“Oh, so we was peepin the videos too? How far down my rabbit hole did you go?

Shit.

“A saw a few videos. I mean you’re cool.” she shrugged. Trevor felt that she gave this off too breezily.

“Uh uh. That’s that hard Jayden. What else did you see?” he asked as he washed his hands free of the fresh lime, garlic, and seasonings he'd been working with. Jayden should have been watching him as he’d left his spot beside her. Maybe she would have seen the goofy Spongebob knowing smile he had plastered on his face as he toweled off his hands and made his way back to her from the other direction.

“I said what I said. You got some decent music videos. Moving on,” she started and that’s when he attacked. He grabbed her from behind, causing her to drop her knife and tickled her like she wasn’t in the middle of doing the task that he’d assigned her. She was squealing and thrashing. She was trying to be angry but she couldn’t help her body’s natural reaction to laugh.

‘I’m gonna pee my pants!” she screamed.

“Nope. you’re gonna pee my pants. You gone tell me the truth?” She said nothing and he refused to relent until she was real with him.

“OKAY. LEMME GO YOU BIG CHILD! I’LL TALK!” Trevor released her and waited for her to say what she was holding back.

“I may have binged watched both seasons of Grownish, Burning Sands, All American and alloftheDisneyshitthatyouhaveeverbeenin.” she threw that last part in so quickly he wasn’t certain when she’d come up for air again.

“In three weeks time? Oh shit. I got me a stalker.” Trevor joked. Jayden threw a bell pepper strip at him.

“I thought I was supposed to feel comfortable in your house.” she quipped.

“That’s exactly what I’d expect a stalker to say,” he countered back. She was still as he chortled. And then she lunged for him. She chased him around his kitchen for a good two minutes until Trevor gave up because he was laughing so much. When he came to an immediate hault, Jayden crashed directly into him.

“Ow!” she cried.

“Aye, if you were looking for a hug all you had to do was ask J” he said, enveloping her in a bear hug. She just smiled at this dude who three weeks ago she didn’t even know existed. Now, they’d swapped some music, some knowledge and saliva.

“Stop thinkin about time and just let it happen.” Trevor said.

“I don’t like how close you are to my thoughts. Please back up.”

“Look from jump street, we was feelin each other and this connection. Don’t worry about the timeline of it. I can see your wheels turning. We don’t live by anybody’s rules. Like you said, we know em and then we break em. But we still succeed,”

“That’s not quite what I said.”

“I’m paraphrasing. I don’t have the script in front of me.”

“Oh-kayyy. Can we please get this food in the oven? I’m hungry” Trevor looked her up and down. “Hakuna Matata J. We gone eat,” he said licking his lips.

The two of them got all of the food onto a sheet pan to cook and retired to the living with some wine.

“Okay, I know I’m supposed to be here to peep alllll 200 hundred of these new songs you got. But, I’m also interested in experiencing this speaker system you have here. Can we watch a Netflix show or something?”

“I always knew you had good taste for sound. Okay so I got Amazon Prime, HBO, Showtime, Hulu, Disney + and I got a lot of new stuff thanks to SAG that hasn’t even hit the theatres yet. So, you can pick your poison.”

Jayden’s eyes widened at the array of selection he was offering. “You got exclusive content? Like what?”

“Well, I got this film with Issa Rae and Lakeith-”

“Say no more. We’re watching that one sir.”

“What about the plot? Or any of the other actors?”

“I’ll figure that out along the way. Plug it in! Plug it in!” she shimmied and sing-songed. The two enjoyed their dinner and film; but, most of all they enjoyed each other’s company. Trevor was amused at the small comments and natural responses Jayden had throughout the film and her review of the song choices was right in line with his own. However, the short debate that they had afterwards recapping the movie and Jayden’s disappointment for both Issa’s performance and the less engaging storyline that her character had in comparison to her mother’s was bynfar his favorite moment of the night. She was animated through and through. None of her hardness was at the forefront and although they hadn’t seen eye to eye on every facet of the film, the communication was healthy. They genuinely listened to one another, communicated and adapted their points for their side based on new information and perspectives presented and they were able to evolve the film discussion into some deeper intellectual ones where neither felt that they were restricted by the knowledge of the other to discuss these topics earnestly

"What's on your agenda for tomorrow?' Jayden asked as she nursed her third glass of wine sitting on top of Trevor’s freshly wiped down kitchen counter. Not only did this man have good taste in women, and home decor but he was intellectual, creative and cleanly?

TUH!

"Well, I was supposed to link up with this lil thang this weekend," Jayden balked contemplating if there was enough wine in her glass to toss at him, "and we were gonna listen to music-about 200 songs," Trevor saw her release her grip on the glass and relax, “but she turned out to be a stalker and we got a lil carried away on the couch,”

“You had sex with your stalker? That’s dangerous,”

“True. But now I know that she’s really feelin me and she won’t go anywhere else.”

“Aight, Imma head out” Jayden said, finishing her wine and hopping down from the counter.

“Yeah, right.” he said following her out of the kitchen and turning off the lights. “The only place you’re heading is to sleep,” Trevor said

Jayden yawned “I already took a nap. Not really that tired.”

“You’re a bad liar,” he said. “Let me help you out Sleeping Beauty,” Before Jayden knew it he she was being bridal carried up the stairs

“Left or right?” he asked when she’d come out of the restroom.

“Which side do you sleep on? It’s your bed.”

“I gotta be appeasing stalkers. I never know what they gone do next,” Jayden climbed into the middle of the bed out of spite.

Trevor crawled in behind her and pulled her closer. “You’re really never gonna let that go are you?”

Trevor held on a little tighter. “Nah”.

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

TAG LIST: @twistedcharismaaa @mygirlrenee @glittermakesmesmile @sarcastic-sunshines @chaneajoyyy @shewrites02 @ghostfacekill-monger @raysunshine78 @shewritestheblues @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @fd-writes @eyeknowmywrites @thadelightfulone @yoyolovesbucky

#unintended #Trevor Jackson #trevor jackson x oc #shaekingspeaks

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hazelandglasz · 5 years

Note

Oh my, oh my, "I’m calling to cancel our date because I’m actually in the ER right now, sorry. …I mean, sure, I guess you can come down here, but… okay…" with Klaiiiine, pretty pretty please ? (I think this is the first time I've ever prompted you and I don't know why)

On AO3

Blaine could cry.

Out of pain, sure, but also out of sheer frustration.

After months of sighing after Kurt Hummel, Blaine finally pulled his head out of his ass and asked him out--and was rewarded with a loud and clear “yes”--only to have to cancel because of his stupidity.

As in, got so excited about getting ready for his date that he tripped on his scarf and fell.

And now, Blaine’s wrist is hurting very badly, and oh God it’s an odd angle too.

Shit, shit, shit.

At least it’s his right one--silver lining of being a lefty.

While he waits and tries not to cry--not that there's anything wrong with a man crying, it’s just that Blaine didn’t pack any tissue and crying always makes him sneezy--Blaine sends a message to Kurt.

B: I’m so sorry I have to cancel our date but I’m in the E.R. Long story.

B: Raincheck?

K: Oh no! Are you okay?

K: Stupid question, nvm

K: Which hospital?

That gives Blaine pause. Why would Kurt want to know the name of the hospital?

B: Brooklyn Hospital Center

B: Why?

K: On my way.

B: What? No, no, Kurt, it’s fine! Don’t come down here I’m a mess

K: Blaine.

K: I’m not going to leave you alone while you’re in pain

K: I’ll keep you company, bring you smthing to eat, and we’ll see ok?

Blaine considers his options.

He can allow Kurt to come down to the hospital, see him be a pathetic, hurt mess, but they will be together and who knows, maybe he’ll get a sympathy first kiss.

(No, he does not have a nurse kink--but now that the image of Kurt in a doctor’s outfit presents itself, oy.)

Or.

He insists Kurt does not come, Kurt’s feelings are hurt while Blaine’s body is hurt, they never speak to each other and Blaine has to move back to Ohio.

Door number one, then please.

B: I suppose it won’t hurt, but no comment on how I look or no deal.

K: Scout’s honor.

Blaine smiles at that, barely suppressing a laugh at the next message.

K: I never was a scout, to be transparent and honest, but being a cheerleader counts, right?

Well now that opens a whole can of conversation, doesn’t it?

B: Cheerleader uh? I guess I can admit that if you have photographic evidence that it happened

K: Deal. See you in a few!

Blaine smiles at his phone before slowly but surely descending into a panic.

Kurt is coming.

Kurt, whom he has crushed on for the better portion of this semester; Kurt, who is always effortlessly stylish and remarkable; Kurt, who is probably the most interesting man in the school, if not the entire city.

This Kurt.

Is coming to, what, hang out with him in the E.R. while Blaine looks like a trainwreck smashed by a bulldozer?

Before slipping on his scarf, Blaine was getting ready for his date with Kurt.

The keyword here is clearly the “getting” part, because he is nowhere near ready.

Not even taking into consideration the broken wrist and the puffy eyes from crying, which would be more than enough, Blaine knows that he is objectively a mess.

No product in his hair, an old t-shirt--the only thing he has going for him is his pants, because they are his Pants, capital P required.

But he’s sitting, so even that is a moot point.

With his free hand, Blaine tries to tame his hair but with no mirror and no product, he probably messes it up even further.

“Mr Anderson?”

A nurse appears in front of him. Nurse Pavarotti, it reads on her tag.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to take you down for a X-Ray in about twenty minutes, if that’s alright with you. Sorry about the wait.”

Blaine nods. “I just--there is a, um, a friend coming to keep me company. Is it okay if we …”

The nurse gives him a long, searching look before giving him a small nod.

Twenty-one minutes later, Kurt makes an appearance. He is short of breath, slightly dishevelled, and his cheeks are a dark shade of pink.

Not a bad look on him, all things considered, but not one Blaine has ever seen on him.

“Blaine!” Kurt exclaims, making his way to the chair next to him.

“There you are,” Blaine says, unable to keep himself from smiling.

Kurt smiles back, unbuttoning his coat before taking a look at Blaine’s hand, wrapped from the tip of his fingers to his elbow in a dish towel with melted ice cubes. “Does it hurt?”

“Oh, yes. A lot.” Blaine chuckles darkly. “I’m considering gnawing it off to stop the pain.”

Kurt coos before looking from Blaine’s hand to his hair. Something sparks up in his eyes.

“That’s a new look?”

Blaine can feel his face heating up. “N-no, oh gosh no, I was just, just, um, getting ready for our date when my scarf attacked me from the floor.”

“Traitor.”

“Exactly.”

They look into each other’s eyes and Blaine really has no self-control over his zygomatics when it comes to Kurt, does he?

“Mr Anderson? Are you ready?”

Blaine shakes himself from his Kurt-induced trance and nods to the nurse.

“Give me your coat, I’ll wait here,” Kurt offers, already settling in his chair.

“I’ll be right back,” Blaine replies, groaning when the towel slightly moves over his wrist.

“Don’t worry,” Kurt says, “I’m not going anywhere. You won’t get rid of me so easily.”

A weight is lifted from Blaine’s chest, a weight he didn’t even know had found its spot there.

“It won’t take much time,” Nurse Pavarotti says as she guides Blaine toward the examination room. “And you two lovebirds will be back together in no time.”

Blaine’s blush is back at full volume. “We’re not, I--”

“Tutt-tutt-tutt,” the nurse stops him. “I can tell. Now we will X-ray you and in the best case scenario, put you in a cast before sending you both on your merry little way.”

Blaine sighs. “Okay.”

“Oh, don’t be so gloomy, dear. I’m sure we can find a color that will enhance those eyes.”

“Okay.” This time around, Blaine puts a little more energy and enthusiasm in his voice. After all, if there is one thing he knows how, it’s to accessorize.

---

Kurt is keeping busy with Candy Crush when Blaine returns, arm in a cast.

He doesn’t know why he went to the hospital--it can be because he waited for so long to either get the courage to ask Blaine out or for Blaine to cut through his obliviousness.

It can be because he cares about Blaine already.

It can be because Blaine made the first move and it was his turn.

--but right this moment, he doesn’t regret it.

Because Blaine has a cast on and he looks so shy and vulnerable. All Kurt wants to do is wrap him in a blanket and take care of him.

… Come to think of it, Blaine may need some help in the days to come. Even if he’s left-handed--and Kurt knows that tidbit of information, thank you very much--, it cannot be easy to navigate his daily tasks one-handed, can it?

“We had to give him a strong painkiller,” the nurse explains as she guides Blaine back to his seat. “Will you be able to take him home?”

“Oh! I’m not--we’re not--that is, not yet. I mean …”

The nurse frowns at him. “You are Kurt, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“I thought so. Mr Anderson here mentioned you a couple of times while we were putting on the cast.”

“He--he did?”

“Only good things. So good, in fact, that I assumed you two were already an item.” The nurse cocks her head to the side. “I’m telling you this because we need to make sure Mr Anderson won’t stay alone for the next 24 hours. And if you’re not in a capacity to be here for him, we need to contact his emergency contact, which appears to be a Mr Anderson …?”

“That must be his brother. But he recently moved to Los Angeles so that’s a moot point.” Kurt takes a deep breath--it’s a no-brainer. “Don’t worry, Miss, I will stay with Blaine.”

I would stay with Blaine forever, but that’s perhaps a tad too soon to say it out loud.

“Fantastic! Well, all you need to know is that the cast needs to stay dry, and here is a prescription for painkillers. Otherwise, just check with him how his fingers feel. If he starts losing sensation in them--”

“Bring him back?”

“Bring him back.”

“Alright.” Kurt gives the nurse an approximation of a military salute before turning back to Blaine.

Who is wearing his jacket like a cape and smiling adoringly at him.

“Blaine? You okay buddy?”

“‘m fine,” Blaine replies, getting on wobbly legs. “Not as fine as you, though.”

Kurt flushes deeply but cannot help the pang of satisfaction at hearing this. Really, after months of being either oblivious or afraid of his feelings, Blaine is now going to let them all out, just because of a painkiller?

As little as he put into his thought process in coming to the E.R., Kurt can only pat himself on the back for the best decision made tonight.

“You flatterer,” he simply says, steadying Blaine with one hand around his waist. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“On the first date?” Blaine snorts before giggling. “Oh, Mr Hummel!”

Behind them, Kurt could swear he hears the nurse huffing a laugh. “No, not like that, Blaine. I’m just taking you home so you can rest and get better.”

Blaine pauses and Kurt has to stop. His eyes are a bit unfocused, sure, but there is a seriousness in them all the same. “You’re going to take care of me.” It’s not even phrased as a question.

Kurt swallows hard on the unexpected lump in his throat. “I will,” he replies, and he finds that he doesn’t mean just for the period of healing ahead.

He wants to date Blaine, sure, he wants to kiss him and “dot dot dot”, sure, but he wants …

Kurt wants the nitty gritty too.

He wants to figure out if Blaine is tidy or messy, he wants to find him drinking milk out of the bottle, he wants to see him under all the colors of the emotional rainbow.

He wants the passionate nights of lust and the quiet nights of comfort.

He wants everything Blaine has to offer and he wants to give Blaine everything in return.

That’s how far gone he is.

But for now, a helping hand to get clean and into another t-shirt and maybe some help heating up some soup will have to do.

“I know you will,” Blaine says, leaning his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “‘m sorry for our date.”

“It’s only a delay, don’t worry,” Kurt says with a smile as they start walking.

“I had this whole plan, you know.”

“Oh? Care to tell me about it.”

Blaine opens his mouth before glaring at Kurt.

(Well, “glaring”. An attempt is made, and Kurt really shouldn’t be laughing.)

“No, no, no. I’ll keep my surprise for you, Kurt. I’m going to woo the shizzle out of you.”

“The shizzle? Consider me swept off my feet already.”

“Good. But you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Blaine says with a smile and a wink, the insufferable …

The adorable, insufferable idiot.

God, Kurt loves him so much already.

“Kurt?”

“Hm?”

“I really am sorry it took me so long to ask you out.”

Kurt smiles crookedly at Blaine. “It’s fine. I could have asked you out too, but I was--”

“--scared?”

“Terrified.”

Blaine huffs. “We truly make a pair.”

“As long as we get it right in the end.”

A short nod and a happy sigh. “As long as we get it right, yeah.”

#blameitonderek #sometimes i write #klaine au #cw injury #cw pain medication #fluff #slightly cracky i'm afraid

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natural-selections · 5 years

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"Tell me, Mr. Anderson, what good is a phone call when you are unable to speak?"

Have you ever seen a rabbit born without a face?

If you haven't visited the Prehistoria Natural History Centre (#PNHC), you're missing out on countless incredible and bizarre specimens!

#vulture culture #oddities #cabinet of curiosities #curio cabinet #pathology #veterinary medicine #vet tech #taxidermy #wet specimen

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simplyshelbs16xoxo · 4 years

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‘What I Want (For Christmas)’ Chapters 1 + 2

Surprise @yourdistinguishedglitterstudent I am your secret santa! I hope you enjoy this two-part fic I wrote for you! @sherlollysecretsanta

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

Chapter 1: Pining

Molly sighed deeply. It was almost December. Sherlock hadn’t even been back for a month, and yet, he was already plaguing her thoughts. She bit her bottom lip as her fingers twisted the engagement ring this way and that as if it would make her feel differently if it hit the light just right. It wasn’t long before she had given up the fight. She knew her heart would always belong to Sherlock Holmes—not the famous detective who hid behind the façade of a high functioning sociopath, but the real, flesh and blood man who shared his heart with her.

Speaking of, the detective swept through the doors to the morgue just as Molly switched the radio on. The chorus of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ echoed throughout the room, leaving Molly no choice but to laugh at the coincidence. Though she hadn’t notice, Sherlock was watching her with an amused look.

“Something funny?” he asked, unable to keep his lopsided smile off his face.

Molly wasn’t sure how to answer without giving herself away. “Inside joke…”

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“…with myself,” she clarified. Wanting to change the subject, she turned the questioning on him. “How are you adjusting? Being back in London and all.”

A surge of affection for his pathologist welled up inside him. “Well, it hasn’t been easy,” Sherlock confessed. “Change is annoyingly difficult.” Including your engagement, he thought. Had he not been an honorable man when it came to loyalty, Sherlock wouldn’t have held himself back from snogging her in the stairwell. So, why did he find himself inching closer toward her?

She nodded, empathetic to his struggle. “Look, if you never need an escape from it all, I have a guest room you can use.” What was she saying??? And, goodness, he was getting awfully close to her. It began to feel warm in the lab…or maybe it was just her face turning every shade of red.

A wistful look reached his eyes, not unlike the one that appeared before the cheek kiss that nearly landed on her lips. Sherlock was taken by surprise when Molly had him wrapped up in a warm embrace. Much to both their surprise, he reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her petite frame. “Thank you, Molly.” His voice was soft as velvet.

For the first time since his return, Molly allowed herself this one moment of honesty, coming out in a whisper. “I missed you.”

Thomas Barnes may not have been the smartest guy in the world—especially not when Sherlock Holmes was around—but he knew there was something between Molly and the detective. Anyone with eyes could see that. They had been friends for years before he came into the picture, and anybody would be relieved to see that their friend was alive and safe after all. Whatever those two had ran deeper than that, though neither of them seemed to realise it.

As he saw his fiancée hugging the detective, Tom didn’t feel jealous or scorned. He felt sorry for them. He knew that Molly loved him, but she wasn’t in love with him. No. She was in love with Sherlock Holmes, and possibly completely oblivious to the fact. Tom did love her, but he knew Molly closed parts of herself off to him.

He moved quickly out from behind the glass, going down towards the morgue. Once Tom rounded the corner, he nearly collided with Sherlock Holmes who appeared to be momentarily surprised at his appearance.

“Mister Holmes,” Tom laughed lightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were coming this way.”

The detective was noticeably uncomfortable. “Quite alright…Tom?” He cleared his throat. “Well, I must be going. I was just checking on an experiment Molly was helping with.”

Sherlock stalked off down the hall, but stopped short before going out the doors. “And one more thing...”—he turned to face Tom—“…Don’t let her down. She deserves every happiness.”

Tom found it interesting that Sherlock had felt the need to assure him nothing inappropriate had been happening. And nothing was. A hug between friends, though it probably meant more than it appeared on the surface, was nothing to get suspicious about. There was a look in the detective’s eyes that he couldn’t quite place, but he knew the man must be heartbroken. And then Tom made up his mind. He’d need to keep up appearances until the last possible moment if it was going to work. He was going to help bring them together.

The guilt was eating her alive. She loved Tom, but her heart would always belong to Sherlock. She was irrevocably in love with Sherlock, but his timing sucked. Molly noticed the way he danced around the truth in the stairwell. It damn near killed her to watch him walk away. But it was the right thing…wasn’t it? Here were two men who loved her and she was tearing them both apart. With Tom, she knew she was holding back. Deep in her subconscious, she felt like she’d be betraying Sherlock if she opened herself up completely to Tom. At the same time, it wasn’t fair to her fiancé; she knew that.

“Hi, Molly,” Tom smiled, breaking her out of her reverie. “I saw Sherlock…”

Molly froze.

“…Is everything alright?”

She laughed out of relief. “It’s alright. He’s just struggling with everything that’s changed since he’s been…well, gone.”

“Remember when you told me you had always wanted to throw a Christmas party at your flat?” Tom asked.

Molly nodded. “Yeah, but we never got around to talking ‘bout it. I thought we were going to your parents’ for Christmas?”

Tom considered this. “We’ll just have the party the weekend before!”

A smile began to bloom across Molly’s face. “So…we’re actually doing this? I’ve got to invite John and Mary, and Greg! Anderson would like to come as well, and oh! Mrs. Hudson!”

Tom noted the one exclusion. “Yes, and Sherlock as well!”

Her face fell. “He’s not much interested in Christmas parties; trust me, I know from experience.”

It made him curious. What happened at that Christmas party from Sherlock and Molly’s past? Tom figured the best way to get Molly on board was to present things differently. “Well, we should at least invite him to let him know he’s always welcome.”

Molly bit her lip anxiously as she thought on it. “You’re right; it would be the kind thing to do.” Her smile returned. “I need to start planning! I’ll see you later!”

She ran off to her office, making the necessary phone calls. Tom was satisfied with how well things appeared to be going. Hopefully, it would all work out.

Chapter 2: What He Wants

Molly looked around the room knowing she had outdone herself. It looked as if her sitting room was transformed into what it felt like to be inside a Christmas tree. Garland and fairy lights adorned every possible surface, giving off a romantic glow. The tree in the corner had gifts aplenty beneath it, the branches decorated with tinsel and shiny baubles. Everyone had RSVP’d—well, everyone except for Sherlock, but she tried not to let that upset her.

When Tom walked through the door, Molly jumped feeling as if she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to do. God, this was torture. She swore her heart was trying to kill her, ironically enough. He carried a bag of decorations in his gloved hand.

“Though we could use a few more finishing touches,” he explained. “Like…” Tom pulled out, much to Molly’s horror, “…mistletoe!”

“Um, don’t you think that’s a little much?” she asked, now biting her lip. Nausea overcame her. She hadn’t a clue why it bothered her; it wasn’t as if Sherlock was actually going to show. It would be fine.

“Nonsense, Molls!” Tom exclaimed. “Mistletoe adds a bit of romance…sometimes unexpectedly.”

Molly watched as he hung it in the archway leading to the kitchen. The counter was filled with all sorts of goods that she had spent the last two days baking. The mistletoe had reminded her that she and Tom hadn’t kissed in, well, weeks. Not properly, anyways. There were cheek kisses and the occasional top of the head kiss, but he hadn’t dared touch her lips. Yet the only part of the situation that brought on clarity was the fact she hadn’t even noticed until now. And wasn’t he the one that was so insistent on inviting Sherlock?

“Tom, what exactly are you doing?” she asked.

He looked at her as if he had no idea what she was talking about. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You haven’t really kissed me since—“ That’s when it hit her. “Since you probably saw me hugging Sherlock in the morgue. Tom, nothing is going on between me and Sherlock.”

He laughed. He was laughing at her. “Molly, I know you didn’t do anything.”

She was utterly confused. “Then what exactly are you getting at??”

Tom dropped the other decorations onto the sofa, walking towards her. “I was hoping I’d be able to keep this secret longer, but Molly, I can’t allow you to marry me.” He slipped the ring from her finger.

The relief in her eyes was apparent, though her eyebrows knit together in bafflement. “I don’t—Tom, what’s going on?”

But Molly never found out what he was up to, as John and Mary arrived, walking through the door. This was going to be a long evening.

Sherlock Holmes stared himself down in the mirror. He was dressed impeccably in his usual attire, his aubergine shirt peeking out from underneath his suit jacket. He knew it was Molly’s favourite colour on him. What was he doing? She was engaged and safe in the hands of that man. All that mattered is that she remains safe and happy. She was happy…wasn’t she?

It would be rude to not stop by. In fact, both she and Tom had invited him. His mind was made up. He would make an appearance, but he would not be staying longer than an hour. That was all he knew he could manage.

He slipped on his scarf and coat, glancing back at himself one more time in the mirror. “Once more unto the breach.”

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock knocked upon the door. What he saw took his breath away. Molly stood there in ruby red flats and an emerald green chiffon midi dress with a ruffled skirt and a bow tied in the front just a couple inches below her breasts. Her dark hair had been left down in tantalizing waves. She was gorgeous. A sharp pain ached in his chest.

Molly looked alarmed. “Sherlock,” she smiled with a radiance as bright as the midday sun. “ Come in! I didn’t think you’d show.” If Tom was trying to push her towards Sherlock, she certainly wasn’t going to fight against it. She was exhausted from fighting her heart. For once, she would allow herself to give in.

“I thought I’d stop by,” he smiled back. “Oh, um…” Sherlock searched the inside pocket of his coat, retrieving a small, neatly wrapped package. “This…is for you.”

Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Sherlock never gave gifts to anybody. Everyone had been acting so strange lately. In fact, it felt as if everyone’s eyes were on her. Molly checked behind her shoulder to make sure it wasn’t the case. John and Greg were talking with Anderson, and Mrs. Hudson and Mary stood by Tom who was looking toward her every so often. Okay, so she was just paranoid. Great.

“Thank you,” she told him, “but you really didn’t have to get me anything.” Why was this so difficult? She could hardly form a sentence around him. And God help her, he was looking at her as if she were the most precious thing in his world.

“I wanted to,” he assured her. She made no move to take the gift, so he kept it in his coat pocket for safekeeping. Sherlock couldn’t help but notice the deep red colour staining her lips. And then he tried to imagine how they would fit against his own; how he would kiss her if he had the chance. And, wow, it was getting toasty in here. For once, he was thankful for the interruption that occurred.

“Sherlock,” Tom smiled, extending his hand toward him. “Glad you could make it!”

“Ah, well, yes,” Sherlock replied, “I couldn’t let Molly down.”

“Well, come on, have a drink!” Tom exclaimed.

“I better not, I—“

“He doesn’t usually drink alcohol—it messes with his thought process,” Molly explained. “But perhaps a dessert?”

Tom perked up. “Yes, of course, there are plenty of desserts! Molly baked them herself.” What was that one that Sherlock liked again?? “Uh, she made ginger nuts—she says they’re your favourite!”

Sherlock couldn’t keep the smile off his face when he looked over at Molly. She apparently talked about him a lot. “I suppose a few would be alright.”

“Great!” exclaimed Tom. “It’s just through the kitchen.” He said this, noting the mistletoe he had hung there not long ago. He hoped that this would work.

Heading toward the kitchen with Molly, Sherlock said hello to everyone. He was much more cordial this time around compared to the last Christmas party. That one had gone disastrously. The scent of the baked goods grew stronger the closer they were, and then Mary piped up before they had a chance to enter the kitchen.

“Look who’s under the mistletoe,” she teased. And sure enough, as they both looked up, mistletoe was indeed in their presence.

Sherlock felt a rising panic. “Mary, you know full well she’s engaged. That would be inappropriate.”

“Oh, go on, Sherlock,” Tom encouraged him.

WAIT. Tom was telling him to kiss his fiancée? What was in those drinks? Sherlock was utterly confused. And poor Molly was so red, she could have been a decoration on a Christmas tree.

Molly pinched the bridge of her nose, now fully aware of what Tom was trying to tell her before John and Mary interrupted them. He was trying to set them up. He knew how she felt about Sherlock.

Sherlock turned his attention to Molly, noticing it was her left hand pinching her nose. He also couldn’t help but notice there was no longer a ring adorning her finger. Throwing caution to the wind, he pulled her in close, taking her by surprise. He cradled her face gently with one hand whilst he held onto her waist with the other. He leaned closer, softly brushing his lips across hers.

She was melting into him…in front of everyone. At this point, Molly didn’t care. Tom wanted to break things off just to play matchmaker? Match made. She nudged his nose with hers, encouraging him, and finally his lips were pressed firmly against hers, his tongue tracing the seam of her mouth. Sherlock wanted to taste more of her, but he had to get a grip on himself with others around them still. Breaking their unexpectedly passionate kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“It’s about bloody time!” shouted Greg whilst the others cheered.

“I knew it,” Anderson repeated. “I told you, but did anyone listen? Noooo.”

“You’re no longer engaged.” It was all Sherlock could think to say at the moment.

Molly smiled. “It appears I’m not.”

“Would you like to be engaged again?” he asked, a knowing smile on his face.

“Oh my God,” Mary half-whispered, sharing her joy with Anderson.

“What?” Molly was dumbfounded. “Sherlock, I—“ His eyes never left hers, gazing at her adoringly. Regardless of how fast this appeared to be moving, she knew there was never going to be anyone else but the man standing in front of her. “It was always you.”

He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and whispered in her ear. “Open your gift, then.” Sherlock pulled it from within his coat pocket and this time, Molly took it. Beneath the wrapping, there was a small wooden box with a painted anatomical heart on the lid. Opening the box, she revealed a lovely diamond set in a rose gold band. On either side beneath the jewel, two miniature skulls resided. A few smaller diamonds cascaded down the side of the ring beneath each skull.

Molly lifted her head, looking up into his eyes. “Would you?” she requested. He complied without hesitation.

As he slid the ring on her left hand, he spoke softly. “Even in death, we will never part.”

The others cheered once more, happy for their friends. Tom was alarmed by the morbid Christmas it turned out to be, but then again, he supposed you couldn’t avoid it when Sherlock and Molly were in the room. He had to admit, they understood each other in ways nobody else did. And that was okay. They were clearly made for one another.

Molly realised there was one thing that made absolutely no sense to her. “Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” he replied as he kissed her once more.

“Don’t you think it was a bit risky gifting me a ring for Christmas? I mean, to your knowledge I was still engaged to Tom,” she questioned.

This made him chuckle. “I thought I’d present another option to you; it’s only fair if you know all of your choices.”

“Is that so?” she was calling him out on his fib. “That doesn’t seem like you. You’re usually prepared no matter the situation.”

Sherlock sighed in defeat. “Okay, fine, there were two gifts. I only brought the ring in case I had another chance. After all, I did muck it up last time I tried.”

“Last time? When was this? I think I’d remember you proposing,” she pointed out.

“I was going to in the stairwell that day, but then I noticed your ring before the words could come out,” he admitted.

Molly shook her head in amusement. “You’re an idiot,” she laughed, “but you’re my idiot.” And she couldn’t wait to spend the rest of her life with him. A thought occurred to her then. “Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“What do you want for Christmas? I’m afraid I had nothing prepared for you this year.” Molly worried at her lip.

“What I want for Christmas, Molly, is you,” he smiled. “Only you.”

#sherlolly #sherlolly secret santa 2019 #sherlolly secret santa #my fanfiction #sherlock x molly

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 4 years

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Yours Truly [Part Seventeen]

Summary: The school year begins; Sadie accepts a date with a co-worker. Pairing: Chris Pratt x OFC, Chris Evans x OFC Word Count: 1580 Warnings: None? A/N: This fic was previously posted on my multi-fandom account; in honor of OC Appreciation Day, I figured I would queue it all up for your reading pleasure throughout the day! This was a collab with @captain-s-rogers , and I will link her chapters at the end of all of my posts! Some GIFs were difficult to find again, so if there’s no credit, they’re from Google Image Search or from the original post.

August 12

Caroline,

It’s the first day of school, which means we can officially make phone calls to each other at will! I’m sure our letters will be more sporadic, but I’m still enjoying writing them.

Speaking of, forgive me that it’s been a while since my last letter. With inservices last week and nothing to do between but read and forget about Farmer Pratt on my downtime, there hasn’t been much to tell. I want to do like you say and go for it, but I look at Layla and I know how much it would mean to her to have her whole family back. Doesn’t mean I can’t sit for her every now and again, and I’m sure I’ll see her at the school. You’d be proud of me if you knew what I said to Chris on open house night, though. I’ll tell you about it when we actually talk on the phone, which I’m hoping will be soon.

I’m so excited for you – getting the President’s endorsement is HUGE! Chris deserves it though … about as much as you deserve him. I suppose I can’t really comment on that right now in my current situation, can I? I’m guessing that after the latest debacle (yeah, I did catch that much on the news) that you and Charlie have called it quits for good. So, hey, there’s the silver lining in all of this!

Well, I suppose I should touch up my lip gloss and head to the school. The kindergartners will come in small groups for just a couple of hours today, and then tomorrow it’s on to full days. Can’t wait to start teaching these little ones!

Yours truly,

Sadie

Having small groups of kids on the first day helped orient the kindergarteners to the new daily routine. Sadie could review the classroom procedures and rules with four or five of them at a time and it was far easier to manage than the whole class at once – especially for the ones who had not attended preschool and weren’t accustomed to being away from their parents in such a structured environment.

After her second group, Sadie had a lunch break and some plan time. She re-filled her water cup, ate a sandwich, and then set to work straightening a few things in the classroom. A knock on her door caught her attention just as she was getting ready to go meet the kids from her third group at the front of the school.

“Mr. Denning,” Sadie smiled. “How’s your first day going?”

The P.E. teacher smiled back. “Not too bad – always a little boring, going over rules and whatnot, you know. Especially for the older kids.”

“I would imagine,” Sadie nodded.

“You know, you can call me Cooper,” he told her. “That’s my first name. And maybe I could call you Sadie?”

“Of course. I don’t mind it at all, but I never know who prefers to stay on a last-name basis when I’m in a new building.”

“Fair enough,” Cooper nodded. “Listen, I don’t mean to be forward or come out of nowhere, but I enjoyed getting to know you a little better at inservices last week. Would you maybe like to have dinner with me tonight? No pressure or anything, just a friendly back-to-school meal at the diner. If that goes well, then maybe we can see where things goes next.”

Sadie considered him carefully. Cooper Denning was nice, a gentleman, and didn’t give her any creepy vibes. His offer was more than reasonable; not even necessarily a request for a date, just a simple invitation for dinner with the possibility of a date another time. Taking a deep breath and deciding it was time to move forward, Sadie gave him a polite smile and a confident nod. If nothing else, perhaps she could make a new friend.

“That would be nice.”

Cooper smiled, too. “Great. In the interest of keeping it friendly, how about if I meet you there at six o’ clock?”

“Sounds great,” Sadie agreed. “I need to go get my kiddos from out front, but I’ll see you tonight.”

Cooper waved and headed back for the gym. Sadie couldn’t say she was excited for her dinner with him, but she was looking forward to doing something besides spending the evening alone.

At the end of the day, Sadie was feeling better than she had in weeks. All of her small groups had done so well, and she was going to be able to get out of the house for supper. Chris and Layla were still on her mind, but she seemed able to push them to the back burner for now. They were figuring out their lives, and she had to figure out hers.

Of course, her peace couldn’t last. She didn’t mind in the least that it was interrupted by Layla excitedly running up to her in the hallway outside the main office, but she would have been happier had Emily not accompanied Layla.

“I have my own desk!” Layla said, jumping up and down excitedly. “And this is my backpack and ‘member this dress? You made it for me!”

“That I did,” Sadie said, unable to stop her smile. “Your first day must have been really good, you are full of energy!”

“Yep!” Layla said, galloping in circles around Sadie.

Emily spoke up then, telling Layla to calm down, and taking the girl by the hand. “Sadie, I’m glad we ran into you. Chris was going to call, but since we’re all here – are you available to babysit Friday night? Chris and I have a – a thing, and Layla’s been asking to spend time with you.”

Sadie nodded, although she felt somewhat hesitant. “Yes, of course. I’d love to.”

“Yay!” Layla cheered, beginning her galloping again.

Emily looked slightly irritated. “Layla, sweetheart, calm down, please. I already asked you once. Let’s get home.”

“Bye Adie! See you tomorrow at school and Friday at my house!” Layla called over her shoulder.

Sadie couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. It was nice to know that in the midst of everything changing, Layla was exactly the same.

The diner wasn’t terribly busy when Sadie pulled up, still dressed in the same clothes she had been for the school day. She had touched up her makeup once at home, fluffed her hair, and readied a few things for the next day before heading back to town.

Cooper was waiting for her on the sidewalk in front of the diner. He gave her a modest side hug when he saw her, then opened the door, letting Sadie pass by first before following her to a booth by the window.

They chatted casually about their respective first days, made their orders when the waitress came by the table, and then Cooper launched into telling her about some of the older kids in the school, starting with the ones who had younger siblings in kindergarten. Sadie appreciated having the background on her students, and Cooper made the stories especially entertaining.

In the middle of their meal, the bell over the door rang. The sound caught Sadie’s attention, and her eyes darted from Cooper to the door. The two people she had pushed to the back of her mind were once again at the forefront as she watched the Pratt family walk into the diner.

Chris and Emily were on either side of Layla, each of them holding her hand. Layla was grinning, Chris was smiling, and Emily was about as happy as Sadie had seen her in any of their few interactions. Once they got up to the counter to make their to-go order, Chris lifted Layla into his arms, balancing her on one arm while placing one hand at the small of Emily’s back to guide her closer to the counter.

Sadie’s attention was no longer on Cooper at all, and he noticed. He waved his hand in front of her face; she snapped back to attention.

“Sorry,” she said, blushing. “I, uh, got distracted.”

Cooper gave her a sympathetic smile. “Sadie. You can be honest with me. I know about you and Chris – thanks to Libby Anderson, I think the whole school probably does.”

“Fantastic,” Sadie sighed.

“Hey,” he said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “Don’t be embarrassed. We all know that Libby is a gossip. I’m just sorry you had to be the subject of her gossip this time. I do want us to be friends, and if that’s all this becomes, then that’s just fine.”

Sadie couldn’t have been more grateful for how understanding Cooper was about the entire situation. She kept her eyes focused on him for the remainder of the time the Pratts were in the diner, and that helped to cope with the presence of the seemingly happy family.

Once the table was cleared, the new friends didn’t linger. Cooper walked her to her car and thanked her for a good evening.

“Thank you, too,” Sadie replied. “I’m sorry if I made things weird, or disappointed you at all.”

Cooper waved her off. “We both have a new friend, that’s a good thing. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, yeah?”

Sadie nodded. “Yeah, for sure. Thanks again.”

“Anytime.”

She got in her car and left then, anxious to work through her new feelings over seeing the Pratt family in the diner, but not so anxious for loneliness to set in again once she was home.

Part Eighteen

#chris pratt #chris evans #fanfiction #collab #new to this blog

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kianraidelcam · 5 years

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IT’S UP! THANK RA9 IT IS FINALLY UP! Chapter 12 of @whumptopia‘s 30 Day RoboWhump Challenge: Muted. Full fic under the cut, hope ya’ll enjoy! Next prompt is Sensory Deprivation! (pssst if you like whump, go check out @android-whump-big-bang and consider signing up)

“It's okay, kid, you'll talk when you're ready.”

Hank's words echo throughout his mind, sounding over and over again as Connor replays the memory file for the sense of comfort it brings. Following CyberLife's final attempt to assassinate Markus by taking control of him, hacking him, he finds himself… quiet. Muted. Unable to verbalize much of anything, let alone what it is that is truly bothering him.

He had thought he was free. That his actions were now his own. But CyberLife used him again and again and again, even after he deviated.

He was stupid, plain and simple. He probably still is.

So, he stays away from New Jericho, as the new deviant base of operation is called after the freighter was destroyed. After he destroyed it. He stays away from Markus and North and Simon and Josh. He stays away from Markus’ invitations to Washington D.C.and leaves excuse after excuse for why he is unable to attend or to give his refusal in person. “Unfortunately my caseload is too extensive at the DPD.” “Actually, I’ll be going out of town for a work-required seminar.” “I’m sorry but my schedule simply doesn’t allow for it. Perhaps next time?” All were weak but done safely behind a binary message from a distance away, leaving Markus unaware that Connor no longer even worked for the Detroit Police Department.

So, he instead busies himself with caring for Hank and Sumo. He owed the Lieutenant everything after all. He takes Sumo on two walks per day, at precisely 6am and 6pm, and ensures the Saint Bernard gets the correct amount of food and water daily. He cleans every inch of Hank’s house, despite the detective’s insistence otherwise. He cooks breakfast, prepares lunch, and cooks dinner each and every single day, slowly reducing Hank’s alcohol intake as not to shock Hank’s body. Gradually, the man takes more interest in his surroundings and the shadows around him start to disappear as the old Lieutenant Hank Anderson appears. Despite it all, Hank never forces Connor to say a word. He just offers him a sad smile and repeats the same sentence.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.”

That’s how it has always been since the day after the revolution, when Connor met Hank at the Chicken Feed. When Connor had finally pulled away from Hank’s hug, shaking with nervous energy, the Lieutenant’s smile had been full of pride as he asked, “So, what does the hero of the hour plan on doing next?”

And

Connor

froze.

Static had crackled both his vision and his voice, stress levels rising from 50% to 95%.

He’s no hero, he’s no hero, he’s no hero he's no hero,h͘͟e͝'̕s ̶n̛o̕ ̴h̢̛e̷̢r̶o҉, ,͡͝ ͟h̨e҉͟'̛͡s͞ ̕n̸̡o͘͝ he͞ro̶͞, ͜h̵͝ȩ͏̵'͢͞s̷͞ ̷n͟͠o͟͡ h͘͠e̢͘ro͜͝,̷ h̖̲̩̱͡e̳̮͙̩'̝̳͙̬s̴͙̣͍̠͍̞ ̞̻͕̜n̹̘̣o͇̙̲̰̻͡ ̫̲̼͟h̻̖̰eṟ̴o͎̻͡,̞͔͚͚͚ h͉̲̞͙̙̗͞ͅe͍̜̱͇'̟͓̫͘s̙̬̜͢ ̶͔̰̘̩͎no̶̮͕̲̙ ͇̼͓͖̳͚h̭̯͔͞ͅe͎̞͜r҉͖̺̭͇̻͕o͔̜͉̗̪̰̬,̴̤̗̼ ͈̰͎͓̬̥h҉e̦͙̝͚̖̹͝'̰̥s̡̝͖ ̡̱͔ͅṉ̵̙͇̣̹̯o̱̣ ҉͇̠̥̺ͅh̡͕ḙ̩̤͙r̤͓̭̜̙̙̜o̤͙̲,҉̺̻̤͓ ̵̞̟̹ͅH̟̦̭̳E̢'̢̳̟̞̫S̰̖̳̺̖ ̥̹̪͖̦͙͢N̫̫̖O̦̞̼̤̝͕ ̜H̙̩̘̰͢E͙R̙͇̻͜Ọ̩̹̺͉̱ͅ

“I...I…’

His LED had switched from a calm azure to a violent crimson, spinning with a dizzying speed to match the conflict within his mind.

“I……….I…..”

H̕e҉̡ a̕͡l͏̵m҉̶os̨t̸ ͘͡͡k͝҉į͠l͏le͢͏d ̨̢͞hi͢͏m̕͞,̵̡͝ ͟͏h̸e'̷s̸͜ ̢̧ņo͜ ̕ḩ̸ȩ͡͝r̵͡o,͠ ̶͝h̢͠e͡ ̷a̴l̡m͏̶̕o̶̧̨s͏̴̧t҉ r͡͝ųined ̶͜͝e͝v̕ȩ̛r͏̛y̢͜t̢͠ḩ͏i̸ng̸̡͠,̕͢ ̢h̵e̛'҉̛͠ş ̷ņo̸ ͘͏̡h̡͡e̛̕͢ro.̴̶

Feedback, shrill and deafening, had echoed in his audio processors, deafening him to whatever Hank had been saying.

“I………..I-”

A slap, not enough to harm but enough to break through the red haze that crowded his vision, had torn him from his downward spiral, and forced him to see concerned blue eyes only inches away from his own. Firm hands had rested on his shoulders, grounding him.

His gruff voice, unusually calm despite the alarm that lingered in his microexpressions, had finally reached his previously deaf ears.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.”

Connor had simply blinked in response and allowed Hank to lead him to the car.

“You gonna be okay while I’m gone? Gonna have to pull a fucking double to close up this one.”

He blinks now in response to Hank’s question, and tilts his head halfway with one eyebrow raised inquisitively. “Why wouldn't I be?”

“Alright, smartass. Sumo, you be a good dog while I’m gone, and make sure Terminator here doesn’t get into any trouble.”

Connor smiles at the nickname, hiding his face in Sumo’s fur as he kneels down to pet the old dog, and listens as Hank leaves for work, on time for the 24th work day in a row. Pride, a rare emotion, settles in his thirium lines, warm and satisfying. He gives the dog a final, affectionate pat on the head before moving to the kitchen to wash the dishes from breakfast and he begins to practice.

͞”Ḩ͏a͘a̢ą͢a͞͡nk̷̨.”

Today is August 15th, 2039. Today marks what Hank would call “his first birthday.” Today, he is going to thank the man for all he’s done.

He has been practicing all month for it, forcing himself to reach further and further past his stress levels, past the painful static that claws its way through his throat whenever he attempts to say anything. One word at a time, each time offering marginal improvement. That, combined with Hank’s patience and assurances, as well as Sumo’s willingness to accept affection at any point in time, worked wonders and his voice grew stronger everyday.

“It’s okay, kid. You’ll speak when you’re ready.”

Hank had brought him in when he had nowhere to go, no one to listen. Hank talked to him like he was normal, not broken, and let Connor communicate through text messages and body language. Hank picked up on his non-verbal cues and gave him new coins to get his nervous energy out. Hank never expected him to speak, like others undoubtedly would, and took care of him, buying him thirium or new clothes. Especially the baggier ones he preferred to lose his hands in.

Connor isn’t ready to speak to everyone, he thinks. But he is ready to speak to Hank.

At least, he thinks he is until Hank stumbles in the door gracelessly on at 2:39am on August 16th, 2039. Connor rushes from his position on the couch, worry at Hank’s truancy melting away to confusion as he scans the man. Intoxicated, that much is obvious, but what the scan cannot tell him is why Hank is stumbling in this late in this state.

Before the door closes, Connor can see the automatic taxi drive down the street, the Oldsmobile nowhere in sight.

So. At least Hank had that much sense.

Logically speaking, Connor knows that the odds of a relapse occurring within the first year of a recovering alcoholic is 80%. Emotionally speaking, Connor is still caught by surprise even as Hank flounders despite Connor’s support. He leads the man to the couch, ignoring Hank’s attempts at speaking in favor of laying him down and going to get him a glass of water. At least, he ignores it until his audio processors catch one sentence.

“Got nothing to say to me, huh?”

Connor freezes, unable to turn around to face the old man. Maybe Hank was just confused. His blood-alcohol levels had to be extremely high, judging from his state, he didn’t know what he was saying, who he talking to-

“Yeah, that‘s what I thought, you plastic asshole. Y’ know, there’s only s’much a man can take.” Hank slurs, words venomous and seething.

Static creeps its way back into Connor’s vision, red words in CyberLife Sans alerting him to the sharp rise in his stress levels. Like he doesn’t already know that.

“Jus’ don’t understand why ‘s so hard. I’m tryin my fucking best here, kid.”

Alarms begin to sound off in his ears, but it’s not nearly enough to drown Hank’s words. Tears prick the edge of his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision further, because damn it, he knows, he’s fucking trying, he knows.

He turns to face Hank, to make sure it really is Hank talking to him because his Hank simply does not do that. His Hank ruffles his hair whenever he passes by Connor on the couch. His Hank recommended paper books for Connor to read, occasionally bringing a new one home specifically for Connor, insisting that Connor actually take the time to read it and emotionally process it. His Hank tells him that he is doing a good job, thanks him for cooking and cleaning but letting him know he doesn’t have to, talks to him like he matters.

Sure enough, it’s Hank who faces him. Blue eyes circled by bloodshot red, gray hair lank and damp with sweat, exhaustion and anger etched in every wrinkled line on his face. It’s Hank, alright. It’s just not the Hank he’s come to know.

Past the shock comes the grief, the guilt, the fear, the smell of roses and the chill of a snowstorm. But even past that all comes the anger. Unbridled. Unmatched. Untamed. Because damnit, he’s fucking trying. He’s been doing nothing but trying all month.

“I know it’s not that fucking hard, Hank. You’re drunk, go to bed.”

His LED switches to yellow as he sends a text to Hank’s phone, the soft buzz catching Hank’s attention, but not in the way he hopes.

“No way, not this fucking time. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m trying, I can’t. Go to bed.”

Once again, Hank doesn’t bother pulling out his phone. “No fucking way, Connor! I’ve spent the last year putting up with your bullshit, the least I deserve is a straight, god damn answer, face to face.”

He’s drunk, he’s drunk, he doesn’t mean it. Judging from the third buzz, he unintentionally sends that Hank’s way as well, and sure enough, when he checks his message log, there it is.

“You’re drunk. Stop, you’re drunk, you don’t mean it.”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to send that. His mouth opens and-

“I…….I…..I̴͝ ̛͘”

“I…..I…..I…..”

His rising stress levels confuse the two commands, and Hank’s phone buzzes a fourth time even though Connor’s LED remains a stubborn red.

Hank’s lips press into a thin line, his eyebrows furrowing even as his eyes struggle to properly focus on the android in front of him.

“I̕͞͏.҉.̕͝.͝.͟.͝.͠I̕..̨.͢.͟..̢I̷.͠.̷..̸̨.̨”

“I can’t I can’t I can’t”

The phone buzzes again, and Connor’s anger is chased away by panic as he gets caught in a loop.

“I.̶̶.̵.̶̡̨.̴̸̨.̧͝.̴̨I̛͟..̵̛͡.̢͘.̸̷.҉̸.͝I̡.͜͝.̶̨͟.͘.̸̨.”

“Please I can’t please Hank please Hank I can’t”

“Ḭ.̜̣̝̤.̯͜.̭͔̝̪̕.̭͎̫.̩̜͢.͕̦̣͈̤̲͡I̩͎̲̣̦̗̟͡.͙̼̙̲̩.̵͖͔̰̻̻͔̜.͜.̫̣͍̻..̤I.҉.̵͉.̵.̢͙.̪͚̳̰”

“I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop”

“I̙̯͙͎̫͍͘.̸͖̘̼̞̼̠.̖̯̜.͏͎͙͕̹.̷͏̹͙̞͙̫.̢͉̣͓̥̙̹.̢̳̞̩̠̻̦Į̣̬͓̻̟͇.̨͏̹͕̻͞.͎͉͉͚̗̺̳.̨̛͙̝̜̠̫̫̥.̨͉͠͞.̸͙͔͖͎̜͔̰͍͚͡.̵̴̞͖͉͈̺̫͚̖I͡͏̯.̺͇͇͉̘̥̝.̟̞͓͖͚͓̺͕.̳̝̟̬͍.̻̘̩̪̗͜ͅ.̛̘̦̗”

"Hank please please please please please stop”

“I̛͔ͮ̈̓ͤ̋ͭͣ.̘ͥ́ͤ̾͑.͈͚̜͎̖̜̓ͣ̄͂ͭ.̭̬̥̆͑͂̽̆͐̕.͔̜̥̳͚͍͖.̎̂ͣ̆̆ͤ͜.̯̳̘̥͍̦ͬ̄̽ͨỊ̷̫͓̝̭̖͙̓.̸̭.̮̪͗̄.ͫͣ̅̅͒͏̼̮̠̰ͅ..͔.̢̣Ḯ̱̖̗̯̙̫̹͘.̼̫͍̯ͧ͆̀ͅ.̨̮̭̠͌̈.̜̩̉̇ͯ̀͗ͬ.͍͍͚̘̯͉̤̑͒͐̉̂͢.͇̠̔ͮͅ”

“Fuck this shit, I’m going to bed.”

No, no, no, no no no no wait. He needs Hank. He needs Hank to stop this because he started it and now Connor can’t stop he needs Hank.

"Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank”

“.̯̣͙̎̇̓̒.̺̹̱͍̟ͬ̋͂.̍͗͐̽̈̐ͩ͞҉̮̙͉̺.̳̯͑͋ͩ͡͠.̯̜̮̙̅̊ͧ́̔͗̅̍̅.̡̮̒̃̐̇̈́̅̌Î̢̟͔̳̤͍̠̙̯ͣ̒͞.̨̨̟͈̣̬̼ͭ̉͊͐̆ͥͯͬ̃.̙̗͎͓͂̽ͤ͗̅̃ͧ͞.̢͕̦̹ͨ̾̈́̈͒̓.̨̻͍̙̐̅.̸̜̀ͤ̈.̸̨̳̩̦̞̘̆I͈̞̭̦ͨ͒ͦ.̨̛̣̼̟̰͍͕̪̭̤̍́̀̏͑̾͡.̡̺͚̗̠͆ͥͦͩ͡.̣̝͈̘̭͎̉͆͊̌́͑̄̇̐͡ͅ.̒̿͆̍̊̈́ͦͨ͏҉͇.͈̣̏̄ͧͩ̿̄̒̃”

He can’t he can’t he can’t.

So instead, he sinks deep into himself, into his programming.

“Ǐ̸̡̞͎̫͉͚̰̄ͥ̊ͅͅ.̷̧̹̜͇̪̺̱͖̫̼͇̖̜͎̤͋́̒ͥͮ̐͜.ͯ̉̃͛̔̾̅̍̉ͤ̓ͦ̐ͬ̚͏͔͖͕̟̤̥̼̳͍͖̠̪̗̠͝͞ͅ.͍̭̯͈̩͉̠͙̥͚̙̣̹̪̎̂̒̊̿̎̍̈͂͌͟͞.̷͇͕̞̰̙͎̦̥̪͇͇̖̙̠̼̭̠͂̿ͥͧ́͐̚͡.ͦͤ͊̑ͬ̒̏ͯͩ́̅͛̎̀ͣ͏̴̶̧̬͉͙͎͉̹͚͎.͖͉̬̝̰̼̱̼̮͈͉̣̉ͯͫͪ̅̋̈̽̽̚̕͢͢I̡̩̖̜͉͙̣͉͚̥̦̤͚͕̪̪ͩ̃ͧ͂̓̉ͨ͋̈́̔̀̇ͫ͑ͨ͛̉̄͢͜.̸̼̹͈̠̯̳̳̭̹͎͉̗̗̙ͯ̀ͫͥ͊̃ͣ̓̏ͦ̓ͭ͝͞.͂̑͐͌̃ͩ̈́͂͑̏͏̬̥͈̝͠͠.ͥ̊̇̅͂͂͐҉͏̸͈̣͖̤̫̲̞̝̲̣̼̬̱͢͞.̵̲͍̼̜̲̦̯̙̭̟̠̥̉ͨ̃̅̇͋ͮͤ̌ͪͬ̅ͤ̈́̚̕͡͡.̸̨̡͍̱̩̥͈̼̬͎ͯ͊̇ͥ͢͢ͅ.̸͙͙̭̘͉͉̲̯̫̯̦̭ͧ̾̋̈́͗ͩ̊̊͌̀̉̚͟Ĭ̴̶̸͕͍͈͕͔̬̈̾̂ͩ̓͑ͮͩ̆̾̓͑ͯ̆̅͂̚͘.̨̱͖̹̼͎̻̙̻͇̖̺̳ͬͩ̽̓̈͘͘ͅ.̷̡̪̙̼̣̹͚͇̮͉͔ͬͪ̒̑̄̿̀̚͜ͅ.̧̪̼̪͉̥͖͖̟̺͖̠̣̙̖͂ͯ͂ͪͯͤͤͪͫ͋̌̿̑̒̌̅̿ͥ̄ͅͅͅ.̛̛̙͈̭̘̱̤̇̔͒́ͦ͜͟.̴̴̺̤̼̞͊̊̈́̐ͩ̍́ͨͯ̿ͦ̏̈́͛͑̀̕”

He forces programs to shutdown.

He drifts as each program closes.

“Ȋ̆̓͌̇̍ͫͧ͊͞͏̢҉̮̦͎̫͎͈ͅ.̶͚̹͎̯͓̱̞̯̒ͪ̈̅̆̆ͨ̎̆̔̓͑̌̂ͭ͆͋.̷̨̻̜̬̫̮̬̙͙̻̼͙̜͓̦ͬ̑̊̌ͤ̀̆̈́̚͞ͅ.̷̸̸̡̖̰̮̥͎̇ͣͭ̀͋̓̊ͥ̂̌ͨ̌͊̚.̡͔͖̱̳̹̰̬̹̲̱̠̥̞̙̥̪̊̑̇̈ͥͩͩͣ̓̔̓ͫͫ͢͞.̸̵̨̢͇̮̦̲̟̻̥̦͍̺͉͈͗͗ͬͪ͛ͭ͂ͅ.̨̛̣̜̘̜̜̪̳̺̗̣̘̥͕̘͈̝̭̎ͮͩͧͭ̈ͮ̍ͭ̄͆͛ͯI̫̫͈͎͍͉̫͕̙͖̟̹͈̎ͩ̀ͧ̃̍͘͠.̧̛̳̮̫̲͕̩̲͉̲͖͎̩͙͈̰͎̃̉ͩͣͫ̉̎ͅ.̷̦͔̝̤͓͉͇̠͉͈͕͖͙͕̱̠̬̜̈̓̓́̓ͨ́͐̊̃̓̌̏ͮ̈́̐͆̑̓͞.̶̸̨̤͖̥̘̦̣͔̖̮̗̮̼̹̯͓̜̆̉͗ͣͭ̍ͪ̈́ͫ͒ͫ̑̍ͦ͝ͅ.̨͖͔̻̰̳͖̣͓̜͉̤̳̯ͭͬ̃ͫ̅ͮ͜͜ͅ.̶̧̢̲̮̫͚̞͇̭̹̗̉ͦ̔̋͌͐.̢̢̡͚͓͕̲̞̙͓̲͈̥̦̱̲̩̮͓̀͌ͧ̾̓̔ͧ̈̓̃ͫͪ̋ͩ̈́̉͟ͅI̸̵̖̺̳̞̥͚̼̫̟̍̊ͯ̉̈͡ͅ.͒ͪͩͯͫ̈́͛͐ͦ̽ͮ̈́̄̈́̚̕͜͢͏̵͈̞̱͍͓̫̥̝̞.̨̫̺̭̥̗̣͉͍̥̱̇͊̑͋̈̆͛ͯͤ͋̚͘͟.̶̴̝̣̮̙͔̝̜̥͎͛ͣͪͭ͝.̵̧̛̫͙̪̆̿̔̑̑ͫͣ̋̈ͬͣͮ̎̊ͩ̒̓̈́.͈͈͎̹̳̼͖̪͔̮̏ͬ̏ͧ̎ͫͮ͌͋̎͛ͬ̍ͮ͛͟͜͠͡”

Until nothing remains.

“I̲͍̼̊͑͢.̴͓͉̦̗̦̲̤͋̍ͬ̒̇ͮ̾̚͜.̡͍̳̞̄.̦̙̣̜͔̲̝̋̾̽̾̆̇̒̋.̦̟͓͆̐̄̎̔ͬͤ͆ͭ͘.̤̥̲̭̖̺̭̖͕̂̉͒̍̐̒̐͆̾.̫̣ͬ̀͞͠I̳̥̺̦̠̯͂̔̌ͮ͢͟͠ͅ.͎̰͓͙̝̘̤̂̅̓̏͛̅.̨̱̹ͨ̅̅̆ͭ̾̆͗.͍͕̱͚͔ͪ͒ͅ.͛͌ͨ͐̏ͯͦ̑҉̫̫̼̠̦̼.̢̪̼̤̦͕̗̱͙̔̐̌̅̔.̘̪̠̮̫ͬͨ̒̓͂͝I̷͎ͮ̔͟͠ͅ.̺̜͇̲ͣͦ̃̍̿ͯͮ̍̚͡.̋͌͋ͧ͏͙̮̫̹̗͝.̜́ͧͥͥ͑ͪ̎̚͠.̶̅͒̚͏̧͖̥̼̱̞.̪̲͓͇͍̠ͧͬ̕͠c̛͎̦͖͖̖̝̊͊̒͑ͪ̄̓ͮ̾ͅa̵͇̺̱͌ͭ͞n͈̖̰͙̓͐͟'͋̏͊̆ͤͣ҉͔̤̱̱̱̤͖̙t̏҉̴̺”

And he loses himself to the burning of static in his throat and the sting of shame in his chest.

Sunlight leeches in, dragging Hank from his stupor. Sour cotton coats his tongue and a hammer pounds the inside of his skull, forcing his eyes to remain shut against the burning sun. He groans, brings his hands to rub at his face as the hangover hits him with a vengeance. Shit, the was the first he’s had in over three months after Connor attempted to discreetly lower the amount of beer and whiskey he drank, slowly substituting it with water. Hank had pretended not to notice as he took it in stride, somehow actually finding himself appreciating the android’s efforts.

Wait. Connor.

His mind flashes to last night, after a case had driven him right back to Jimmy’s. It had been rough, and ended with a child’s murder. Killed by their father. Like he didn’t know what he really had. How much others would give to have their own child. So, instead of driving home, he went to the bar, ignoring Jimmy’s concerned glance and especially ignoring the buzzing of incoming texts from one undoubtedly worried, hovering android. And one shot of whiskey led to two, and two led to three until he could barely think, let alone walk and Jim forced him into an automated cab. After that, it was all a blur.

But his gut was telling him something was wrong.

He remembered coming home, and Connor’s startled jump. He remembered being pissed, not at Connor, but...but Connor was the closest target. And even if he hates to admit it to anyone, especially himself, he is frustrated with Con at times. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, he knows that much, and he tries his best to be patient, understanding. But last night… he was drunk… he was pissed…

“Got nothing to say to me, huh?”

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fucking god damnit! Of all the things to say, why the hell did he say that?

“I……..I……..I”

He remembers garbled static. Panic and anger simmering in brown eyes. An LED blaring red, red, red. And then, nothing.

Oh fuck. He messed up. He messed up big time.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and for some reason all he can think about is how he never changed last night. Until he grabs it and turns on the screen to see 117 unread messages.

“Fuck me.”

This time he curses out loud, hissing between clenched teeth at his own stupidity as he enters his password, eyes barely able to concentrate. “Great job, Anderson, you’ve fucked up big time,” he curses himself, trepidation filling him as he opens the chat history.

“I know it’s not that fucking hard, Hank. You’re drunk, go to bed.”

“I’m trying, I can’t. Go to bed.”

“You’re drunk. Stop, you’re drunk, you don’t mean it.”

“I…..I…..I…..”

“I can’t I can’t I can’t”

“Please I can’t please Hank please Hank I can’t”

“I can’t stop I can’t stop I can’t stop”

“Hank please please please please please stop”

“Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank, Hank”

Hank’s horror and guilts grows as he scrolls through the increasingly jumbled messages, each making less sense than the last, until it just becomes nothing but binary code, 0’s and 1’s over and over again. Then, he reaches the last message and he throws his phone at the wall in a panic, ignoring the sharp stabs in his head to tear through his way to the living room, where he sees a prone android unmoving on the floor.

“FORCED SHUTDOWN INITIATED”

“Oh god, oh fuck, Connor,” he falls to his knees beside the android, pulling his limp body into his lap, “Connor, can you hear me?”

Connor doesn’t respond. Instead, his head lolls to the side, revealing a blue LED blinking slowly, occasionally turning to gray as the light fades in and out. Fuck, okay, not shutdown then. Blinking blue meant stasis, Hank knows that much. He gently taps the side of Connor’s face, as if trying to rouse a sleeping human. It’s worked before. Any sort of stimulus was normally enough to wake up the hyper aware android. “Con, are you there? I need you to open your eyes for me.”

The change is gradual. Hank occasionally talks to the android, eventually moving him to the couch as his LED gradually picks up intensity, spinning faster and faster as more systems come back online. Hank stays by his side as the sun begins to shift in the sky because he fucked this up, so he needs to fucking fix this. Even as mid-morning turns to afternoon, Hank only rarely moves, reassuring Connor and whispering apologies, anything to encourage the kid to wake up. Until at long last, the LED turns yellow and Connor opens his eyes.

Hank smiles, even though it doesn’t reach his eyes, and he murmurs, “Welcome back.”

Connor stiffens, his LED shifting to red as his mouth opens and closes. His eyes clench shut as he begins to shake, sobbing even as his eyes remain dry. Hank rubs his arms, ignoring his own guilt making him want to do the same, “Hey, hey, none of that now. Eyes on me, Connor.”

Connor shakes his head desperately, deigning to instead roll onto his side, and damn the forgiving kid he reaches for Hank, drawing him closer.

“H͏͡a̢̡a͘ņ͠k̢̨͞”

“Shhhhh, not now kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready. I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so sorry. God, I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of that and I’m just an old fuck-up and fuck, I shouldn’t have done that. You did nothing wrong, you hear me,” Hank’s distantly aware he’s rambling as he draws Connor close, rubbing his back in what he hopes is a comforting gesture, “It’s okay, kid. You’ll talk when you’re ready.

Time seems to stand still as the two stay like this, Connor’s shaking eventually settling as Hank mutters more nonsense into his ears. And eventually, Connor stills entirely and interrupts the older man halfway through another apology, “G̨ui͜lt ͟d͢o҉e̶sn't ͡suit you͝, L͢i҉eut̸ena͝nt.”

This time, it’s Hank’s turn to still and he pushes the android away so he can see his face. His LED spins yellow, a vast improvement over the red in Hank’s opinion, and his face is calm. But Hank knows Connor, and he can see the apprehension in gleaming doe eyes.

“I҉t's̷ it'̛s it͠'͞s̕ i͏t̡'s͞,” Connor jerks his head back, frowning, “It̡'s̡ a̴ b͜it͡ ҉o̵ut ͜of ̧c͏ha̕r̢acter̷ ̧fo̸r͢ y̕o͏u͢.͘”

Connor’s words glitch, occasionally stuttering, but it’s his voice. His voice. And fuck, if Hank wasn’t proud. He’d be damned if he shows it though, “Fucking smartass. You better watch it there,” Hank scratches the back of his head and looks around the living room, suddenly unable to meet Connor’s eyes, “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Connor winces and Hank quickly backtracks, “Fuck, I mean….I don’t mean you have to talk. Like I said, you’ll do that when you’re ready. But I think I have some explaining to do, agree?”

The android nods, eyes downcast as well, "̛I I̛ I̢ I.....̵I ̷p҉ra͠ct͏i̵çed͟.̛"͞

Well, shit. If he didn’t feel like an ass already.

“Well, maybe we could practice together?”

He only hesitates for a moment before nodding.

“Listen, Con. I don’t expect you to fucking start reciting Hamlet’s soliloquy at me right away. This shit takes time, even for ‘CyberLife’s most advanced android prototype.’ I understand if you can’t say anything. ‘Sides, I don’t need to hear ya to understand ya. You’re fine just the way you are.”

A shift in light catches Hank’s eyes, and he notes with some satisfaction that his LED had finally switched back to blue.

Connor’s eyes rise to meet Hank’s.

Connor gives him that goddamn lopsided smile and brings his flat hand toward his lips before moving it forward and down.

“Thank you.”

Hank smiles back, “Yeah, whatever.”

#30 Day Robowhump Challenge #DBH #detroit become human #whump #muted #selective mutism #Connor #Connor RK800 #hank #Hank Anderson

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