#like I nearly had a heart attack when I read this
Text
knowin' that it probably isn't true -> cool about it [4]
in which: a son of jupiter can't remember the life he lost to time and circumstance. or the daughter of mercury he lost, too.
pairing: jason grace x daughter of mercury!roman!reader
warnings: cursing, angst, slight panic attack?
word count: 5.3k
a/n: how can this possibly be the final part. like what? also, it's been forever since I've read the ending go heroes of Olympus so I cannot for the life of me remember how canon accurate this is.
one two three [four]
There was one rule Jason was always willing to break.
For you, he had murmured into the side of your head, just above your ear, as he pulled you close the first night it had happened. You hadn't been able to help the roll of your watery, red-rimmed eyes. Or the skip of your heart.
Big declaration, Jase, you had fired back, pretending your voice wasn't shaking, that you hadn't made a much bigger declaration by seeking him out after curfew.
Leave it to the daughter of thieves to break and enter into the praetor's private room.
The first night it happened, you had gotten a rather stiff and formal letter from your mother, explaining why it was simply the better choice for you to stay at camp over the holidays. In front of everyone, you had kept it together.
Alone in your bunk, you broke down.
It was an easy decision, then, to go find Jason. A natural instinct, practically, was leading you through the bunkhouse on silent, swift feet despite the tears staining your face. When you had slipped into Jason's room, he had bolted awake.
You were prepared for a lecture. Instead, he just opened his arms.
So there was one rule that Jason Grace was willing to break.
Curfew.
You were careful not abuse your privilege, only searching him out when needed.
And right now, he was needed.
Your feet carried you soundlessly through the corridors, your heart hammering in your chest and bottom lip caught between your teeth, almost bloody with worry. The dream had been fast, uncontrollable, terrifying.
Not once had you ever bothered knocking on his door, and you didn't start now, twisting the knob and careful to only open it as much as you needed to slip through, because if you went any wider the hinges would squeak and Reyna could only overlook so much.
The sight of him, asleep in bed, hair tousled and face almost peaceful, was nearly enough to settle you. But then flashes of your dream came back, and you knew you needed more.
Easing the door shut, you made sure the latch clicked in place as silently as you could manage. The absolute last thing you needed was some nosy Lar floating by seeing you breaking the rules alongside Jason.
The teasing would never end.
Despite praetor's getting the privilege of having their own rooms, they remained in standard issue sized bunks. Which meant that you couldn't help but press against him as you climbed under the covers, body already half-hanging over the far edge. The movement of the mattress jostled him awake, like always, and he slowly blinked his tired eyes open.
You remained silent as he got his bearings, bottom lip caught between your teeth to keep from spilling out the gory details of your desperation to see him before he even realized what was happening.
He twisted, copying your position of laying on his side, one arm curled underneath his head to prop it up just slightly.
"Hey, you," Jason mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. He stretched slightly, using the movement to reach out and brush his thumb across your cheek, as if he was checking for tears he couldn't see in the dim room. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Sleeping was the problem," You shook your head, kicking your leg forwards under the blanket to knock against his, just the barest excuse to touch him and confirm he was real and alive and laying before you.
"Nightmare?" Like he ever needed to ask. So few things got you worked up enough to risk getting caught sneaking into his room.
"Mhm," You hummed, anyway, eyes tracing the barest outline of his face visible to you in the dark of the room. The moon provide some light through the window, but you had Jason's features memorized from the time you were fourteen.
"What was it about, this time?" He asked, and you wished you could hate him for the way he sounded genuinely concerned and like he wanted to know. The pounding in your heart as he knocked his leg forwards against yours, a mimic of your own actions seconds earlier, would be easier to deal with.
"You." Without cracking, you managed to force the word out at a volume barely audible in the otherwise silent room. Your stare was focused on his chin, because you couldn't meet his eyes as you confessed, and his nose was too close to his eyes, and looking at his lips made you want to do something incredibly stupid.
His chin was neutral territory, even if you wanted to kiss there, too.
"Me?" He sounded like he didn't understand, which you gave him grace for. Yes, your nightmare was about him, but not because of anything he did, so much as what happened to him. Not the first of its kind, but after the fight with Krios, it stung a little deeper.
"You went on a quest, without me, again." Your murmured, gaze still fixed on his chin. He stayed silent, knowing you better than you knew yourself, knowing that you needed him to wait for you to find the right words. "And... and you didn't come back to me, Jase, you had promised, but you didn't—"
Your shudder took you by surprise, eyes squeezed shut tight to try and fight the stinging quickly growing there, your lungs burning with the effort to contain your sobs. You tried all your usual tricks to keep from crying. Counting silently, deep breaths through your nose, hands squeezing into fists so tight your nails cut crescent shaped marks into the heel of your palms leaking the slightest bit of blood.
It didn't work. The image of a broken, ruined Jason returned to you at the edge of camp burned into your memory. You knew it had been a dream, that he hadn't actually died, but the thought—
"This is stupid." You huffed, voice watery and tight and so incredibly pathetic you half expected Jason to strip you of your title of centurion. It was all so very un-Roman of you. "I'm too old to be crying over bad dreams."
"Hey," Jason murmured, voice gentle, and it worked in combination with his warm hands wrapping over yours to calm the tempest that was raging in your mind enough for you to open your eyes. His handsome face was twisted in concern, in understanding, and the tears welled up in your eyes all the bit faster. "I'd be a wreck, too, if I dreamt that I lost you."
Why can't he just say the words, you lamented bitterly in your mind. Why can't I say them, either?
"I hate crying." You managed to force out after a few beats of silence, broken only by your pitiful sniffles trying to keep the tears from finally falling down your cheeks and staining the pillow you shared with Jason.
"I know," His voice was soothing, gentle, and you let him manipulate your hand until he had your open palm splayed, pressed against his chest, his own covering the back of yours to keep you from pulling away. Not that you ever did anything but crawl impossibly closer to him each day.
You were Jason's and Jason was yours, but never in so many words.
"Feel that?" His quiet question startled you from your mind, the terrible sleep-created images replaying on a loop. Reyna apologizing for not protecting him, the weight of his golden coin pressing heavily into the center of your palm.
You're the only one he would have wanted to have that, Reyna had said in your dream when she handed off the magic weapon. And if something ever really did happen to him, you couldn't help but morbidly think that he really would want you to have it—
"Don't leave me here, now." Jason, real Jason, the one living and breathing and holding your hand against his chest—right over his heart, you realized with the sudden jolt. The beat was steady under the tips of your fingers, and you closed your eyes to focus on the rhythm, to try and match your shallow breaths to his deep and even ones. "There. Welcome back, solider."
"We can't be soldiers right now." You shook your head, eyes still shut but voice almost back to normal. And though you knew Jason didn't understand it, he didn't question.
You couldn't be solders. You couldn't be only little heroes destined to fight and bleed and die at the whim of others, of gods with self-imposed rules keeping them from helping their own children. Being soldiers had been what had ruined your dream, that had sent you racing through the dark to find him. Soldiers weren't lovers. Soldiers didn't hold each other.
Jason was trained to be a soldier. But maybe, with you, he could learn to be other things.
"Thank you," You murmured, voice almost silent as you peaked open your eyes. You had known Jason had moved closer to you, had heard his cheek brushing against the pillow you shared and felt the heat from his skin warm yours, but you hadn't anticipated the blow to your chest you received when you opened your eyes and found him close enough to taste, if you had been born into a braver body.
"After my little stunt on the War Games field with Damien last week? I figured I owed you." He teased, and the absurdity of Jason Grace finding it in himself to make such a casual joke after you had climbed into his bed mid-panic attack had a lopsided grin work its way onto your face.
"Shut up." You wanted to lean forward and press your lips against his skin, but you held back. You always held back, but only when it came to Jason. Most of your bunkmates had vocalized that they wished you had the capacity to control yourself more. "How many times have you kept me out of the brig?"
"Fair point," He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest and reminding you that your palm was still pressed against the cotton of his sleep shirt.
As much as it pained you, you slipped your hand out of his, but something took control of you and changed direction. Originally, you had planned on tucking your fist underneath your own chin, cocooning yourself in your own arms and trying to justify staying a little bit longer.
What ended up happening was your hand falling to rest on Jason's cheek, thumb brushing over the pearly white line of his scar. The tips of your fingers tingled, might have even shook, as they touched his lips.
All the humor was sucked from the room with your gentle declaration of such intimacy. Sure, you and Jason had long since passed through each other's barriers of personal space. Neither one of you exactly had nurturing childhoods and found relentless comfort in the other.
Touch starved, someone had once explained it as. Two people making up for lost time and a need to feel loved and held. Jason was the only one you let into your space, and as far as you knew you were the only one Jason wrapped himself around. The thought of him locking pinkies with someone besides you made you queasy and tossed you back into the moment, your palm on his cheek and his eyes on yours.
It was almost too much. You hoped he couldn't hear your heart hammering in your chest, feeling as if it was about to burst with how much you loved him.
You loved everything about him. From his smiles to his dedication and his innocent charm. To the way he fought like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, because it did, and how he let you break the rules in his bed because he knew you better than you could ever hope to know yourself, sometimes.
"I bet it was a wolf bite." You murmured into the quiet, words tumbling past your lips before you could even think of what you were saying.
"Hm?" He must not have expected your words, because he hummed questioningly, sounding half-distracted but your touch lingering on his skin. The idea of distracting Jason Grace made you smile. It felt like an achievement.
"Your scar," You clarified, still tracing it with the pad of your thumb. his skin was warm and soft and it helped ease your remaining nerves to hold him so gently after the gruesome horror show of your nightmare. "I bet it was a wolf bite."
Jason grinned, then. Wide and bright and if you hadn't seen him call down lightning personally, you would have thought Phoebus Apollo was his father from how much blinding sunshine radiated from him, even in the middle of the night, half-asleep.
"If Lupa bit me, I don't think the scar would be so small." He teased, knocking his forehead into yours gently. You snorted, closing your eyes as you leaned closer to him, trying to remain casual as his nose brushed against yours.
"Still, it's a good story." You hummed, shrugged slightly. Jason huffed a laugh, and you felt his breath on your skin, on your lips.
"Yeah, it's a good story." He agreed quietly, his own hand reaching up to hold your face, mimicking your position with a gentleness that made you question if you should ruin the only gentle thing to ever embrace you by slotting your mouth over his, over every inch of his face.
Instead, you moved your hand from his cheek to the back of his head, holding him as close as you could without being greedy.
You knew you'd have to leave soon, or else risk getting caught, and you couldn't do that to Jason.
But you let yourself have a few minutes. You never knew how many you'd ever have with him.
It was peaceful, if only for a moment.
It had only been war, for hours.
Your voice was shredded raw from shouting orders, rallying troops, keeping Romans from turning on Greeks like Octavian had wanted.
It was the final battle, you knew. The air tasted of it, of that heavy weight that came with saving the world. You had felt it when you had gone into battle against Krios to keep the Titans from rising, and you were sick with it, now.
This time, you didn't have Jason by your side, covering your weaknesses while you watched his. You didn't even have Reyna, anymore.
I need you to stay here, Reyna had ordered you when you had argued your case for joining her on her quest to the Ancient Lands after Jason and the others. Your desperation to accompany her went beyond a bone-deep ache to see Jason again; you were going absolutely crazy sitting around at the Roman encampments surrounding the Greek demigod camp, waiting for a battle you were certain shouldn't be taking place.
If I stay here, I'm going to kill Octavian. Or he'll get someone to kill me, you countered, and two weeks earlier you could have played it off as a joke. But Octavian had become drunk on power, had appointed himself to a rank higher than praetor, and was absolutely gunning for a reason to get rid of you, one way or another.
Don't let him, Reyna had said, as if it was ever that simple. I need someone here that I can trust. Jason needs you here, too.
Your frown had deepened, no matter how impossible it had seemed.
That was a low blow, you mumbled, pissed off and exhausted, only getting more pissed off and exhausted by your own shitty attitude.
Reyna had grimaced, but did you the favor of not pointing out that it had worked. You had stayed behind, had remained with your soldiers and dodged Octavian as much as you could, knowing how very weak the leash you held your anger on was. He was looking for any excuse to put you on trial. You couldn't give him one.
But that didn't mean you didn't do everything in your power to undermine Octavian's control.
The fighting that soon followed was inevitable.
You had known from the start that it was either going to be against the Greeks or the monsters, depending on how successful Jason and his new group of friends were. If they got back in time to unify the camps like Annabeth had promised Reyna they would, then the monsters would be feasible to take on.
But Octavian started the war early. Started against the Greeks, then was forced to split forces when the monsters began their assault, too.
The groundwork you had laid against Octavian was almost unnecessary as he doomed the Romans to fight an exhausting and expensive battle they could never win. It had been almost too easy for you to take control, to knock Octavian out with a single punch and order Roman troops to fight alongside the Greeks, to use them as another weapon against the monsters.
Defend their camp as if it is our own!, you had shouted through the roar of battle, perched on the highest point you could find—an upturned chariot. The fighting had paused at your words, Greeks and Romans alike trying to see which way the attacking army would sway.
One girl on the Greek side of the fight gave orders to her soldiers not to attack your Romans, just as the daughter of Ares had promised on the few nights you had snuck into her camp to discuss that very moment.
Clarisse La Rue had been all too willing to talk war with you, double agent against Octavian, you were.
Reyna and Nico arriving with the Athena Parthenos had only sealed the deal, but even with Greek and Roman forces combined the never-ending monster army was a force to be reckoned with. Gaea herself was even pulling you in, feet sucked into the earth to tire you out faster with each step.
By the time the flying trireme arrived, your exhaustion was bone deep and felt like the only substantial thing in your life.
It was a blur, from then on. Fighting still raged. Screams still tore through the air. Battle continued and stole and ached.
Then came the explosion.
One minute you were fighting for your life, prepared to enter into the next one, and then suddenly the world had stilled around you. Whatever monsters weren't falling under the swords and arrows of demigod heroes had turned and ran, and it was almost jarring how silent the battlefield got.
Or maybe you were just too tired to process any sound. You thought you could see Reyna's mouth moving, a few dozen feet in front of you, but all you heard was a low buzzing, the thrumming of your heart, as you searched the carnage.
You weren't sure if the Romans stopped to gawk at you because you were stumbling through the mess or because you were, against all odds, still standing. You had been on the front lines from the start, had led wave after wave of assault.
By all accounts, you should have been lost to the fight. But you never gave up all that easily.
You knew there still were a million and six things that remained to do before darkness fell. First and most important to you was organizing your legion, taking count of who had survived the battle. Mourning walked hand in hand with victory, and you were well acquainted with the pair.
Except, you only made it ten steps before you saw him.
Jason Grace had completely forgotten you. Despite his promises, his sweet words and even sweeter touches, he had forgotten you and all that you meant to him. He didn't know how he used to pinch your arm to keep you awake in your more boring classes. He didn't know that he used to swap plates with you at least once a week because you regretted what the Mess Hall sprites had brought you.
He didn't know how he brushed his hands through your hair when you got worked up, and he didn't remember what the touch of your skin on his felt like.
But he was heading straight towards you, as if the destruction around him could wait and all that mattered was you.
It was enough to root you to your spot. With shaking, brutalized fingers you took off your helmet. You meant to hold it under your arm against your hip, but suddenly Jason was within five feet of you with the most determined stare, and you barely registered it dropping to the ground.
You had counted the days since you had last seen him in Charleston. It had been too long and not long enough, because no matter how much you loved Jason with every inch of your being, it also hurt too great to have him in front of you and know he didn't remember how gently he had once used his thumbs to smooth the worry lines from between your knitted brows.
"Soldier—" You started, desperate to take control of the conversation, but he was speaking over you before you even finished the second syllable.
"It's not a wolf bite." His words were firm, almost pleading. But they were also so unexpected, so out of place, you jolted back half a step. He quickly made up for the space you tried putting between you both, halting only a few scant inches from the exhausted lines of your body.
"What?" You managed to gape, chin tilted to look up at him, face twisted in grief and confusion and hope so dangerous you contemplated the blow to your reputation if you turned and ran.
"The scar. Not a wolf bite." He clarified, and it took nearly everything in you to tear your stare from his to drag down his face and find the beloved mark on the corner of his lips, right where it had been since the moment you had met him. You had felt that bit of raised skin underneath the pad of your thumb more times than what could have been considered as just friendly, had made up stories for its existence just to distract yourself. "When I was two, I tried to eat a stapler."
"Jason," The sound that left your lips could almost have been mistaken for a laugh, if someone only plugged their ears and closed their eyes. It was a haunted, aching, desperate sound, mixed with a short exhale that had Jason leaning even closer to you, somehow.
"I just thought you'd want to know." He murmured, and you weren't sure if the warmth burning your skin was from the exertion of battle, the rays of sun beating against your cheek, or the intensity of Jason's stare on you.
Familiar. He looked... familiar. Maybe a little Greek, but he was still Roman. Still an unwavering force, one that had defeated a Titan and still had enough power to tear down his seat of power in search for your battered body, almost lost to the rubble.
He looked like he knew you.
"You… you remember?" Fingers curled into fists at your side, almost buzzing with emotions you could barely even begin to decipher. Everything was a knot inside of you; thoughts, feelings, strength. You'd given everything on the battlefield, but you had been running on fumes from the moment Jason had been stolen from you. It was nothing short of a miracle that you were still standing.
"I do, now." His nod sent a shuddering gasp through you, but still you couldn't get yourself to lift a hand out and reach him. You had already had this dream—this nightmare—so many times. What happened next would likely be his dismissing you. Or worse—you would wake up.
But Jason moved first, one hand you knew like your own raising to wipe a spot of grime off you cheek before cradling your head gently. It was all the permission you needed before your own hands notched under the sides of his armor, a familiar movement always used to tug him closer to you. Metal clanged together as his chest plate hit against yours, and though you suddenly loathed the equipment that had saved your life more times than you felt you deserved, you couldn't let go of Jason long enough to free yourself from it. That part would have to wait.
"Got hit on the head a few times, talked to a couple of gods. It all helped the pieces fall back together." He explained, and you pressed your knuckles into his sides as a silent reprimand for making fun of himself getting hurt. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring your vision of Jason, and you bit the inside of your cheek so hard you tasted blood. A reprimand for yourself, too. "I'm so sorry."
"It wasn't your fault, Jase." You would have shaken your head, but you didn't want to move out of his hold for a second, and instead pressed your cheek tighter against his palm still holding the side of your jaw.
He looked ready to argue, but you flashed him a glare so fierce he thought better of it. You had been living in anger and fear for months. Having Jason back already helped, but it would take more than a few minutes for you to right yourself.
And you still stood on the battlefield.
"I remember that last argument we had." He knocked you back to reality in the gentle way only he ever knew how to do with you. Out of shame, you ducked your gaze to the ground, but he didn't let you hide. With the hand that wasn't on your jaw, thumb brushing reassuring strokes over your cheek, he held your nearly quivering chin between his index and his thumb. The way he tilted your head up to meet his stare was tender, but that had never been a question when it came to him. "Where I said there was nothing for us to do but be soldiers."
"Yeah," You were pretty sure you were speaking, but you couldn't focus on anything over the sound of your heartbeat roaring in your ears or the beautiful burn of his skin against yours.
"I was wrong." He admitted, but you knew what those words meant just the same as he knew that you would understand. "I remembered fragments of you. The sound of your laugh. How your hair shone in the summer sun."
"Sounds like you might be in love, or something." You tried for teasing but sounded like you had just been hit by a bus. Jason had only been back for a few scarce minutes and already was bulldozing you with his sweet words. If he hadn't just disappeared on you for upwards of seven months and came back to save the world, you would have threatened to kick his ass for disorientating you so much so quickly.
"Oh, I am." He grinned a little nervously, a little lopsided, and you couldn't wait any longer.
You moved first, hands darting from the sides of his armor to the sides of his face, palms flat against his skin as you tugged his head down you meet you while you pushed yourself up on your tip-toes to meet him halfway.
Kissing Jason was as inevitable as it was all-consuming. You had played dumb with Dakota whenever he brought it up, but deep down you had always belonged to Jason Grace, and he to you, from the moment he broke the rules to sit with you in that small, restricted stretch of grass when you were ten years old.
Your fingers knotted into the hair on the back of his head, grown out just enough during his time with the Greeks. You thought it suited him, and it was soft under your touch, and you mentally made a note to plead with him later to leave it alone. From the way he was kissing you like he would starve if he didn't, you had a feeling he'd agree easily.
He was warm and sweet and tasted like mint. He was everything you had imagined, everything you had never once dared to hope for. Strong hands and gentle touches, unyielding intelligence and unwavering kindness.
He was everything. Your everything.
Despite the weight of Jason's mouth on yours, you still were dimly aware of where you stood. The smell of smoke still lingered in the air, and no matter how close you pressed against Jason, you couldn't hide from the fact that you were a centurion and your legion needed you.
You had been left by almost everyone in your life, but never had letting someone go been as painful as it was to step back from Jason long enough to catch your breath and clear the fog from your mind that was a direct reaction to his touch.
"I've got to—" You shuddered, voice catching, but Jason nodded, knowing what you meant. Knowing you, knowing your mind, always. You almost shivered again at the reminder that he remembered. He knew what you were going to say, but you forced yourself to finish your thought so you could convince yourself it was real. "I've got to find my legion. Count survivors. Take stock of injuries. We've been—we've been fighting for hours."
You didn't want to leave him. You never had wanted to before, but after he had been stolen from you for so long? Now that he had confessed his love and kissed you like his life depended on it?
Now you were worried that the next time he left your side, he'd disappear again, no matter how unwillingly he went.
"Okay," Jason smoothed his thumbs across your cheeks, face ducked low towards yours as your hands fell to wrap loosely around his wrists, desperate to hold him in anyway you could. "Okay. We can do that."
"We?" You questioned, then immediately felt stupid for doing so. Of course, he meant we. It had always been the two of you against the world, and he had just gotten his memories of you back. There was no way he would let you out of his sight so soon.
"You told me the day we met that there was no getting rid of you." Jason reminded you, as if you could ever forget meeting him, as if the gods themselves had been able to keep him from remembering you. "I'm holding you to that promise."
Words failed you, but the way you surged forward to press your mouth to his in a quick, urgent kiss that you had dreamed about sharing with him for years, didn't.
"Just for the record, I love you too." You offered an exhausted imitation of a smile as you pulled away, finally dropping your touch from him. Because maybe you had Jason back, but you still weren't sure how many of your soldiers had been lost. Mourning and victory, always a solemn pair.
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but someone called out your name, and the edge of desperation and worry in their voice cut through you like a knife. And Jason remembered you, knew you, and saw everything written on your face.
"We'll figure out this mess together." He swiped his thumb over your bottom lip before nudging your shoulder in the direction the voice had come from. "Lead the way, Centurion."
Your stomach was still in knots, so you pressed your lips into a firm line. But Jason was a warm strength at your back, and he kept his promise of together, and followed you dutifully.
War took and took, but sometimes it gave.
Jason, your Jason, was back. And maybe there were still a million questions to answer, boundaries to fix and homes to rebuild, but you knew Jason would be by your side through it all.
An unwavering force behind your relentless dedication.
War took and took, but things would be okay.
Things would be okay.
a/n: im allergic to sad endings (jk I just can't write them they always feel unfinished when I try) also this took me forever bc I was so incredibly worried that the finale would flop but I kinda love this so im just gonna full send
tag, you're it! @aezuria @tayswiftlovebot @bonnie-tz @folklorefantasies14 @sunshine-of-ur-life @irwinchester @bellamysnatblida @saph-nic @auroraofthesun1 @helloimamistake @maybxlle @p-rspective @lauptimist @dontstopxx @apollosfavkiddo @ebony-reine-vibes @poppysrin @valromanoff @jesuschrist2006 @pariahsparadise @killaari @marshmummy @sofiacblair
#jason grace#jason grace fanfiction#jason grace fanfic#jason grace x you#jason grace x reader#jason grace x y/n#rays of sun#cool about it
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I for one would not mind more werewolf kate
Title: Once Bitten, Twice the Idiot [6/?]
Summary: After reader is attacked by a strange animal in the woods, her world is flipped upside down. Now she must navigate a new life filled with strangers and myths.
Trigger warnings: Hunting, the actual werewolf transformation, restraints (hands, legs, neck), bloody & Gore, pet names, let me know if I've forgotten anything pls.
[Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six]
[A/n: I was really fucking sad when I wrote this, and for that, I apoloigize. This isn't a gentle chapter, so please read with caution. And as always, I did not proof read].
Main Masterlist | Ao3 | Request Prompts
A rot of leaves coated the forest floor, filling your lungs with an unsettling pungent scent. The world had blurred edges, somehow caving in on itself with each passing second. The trees whizzed past you, an ache that once covered your entire being had ebbed away the faster you ran.
There was such an intoxicating scent that led you blindly. It was floral and sweet and screamed above all the deteriorating vegetation. You’d run so far, so fast and without hesitation. What was that? You needed to sink your teeth into it, to taste it. You would simply die if you didn’t.
It was a girl. Yes. A girl.
She was running too, but not nearly with enough speed as you. She stumbled over fallen logs and branches dug into her skin. They created gashes of dripping red that made you salivate. She was cornered against a fence, fingers curling around the chain link.
You regarded her, taking a moment to register the hot pain in your chest. How far had you followed her? It was ways from home, you knew that much, but none of that seemed to matter. No- because she was right in front of you, and she was captivating.
In your excitement, you took a careful step forward and a small noise escaped her throat. Her eyes were frantic as she took in your hulking and animalistic stature. She was afraid, and part of you was too. Something had led you to her, to this sadistic chase that had cornered you both.
Her blood tasted sweet just like her scent. Your teeth crushed bone, tore through tendons with such a simple ease.
She was yours.
Sweat had soaked through your sheets and clung to your bare legs, even as you shot up and pulled in a helping of air. Your skin buzzed as if it were set ablaze with fever. The waning moon cast a sickly pale light against the room. Your heart pounded ruthlessly against your chest.
That dream had left you antsy, and horrified. You never remembered your dreams but this one was vivid, almost like it was a memory. The coppery taste made your mouth dry. You were restless, wide awake despite the red numbers on the clock indicating that it was just past 3:00am.
You couldn’t hear anything through the walls that had been doubled down in strength despite your enhanced senses. The house was as good as silent, though you figured it statistically impossible for everyone to be asleep.
The hallway was dark compared to your room, filled with moonlight. You padded a few steps before you stopped in front of Kate’s door. It pained you to be here, begging for some type of comfort. The dream had left you rattled. Afraid.
It was getting closer to the full moon and your thoughts had been plagued with the pain that you’d read about so diligently. Scanning the inked words on a yellowing page was nothing compared to the experience of it all.
Swallowing your pride, you knocked twice, knowing that she could hear you. It took Kate a few moments to untangle herself from her blankets. You could pick up on her stumbling her way across her room until she swung the door open.
The girl tried to be suave, giving you a tired smile as she leaned against her doorframe. Her hair was sleep-worn and springing in various directions. She wore a pair of boxers with little purple arrows against the fabric and a tank top that was riding up enough to expose the smooth expanse of her stomach.
“Hi,” You swallowed the dryness in your throat, pulling your eyes from her muscular frame. Her cheeks were blooming with a fond pinkness. “I couldn’t sleep.”
You didn’t want to admit that you were freezing, that the sweat you’d produced during the odd dream had dried taught against your skin. A shiver worked its way through you, and you crossed your arms over your midsection, trying to preserve what warmth you had left.
Kate lilted her head and stepped to the side without a second thought. She beaconed you into her room. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the light of the moon. Her comforter was drawn back, pillows scattered against her bed. She must have been engulfed in a deep and comfortable sleep, one that you had broken.
It helped, not being able to see the looming structure of the moon. It made you squirm, but the scent that engulfed you, the pure warmth of Kate’s mere presence, calmed your nerves. When she shut the door softly you knew that you were safe with her.
The wolf, that’s what Wanda had called it, knew what it wanted. She said that there was a blind trust that would flow through you with the girl that you’d crawled to and that feeling was only multiplying as the full moon got closer and closer.
“Don’t… say a word.” You turned to her, crossing your arms over your chest.
Despite your warning, she smiled wolfishly at you, lifting both of her hands with an innocent shrug. She looked adorably miffed by exhaustion, and that thought annoyed you more than anything. God, you really should hate her. But she looked so warm, so accepting and every inch of your body was howling for her skin against yours.
Kate settled back into bed and peeled back the duvet with an expectant look on her face. Why were you fighting her so hard? Clearly, you were tired. You’d knocked on her door and you hadn’t done that without reason. If you wanted conversation, you would have found Peter and interrupted his late night gaming.
Or maybe even Natasha who couldn’t sleep, just like you. But you did value your life, just a little bit. So Kate it was, a magnet that drew you in. The more exhausted you got, the harder it was to pull away. And really- she had been trying. Right?
Almost as if on instinct, you took her up on her offer and slid into the encompassing warmth of the duvet. There was the scent of lavender, of freshly washed sheets and the metallic breath that she drew in, almost as if she was just as shocked as you were at the action.
Kate cautiously lowered the blanket and the two of you stared at the little glowing stars on her ceiling. You hadn’t seen them since the fifth grade. America didn’t’ have the deep green celestial patterns, but instead a garden of pulsing orange and purple, and yellow flowers.
You could feel the heat of Kate’s shoulder close to yours. You were so cold, even under the blankets and she seemed like the only source of comfort from the dream that lingered so heavily on your mind.
“Do you think…”
The words died in your throat. She turned her head to face you, and after a few moments of building up the courage you turned your cheek against the pillow too, staring into a cloudy grey stare that was marred with sleep, pockmarked with questions.
“Will I ever be able to see them again?” your voice was pinched with emotion. It was fear, the both of you recognized it. Her eyes glossed over, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth to stop it from trembling. You felt emotion well up in your own chest. “I know things will never be normal again, but do you think there’s a chance?”
Kate swallowed the thickness in her throat, voice barely a whisper. “I do.”
You nodded and dislodged the tears that were fighting for dominance. Kate didn’t’ hesitate to reach up and wipe them away with her gentle touch. Her thumb was calloused, but soft. A whimper escaped you as you leaned into her touch. Kate shivered at the contact herself.
“I get why I’m here and I’m grateful for it. The last thing I want to do…” you trained off, listening to the shuttered sound of her breathing. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, ever.”
“You won’t, y/n.”
The immediacy of her statement brought you comfort. It wasn’t necessarily a reflex, but a belief that she felt deep in her core. You clenched your eyes shut and scooted closer until you felt the full effect of Kate’s presence.
The movements were gentle as you slotted yourself against her, hand laying on her stomach and moving over the softness of her shirt. She held her breath for a moment, instinctively wrapping her arm around you. You pressed your nose against the naïve of her neck, slick with tears of her own.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She quivered with guilt.
You were starting to understand, against your better judgement, why this had happened. Kate found you for a reason, and that tension, that discomfort, that was your wolf fighting for a way to get to her. And you had.
The tears that wet her shirt, the ones that coated your cheeks, they were those of relief. You curled into Kate, taking in her scent, the two of you gripping onto each other like a vice, eventually drifting towards a fitful sleep, shadowed by stars.
There was no such thing as privacy in a house with eleven people. Not when so many of them had a strict regimen of exercise, and healthy eating. There was a stark difference from life at the dorm where people rarely arose before twelve in the afternoon unless they had class, and even that was a gamble.
Instead, you stirred to the sound of a blender and the hushed voices of an indiscernible conversation. That was followed by a very discernible sound of a cell phone camera. Even without advanced hearing, you clocked it in moments.
A small groan escaped you. It was much too early to wake up. You had never been more comfortable in your life, your nose pressed flush against the crook of Kate’s neck. She shifted in her sleep, pulling you closer with an adorably tiny breath.
“Go away,” she grumbled, the words vibrating against your palm.
You tightened your grip on the fabric of her shirt. God, it was so bright. They’d pulled the curtains back and the sun was in full force. Despite the comfort, there was no way you’d drift back into sleep. That fact alone was solidified when you bolted up at the clearing of someone’s throat.
An odd hurriedness shot through your spine, forehead knocking against Kate’s chin and leaving a throbbing spot in its wake. The girl that was under you let out another small noise at the back of her throat, rubbing her jaw while depriving the world of her stormy stare.
Natasha Romanoff leaned against the doorframe of Kate’s bedroom. Wanda had been very clear about the rank in the house, and it was of no shock to you that Natasha was pretty high up there. It was why her simple sound of alert had made your entire body tingle. You knew- your wolf knew- that she was in charge, and that she was there for you.
“I checked your room first,” She stated matter-of-factly. “Obviously, you weren’t there.”
Your cheeks reddened at the predicament you’d found yourself in, and the fact that you were sure you’d heard the click of a cell phone camera. It was almost like your parents walking in on a sleepover that got a little too cozy.
Kate sat up groggily, testing her jaw a few times, “Good morning, Nat. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“You can go back to sleep. I’m here for y/n. We’re going on a run.”
The wary look you got from the girl in bed next to you wasn’t exactly easing your nerves. She must have gone through this before, and she would truly object if she thought it was something you couldn’t handle. Instead, her hand found yours under the safety of the duvet and gave your fingers an encouraging squeeze.
You knew better than to object to Natasha, so you followed her orders and changed into the closest thing to workout clothes that you’d packed; a pair of royal blue gym shorts and a t-shirt that was from your last trip to the west coast. Sun, fun, and Sand.
She waited by the edge of the front yard, lifting a perfectly sculpted brow at the shirt, but didn’t say anything in acknowledgment. “We’ll do six miles up, and six miles back.”
“Up?” You squeaked out, finally earning a genuine grin from her. She started to jog ahead of you, and it took you a few moments to register that you were meant to follow her. “Back?”
The two of you kept a steady pace under the heavy hand of the sun. You felt sweat slick the back of your neck, legs screaming out in protest. You weren’t much of a runner, and had admittedly eaten one too many boxes of instant mac and cheese. But your body seemed to mold to the pace with no problem. Your muscles strained for just a moment before relaxing into he burn.
“I’m sure you’ve heard from everyone in the house how they handle a full moon.”
“No, actually,” You panted out, “everyone seems to be keeping their distance.”
“We haven’t had anyone new join our pack for years. Certainly, never this violently. Can you blame them?”
No, you really couldn’t’. They had all been so welcoming and understanding. Even Kate to a certain degree. None of that eased the fear and you figured it wouldn’t’ until you actually lived it, until every single bone in your body rebroke and reshaped until you were this insatiable creature that would seek nothing but blood and carnage. It was inside of you now, you felt it just below the surface, and that terrified you.
Your chest was beginning to burn viciously, but Natasha was showing no intention of slowing down. There was an odd need within you to please her, to make sure that you kept up with her pace despite how hard it was getting as the slight incline became a little less slight.
The woods had thickened around you both and you let out a relieved breath when she trotted to a stop on the dirt trail. The collar of your shirt was damp, and you pulled your arms behind your head to fill your lungs with more sticky air. Natasha smiled fondly at you.
“Kate tapped out about three miles back.”
“This some sort of test?” You asked, working your hand through your hair.
“A test, a tactic. Whatever you want to call it. Some of us believe that if you wear yourself out before a transition, it’ll be less excruciating on the day.”
“I read about that the other day, though, they didn’t use the word excruciating.”
“That’s what it is. Don’t let anyone sugar coat it for you, kid. It’s going to hurt and you’re going to feel every second of it.”
You plopped down on a fallen log, pressing your fingertips to your temples. You clenched your eyes shut and felt your heartbeat pulse through your entire body. Never in a million years would you figure you’d be here. Natasha’s scent strengthened when she gave your shoulder a squeeze, prompting your eyes to open.
She was rimmed in the early morning sun, ringlets of russet hair fell over her shoulders. “Come on, I didn’t make you run all the way out here for the hell of it. I want to show you something.”
Before you could object, she started down the path again, this time in a brisk walk. You let out a groan and hauled yourself off the log. When you got to where she had been, you saw nothing but a thick wall of greenery and wood. Natasha was nowhere in sight.
You closed your eyes and tried to pick up the scent of her, the detergent and the lavender and the sandalwood. Upon your second inhale, you picked up in a general direction and frowned. This was all too surreal, you were physically sniffing out a near-stranger that had led you deep into the woods.
Still, you felt a blind trust as you went off the path and continued to track her down. She was about thirty feet into the woods, standing over a pile of leaves, arms crossed over her chest. You felt yourself warm at the proud half-smile she gave you.
When you reached her, Natasha knelt and pushed back the mix of muck and leaves. It revealed two metal doors that reminded you of a summer you spent with your aunt in Alabama. It was unbelievably hot and muggy, and they had a storm shelter that was carved from the earth, the walls damp and stocked with different canned food, though you had never seen a can opener. You didn’t think to bring it up as the two of you huddled close and listened to the howling wind and rain.
“This was a long-game murder plot all along, wasn’t it?”
“I’m not into the long-game.”
Her words weren’t exactly encouraging. The hinges of the doors screamed loudly from disuse and a musty scent washed cruelly over the both of you. Your nose scrunched and Natasha grimaced but didn’t say a word. An automatic light buzzed on, allowing you to see the opened space below.
It was exactly like the storm cellar, and it’s cool interior was a brief solace from the heat of the day. There was a divide a few steps into the space, a steel wall with a door in the center, sloppily welded but with enough strength to stop a beast the size of a mid-sized Sudan.
This door creaked too, and Natasha let it linger open for a moment, staring softly at you, and then back at the room. There was safety in her stance. You knew that she had the full ability to slam it shut and lock you in, but had a deep realization that she wouldn’t.
Another light was on the ceiling, casting a circle of deep yellow. There was a deep smell of dust and dirt, but there was something hard and metallic under that. Your eyes darted to the chains that were attached to the wall, large iron things that were screwed into extra support.
More than that, were the stretching claw marks that pockmarked the walls. They went deep, past the dirt and into the cement. The pads of your fingers ran over the one closest to you. Each mark stretched further than your touch. Chills shot up to your elbow, a breath lodging itself into your throat.
Your other hand clenched your stomach, digging into your ribs. Something significant had happened here. Several significant things. Tears started to form against your eyes and the worst part was, you had no idea why.
“Those are Steves,” she said quietly, joining you within the confines of the cell, lifting her chin to another set of marks. “And Tonys.”
There were dozens of markings, all different shapes and sizes. Some were digging into the clay walls, and the floors. There were distinct scent markings on each one and you found yourself able to identify ones that belonged to Yelena, and Peter, and even Bruce. They’d all changed here at least once.
Natasha crossed the room and shifted the door until it was only slightly ajar. You straightened up, heart pulling against your throat. The door was minced with deep slashes. You shoved your hands into your pockets to keep them from trembling. They almost ached.
“You feel something, don’t you?”
Words didn’t form, couldn’t. You couldn’t pinpoint the emotion that tore through you. It was akin to longing, but it was more than that. It was like the creature that was so restless within you wanted nothing more than to claw its way out and find the person who had made those marks. They were desperate and sad, and horrifying.
You closed the distance between them and pressed your touch against the deep gashes and fought back a pained cry. You dug your teeth into the back of your free hand to quell it, but a pathetic sound still escaped you.
“Kate knew that something was wrong a few months before she escaped. She was experienced, knew as much as one could know about their wolf. But there was an unrest”
“She doesn’t like places like this.”
Your words were small. You remembered what she had told you, about how she had turned the first time alone and, in a room very similar to this one. You got the stark impression that she would never want to do something like that again. So, it begs the question of why these marks were so fresh. So fearful.
“No, she doesn’t. They scare her, make her panic before the moon has any effect. But she was conscious enough to know that if she wasn’t here, then she would end up hurting someone. It just proved not to be strong enough of a failsafe.”
Kate had felt an unrest weeks, maybe months, before she had escaped and sunk her teeth into your flesh. A wash of guilt pulled at you. You’d been giving her such a hard time, pestering her and fighting her every step of the way. She’d been in immense pain.
When the pads of your fingers touched the scratches, you felt only a fraction of the longing she must have. Grimacing, you turned away, crossing your arms over your stomach to shield you from the reality of your harshness.
You needed Kate.
“Is this where I’ll be tonight?” You asked, so softly Natasha almost didn’t’ hear it.
She nodded in response, the silence mulling between you both. A small breath escaped you, pained and held within your lungs for an abnormal amount of time. You crossed the room, picked up one of the leaden chains and weighed it against your own strength.
“I can be here with you, if you’d like.” Natasha said, filling the quiet “Or if you’d rather Steve… Wanda.”
You turned to face her, grip tightening on the chain. “Kate?”
“Kate.”
Her eyes were no longer shrouded in their silver, sullen beauty. As the sun began its descent, there was a strange tangerine glow that overtook them. It started at the center of her pupil, small whisps of neon color, and then started to ebb into the confines of her iris.
You focused on them. If you thought too much about the days leading up to this transformation, then you would work yourself into a panic. You were taking things one at a time today, and that included jogging back to the compound and shyly admitting to Kate that she was the only one you wished to have in your vicinity tonight.
Though, you hadn’t thought much about the logistics. The two of you trapped in a single cell. Yelena had walked all the way out here, keeping a silent eye on the tension that lingered against both of your frames. It wore your stance down, mind racing with the ‘what if’s’.
“Once I close this door, neither of you will be released until daybreak.” Her thick accent carried a sharp edge to it that made this finite. “There is an emergency radio, Kate knows where it is.”
They’d thought of everything, really. Yelena had handed over a sheathe of needles and a small vile that you knew had to be tranquilizer. It smelled acidic and nitrate in nature. Even your rational, human side, cringed away from it.
With a final nod that conveyed good luck, and a strong, ‘I’m rooting for you,’ Yelena exited the cell and slammed the metal door behind her. From there, she retreated, and another lock was put into place after she’d slithered a coil of chain around the outside doors. Your heart picked-up it’s pace, never one for confined spaces.
Kate seemed to hear the uptake and closed the distance between the both of you. One hand found your waist and you allowed her to give it a reassuring squeeze. The other cupped your cheek, guiding your stare. “Hey, listen to me. I know this is scary, but I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
You believed her partially because you had no other choice. Her eyes were mostly orange now, glowing enough to cast a strange shadow against her face. You wondered dumbly if yours would do the same. Something was boiling inside of you, making your entire body sweat. It felt like you were in a sauna, breathing in the hot steam after water was poured listlessly over black coals.
“I’ll talk you through everything, until neither of us can talk. Then we won’t have to.”
“Okay, alright. That sounds good.”
She nodded at you and began to unzip her sweatshirt until the teeth of the zipper released their hold. She was wearing a black sports bra and matching bike shorts, stretchy material that hadn’t set her back too much financially. They would be torn to shreds by the end of the night, regardless.
Kate’s stomach was toned. It was tanned and showed all the stamina of a beast. You tried not to let your eyes linger for too long, tried to ignore the small trail of hair that dipped below her waistband. Despite herself, Kate smiled at you cockily, but moved her hands to your own jacket.
“Is this okay?”
“Yeah.” You swallowed the dry metal taste in your mouth. “I don’t think my fingers will cooperate right now.”
She let out a small noise in response and pulled your jacket from your shoulders, leaving you in much of the same. She’d promised earlier that the two of you would go out and get clothes that you were more comfortable in, but this suited you just fine. Her pupils dilated, rushing them in more sherbet color. A stuttered breath escaping her and fanning against your bare collarbone.
“What? Oh my god, is it starting?”
You didn’t feel any different, still extremely hot to the touch and a little riled up after getting a look at Kate’s mostly-bare form. Color petaled her cheeks. She was actually blushing. Even in the dim lighting of the cell, that much was clear.
“No, no. You’re just…” She shook her head, trying to clear it “really beautiful, is all.”
“Oh,”
More blush, her eyes slipping down to the floor. “Yeah. I should probably get you secured, though. It’ll be more comfortable to sit.”
You understood exactly what she meant. Your heart was thrumming through your entire body at the compliment, though you both welcomed the distraction of a task. This task was securing locks around your wrists, and your ankles. Large iron things that could stop a lion. They were bolted into cement, digging into the foundation.
You kept your back against the damp wall, allowing Kate to fiddle with the mass of restraints. She fastened the first cuff on your wrist and looked at you expectantly. “Is this too tight? We want it to be a little loose. You’ll fill out when the transformation is done.”
“It’s alright,”
Kate diligently fastened the other three; one more around your opposite wrist, and two around your ankles. The only thing left was a chain that was intended to click smugly around your throat. She stared at it warily, eyes meeting yours.
“This one isn’t comfortable, and after tonight, you won’t need it.” She stated, using her hand to brush a stray hair from your eyes. Something was coiling in your stomach now, an unrest. A parasite that seemed to want to bubble out of your chest. “Your body will be in fight or flight mode. All of your senses will be heightened more than they are now and you’ll want to get out of these.”
“And if I do?”
“If you do, you’ll have to go through me.”
She fastened the chain around your neck, listening for the heady click. Just like the others, she adjusted and pulled on it until she was satisfied with your capture. A slight noise pushed past your lips. It felt like you had a stomachache, a cramping that would send you straight to a heating pad on any other day.
“I know, baby.” She soothed, the pet name slipping past her. She frowned, then lightened her stare. “I know it hurts. I’m right here. I’m with you.”
Her words soothed you. She backed up and sat cross-legged in front of you. There was an admiration of her control. Sweat prickled against her upper lip and at her hairline. It was an indication that you weren’t alone in this. Though, Kate Bishop had more practice, pain was eternal.
“You said I’d have to go through you,” your words were trembling. It took a few moments to force them into existence, but Kate was patient. Your legs and arms were starting to ache, just a dull thrum that reminded you of destroying your muscles to wick them back together again. “What… did you mean?”
Kate smiled and you swore her teeth were pointed at the end. Your vison was starting to blur, and you blinked away tears that dripped from your chin. “We’re not going to fight, or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. I think our wolves- well, I think they’ll get along just fine.”
“Kate Bishop, are you insinuating something?”
“Me? No. Never.”
She let out a grunt, her hand going to her ribcage. There was a dull pop that jolted through her body and you clenched your eyes shut for a moment. Not wanting to see her in pain. Not wanting to see what was next for you.
You didn’t have to wait long. The pressure started to build in your forearm first, a tight pain that shot from your fingers all the way to your elbow. Almost as if your bone was straining against itself, and it was. The crack and splinter of it threw you off your balance with a dizzying amount of discomfort.
A scream tore through your throat, toes digging into the soft, damp floor. Kate let out another grunt of discomfort, dropping her elbow to the ground. Her chest was heaving, pulling air in greedily before releasing as if she never wanted it in the first place. Her efforts were punctuated by a deep and primal growl that took you back to the night in the forest.
All of your limbs were tightening now, two pops from your ribs and an extra one in your ankle. You were doubled over in a blind torment. Your cheek was pressed to the ground, the scent of dirt filling your senses. There was blood here too, so thick and potent that it was if it gurgled against your own tongue.
“I’m sorry,” you thought you heard her through your own strangled cries of pain. Her voice deep and words miffed by the growing teeth pressing against her gums. “I’m so sorry.”
“Fuck!” You cried out, the last bit of human semblance you could form. Your own words were minced with agonizing cries and a rumble from the center of your chest that sounded anything but human. It was feral. It was hungry.
Your vison pulsed around the edges, darkness creeping in. You shakily lifted your hand, watched as your flesh became shrouded with gore. It was shredded, dark gray fur sprouting over your knuckles as your skin fell away entirely. Once human nails had been replaced by claws, dripping with your own blood and muscle tissue.
They shined as if you had been baptized once more. Teeth- your own teeth, filled your mouth as they were pushed out to welcome new ones. You’d spit them to the ground, relished in the sweet taste of the blood that filled your mouth, only for you to spit again.
There was a howl, one distant that made your entire body stiffen under its command. You weren’t wailing anymore, and neither was Kate. The two of you had silenced, breathed hard and tried to find your bearings. Your collarbone widened, seemed to stretch like the rest of you. The restraints were tightening as you grew. As you changed.
Another howl cut through the air, this time you had the urge to answer with one of your own. At least, that was the last humane thought you had, before everything went black.
#Kate Bishop#Kate Bishop x reader#Kate Bishop x y/n#Kate Bishop x you#kate bishop x female reader#wanda Maximoff#Natasha Romanoff#Wandanat#Steve Rodgers#Tony Stark#thor odinson#bruce banner#peter parker#yelena belova#Werewolf au
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*screams into the fabric of spacetime* SHAMY FANDOM AWAKEN 🤩🤩🤩🫨🫨🫨😍😍😍
#shamy#young Sheldon#IT’S HAPPENING OMG OMG EVERYBODY STAY CALM STAY F-ING CALM#AHHHHHHHHHH#like I nearly had a heart attack when I read this#WE MIGHT BE GETTING FAMILY SHELDON COOPER#IF I SEE THEM WITH THEIR CHILDREN#I AM GOING TO DIE#😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#sheldon cooper#amy farrah fowler#the big bang theory#TBBT#Shamy Supremacy
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I loved stucky ❤️ best marvel ship. I’ll be sure to check that one out. You ever read Our Golden Age? It’s an au with Bucky as a prince I remember liking it
I don’t think I ever read that one but it looks good!! maybe if I’m still on my stucky kick after I read dishonor I’ll check it out thanks anon :0 I also remember this fic I reread a few times where Buckys mask didn’t come off like it was nailed into face,, very angsty but amazingly written too I forgor the fic name tho
#also it’s dishonor without the u if ur looking it up#I searched for dishonour and nearly had a heart attack when it didn’t pop up and thought it got deleted#it kinda starts out as a crack fic but the story is so intense and well written I really hope you give it a try !!!#i literally had to go back thro my ao3 history like over 100 pages…….. saw some stuff I must’ve been reading in a darker time………..#also it was nearly 80 pages of mcyt fics so. I’ve been here too long jfc
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NEARLY BROUGHT ME TO MY KNEES | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [2]
Description: FIVE times Spencer thinks he might like you + the ONE time he knows.
Word length: 20k
Trigger Warnings: death, murder, Lauren arc, spencer's addiction mentioned, Diana's schizophrenia mentioned, vomit, alcohol, blood, usual criminal mind warnings. mommy AND daddy issues in the prentiss family.
previous chpt | next chpt
‘so sweet with a mean streak
nearly brought me to my knees.’
The one where he tries flirting
Emily tutted at her as the girl blindly shoved the Lucky Charms in her mouth, her tongue staining a gross blue-green colour from the additives as she read from a battered copy of Anna Karenina. Bugsy had been living with her for just two weeks now, since her impromptu fleeing from the altar, and Emily’s certainly had a good insight into the life of the twenty three year old.
Yes, it was her birthday next week. No, she didn’t act her age anymore than she had at twenty.
“Bug, slow down.” Emily urged, a rogue orange marshmallow dribbling down her chin as she plunged the spoon in before she’d even swallowed the last mouthful, “You get sick when you eat too fast,”
Bugsy waved her off with the utensil, not even ripping her eyes away from the page in front of her, scooping up the marshmallow with the side of her finger and popping it into her mouth.
Emily rolled her eyes, downing a few sips of her coffee and heading for the stairs, knowing her ride would be here any moment and she still had yet to change her shirt from the one she’d spilled toothpaste down not ten minutes earlier.
“Niko needs breakfast when you’re done,” The older of the two shouted down to the breakfast table, a streak of tabby grey running under her feet at the sound of food. Bugsy had insisted she bring her new feline friend into Emily’s apartment, and as much as she’d hated the way she nearly tripped over the chubby bastard almost every day they’d been here, she certainly had a fondness for him.
Bugsy hummed in acknowledgement, though she scraped the edges of her bowl clean by the time the cat in question hopped up onto the counter in search of her leftover milk.
“This is not for you, you have too much already,” She scolded, shovelling the last few sugary pieces of cereal into her mouth right as the door knocked.
She dogeared her page, gulping down a quick sip of Emily’s coffee, cringing when she caught it was much too strong for her liking, and heading for the door, her sister yelling to her again.
“Bug, can you get that- wait- are you wearing pants?”
She certainly wasn’t, having rolled straight out of bed in a pyjama shirt and underwear, and towards the promise of breakfast, nor as she swung the front door to the apartment open before Emily had a chance to rush down the stairs.
Spencer could have laughed when he saw her, all too reminiscent of the first time he’d met her. The boxers that hugged her legs beneath a large top he was entirely convinced was not hers, though her face lit up in excitement to see him.
“Good morning!” He thrust a coffee to-go into her hand, still warm even from where it had been jostled around in his car.
“You’re my saviour,” She grinned, sipping on the sweet beverage with bright eyes, “Cute sweater vest-”
She was quickly manhandled behind the door by two firm hands, Emily’s face enraged as she glared down at her sister where she was now out of sight from the doctor.
“What did I tell you about wearing pants? Huh? You nearly gave Mrs Jensen a heart attack last week,” Emily hissed, as Bugsy shrugged, remembering the look of horror the old woman across the hall had given her when she’d taken the trash out in a hoodie and booty shorts.
“It’s Spencer,” She poked her head around the door, despite Emily’s shoving, like she was taming a wild animal, “You don’t mind, do you?”
He shook his head, an amused and easy smile on his face as he watched the sisters bicker, not entirely unlike the way he and Emily tended to pick at one another.
“Not at all; I agree pants are loathable,” And he wasn’t lying. He tried to go for looser fitting trousers or sweat pants, hating the way the tight fabrics restricted his legs, rubbed his skin, making him want to itch and squirm inside his body.
“Don’t you start,” Emily pointed at him, huffing as she stepped out of the apartment, “You know she gets all worked up and weird on sugar,”
“Hey, I’m the last person to deny someone a coffee,” He replied, and the two turned to head back to his car, not before he threw the younger woman a look over his shoulder and a wave.
“Go save the world, kiddos.” She waved back, sipping her coffee indeed with bare legs that would have a nun blushing, “Curfews at nine, Doctor Reid, I expect both of you home for dinner!” She nudged the door closed with her hip before Niko could run out after Emily, and Spencer chuckled to himself, shaking his head.
“See, told you,” Emily sniggered, rolling her eyes, “Weird,”
Though that wasn’t quite the word he’d have used.
–
A killer, so far as they had been able to profile from the four bodies, was targeting women he picked up in night clubs in Atlanta. Most of the team, except Derek, had outgrown the clubbing scene, though Spencer didn’t quite think he’d ever been in it to start with. They all went to O’Keeffe’s usually once a month or so for a quick drink, but it was not big on his list.
Rossi, Reid and Derek stared at the puddle of blood on the sidewalk, wincing as Emily leaned over the balcony, the five story drop making her tug her lip in between her teeth.
This woman must have been terrified by something, someone, to see this as a better way out.
“Maybe she fought back,” Hotch speculated behind her, drawing her attention back to the cleaning equipment scattered over the floor, entirely different to the last three crime scenes where they had been arranged neatly into a triangle, “And when Becky fought back, his routine was compromised, cause he knew the police would respond,”
“Or she could have jumped,” Emily responded gravely, shaking her head at the carpet beneath her boots, “Her nervous system is pumping adrenaline, her fight or flight response kicks in?” Both were equally plausible options, but not ones they had time to entirely pick over.
“He’s struck two Fridays in a row, and if his routine’s been interrupted, it might compel him to strike again,” Hotch said, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his brow furrowed deeper than it usually was.
“It’s Saturday, the clubs will be packed tonight,” Emily replied, her eyes sad, worried.
“Take a look at the classes the Unsub might have taken, we need to generate a suspect pool as soon as possible,” Her boss ordered, and she nodded heading for the door before she stopped, looking at him with a grimace he didn’t quite understand, “What is it?”
“Bugs-my sister used to work as a shot girl in a club.” She said after a moment of thought, “She could smell a rat from a mile away; said most girls who work in bars get this sixth sense about guys with bad intentions, so they know when to cut them off earlier than most,”
Emily looked at him for a moment, and he seemed troubled, hesitant as she was to even tease the idea to him, before he sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead.
“Call her in.” He said through an outbreath, gritting his teeth the way he did when he was in between a rock and a hard place.
Rock being another girl murdered by tonight with a huge opportunity to catch the guy in the act missed. Hard place being a twenty-three year old risking her skin for his team for a third time. He hated the paperwork she brought him, hated the look on her face the day Spencer and Derek had dragged her out of that chapel bloodied and shaken even more.
“But she wears a vest under her clothes, and she stays with Reid and Morgan,” He reasoned, “And just purely scouting; if the Unsub strikes, she gets out there like any other civilian.”
Emily nodded, her hand routing through her pockets for her phone already, “Couldn’t agree more,” She said, hitting the call button with a sigh. She just hoped this time her baby sister wouldn’t be making any drastic calls like throwing herself in the Unsub’s way. Though, Emily knew Spencer wouldn’t let her take another hit for him ever again. Not after the way he’d seemed so distraught the moment she’d been dragged from that room, his eyes all but glistening with tears when he’d seen her on the bed, bloodied and beaten for his sake.
No, Emily could stake her life on the fact Reid would go down swinging before that ever happened to her again.
-
“When you think about the nature of serial crimes, it’s amazing there aren’t more predators in clubs,” Spencer said, hoping the pretty girls he’d managed to snag into conversation didn’t hear the way his voice stuttered. This was so far out of his depth, the entire club atmosphere suffocating him worse than any tight pants ever could. The music was too loud, the heavy bass making him wince, the air was too close, too warm, the bodies that kept shoving past him made him want to shower for two hours straight and then wash his hands as well. He’d turned down the drink Derek had offered him, knowing the exact amount of bacteria that swarmed the ice behind the bar, on the rims of the glasses, on the taps-
Spencer was more than overwhelmed. And talking to beautiful women was not helping his flushed demeanour whatsoever.
“I mean, excessive amounts of alcohol, countless opportunities for date rape drugs, not to mention suprisingly risky behaviour being pursued,” He counted off, his satchel strapped tightly to his side, “All right, so who wants a flyer?” The three women turned their nose up in awkward smiles, the tallest pushing past him with little more than an outright scoff, the other girl following her like lost dogs, “Nobody? Okay, all right,” He said, his face crestfallen at their reaction, though he wasn’t so unused to it. Girls tended to react that way when he spoke, his entire high school career had been the same. Infact, the only girl other than his co-workers who ever bothered to listen when he spoke was-
“I’ll take one,” A voice came from behind him, the same one he had incidentally been thinking of since they’d left Emily’s apartment, and he could already tell she was smiling before he whipped around to see her slinking through the crowd.
He was ready to retort something clever, but felt his words congeal in his throat. He had thought, that day when he’d stopped the elevator and seen her in a sodden wedding dress, that he had seen her at her most beautiful. Yes, her makeup had been tracking down her face with her tears, her hair sticking to her cheeks, her expression weepy. But she had reminded him of a star, glistening with the rain, the water shimmering off the snow white fabric, it had taken his breath away then, even when she’d thrown her arms over his shoulders, as if he was the only thing that she could grab on to for safety.
But that dress was nothing like the one she wore now.
It was nothing extravagant, and truthfully he’d seen at least ten girls in this club alone that had gone way more lavish than she had bothered to on such short notice. But, Spencer couldn’t help but take her whole image in as she shoved her way in front of him, an easy smile on her face.
“Beats boxers and pyjama shirts, huh?” She twirled cheekily, warming under his gaze that blinked heavily at her. The dress had been an old thing she’d bought for a frat party, when she’d felt particularly sorry for herself and was going out looking for a bonehead jock to take home. It fit her nicely, complimented the areas she wanted it to, hid the others. A good fail safe option for a last minute night out like this. Covered the kevlar vest Hotch and Emily had wrangled her into.
Not her finest moment, being jumped on by her older sister as her boss forced the bullet jacket over her head; the new girl, Jordan, staring in discomfort as she’d cursed both of them out colourfully for ruining her outfit, but the way Spencer seemed to gulp heavily made her smile wider.
“You look…” He swallowed again, his fingers digging into the flyers in his hand. Hot. She looked hot. Hot enough that he felt his face flush with the same feeling, he hoped she couldn’t see the way he blushed beneath the club lights, “Beautiful,” He settled on, because ‘hot’ was an entirely Derek word to use.
“So you keep telling me,” Bugsy preened under his gaze, grinning like she knew something he didn’t. Grabbing one of the flyers from his sweaty palms gently, she took a look at the general sketch, not noticing the way he had yet to tear his eyes off her, “Alright, this the guy?”
“Yeah, we think he has a mark of some sort- like a birthmark or a scar over his left eyebrow,” He informed, corralling her towards where Morgan stood, his own eyes widening at the girl’s attire.
They knew she was coming to help scout the scene, they didn’t realise she’d come so ready. Derek immediately felt stupid for doubting her.
“Woah, did someone call the fire department, because you’re about to set the damn sprinklers off,” He teased, her face lighting up at the man she knew had a way of making her feel a million bucks every time he saw her.
Emily said he had little sisters of his own, and maybe that was how he knew just what to say. He had many years of experience being the best big brother.
“Oh, please, you guys spoil me,” She snickered, though her eyes scanned the crowd for a general scope of the club. Safe to say she did not miss the eight pm till four am shifts she used to pull, nor did she miss the drunk bodies swaying around her, the men who would get handsy, the girls who would get scrappy, “So, how’s it going?”
“Not good, I gave the profile to one woman and she asked if I was the unsub,” Spencer sighed, running a hand through his rogue curls, the humidity of the stuffy bar making them tighten around his ears just that bit more. “How are you doing?”
“Well, I gave out all my flyers,” Derek said smugly, though Spencer’s eyebrows raised, a smile teasing at his lips.
“Oh yeah? How many phone numbers did you get?” Bugsy snorted at his words, looking between the men with a smirk.
“None, I’m working the case here, kids,” Derek tutted, to which Spencer and Bugsy looked at eachother with identical doubt, flicking their gaze back to Morgan. He huffed, “Okay, four were offered, but I didn’t take any of them.”
Spencer’s jaw dropped, face scrunching in confusion how Morgan was so charismatic with women even when he wasn’t trying.
“Alright, I’m gonna go grab more flyers from the van. You,” He clapped a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “Need to relax, man. Remind me to teach you the basics on picking up girls. And you,” Derek pointed to where Bugsy nodded patiently, “Make sure wonder boy doesn’t get eaten alive. And stay together.”
She nodded again, watching him leave through the crowd; already a woman grabbed on his arm for his attention, where she watched him politely decline with one of those flirty smoulders he’d mastered.
“I don’t get how he does it. I mean, I get he has the whole body of a God thing going for him,” Spencer sighed, as the two of them went back out into the crowd, scanning for a group of girls who looked particularly sober enough to listen, “But, he just has this way, you know. I’ll don’t think I’ll ever have the way,”
“Don’t put yourself down like that,” She chastised, nudging him affectionately with her elbow, “You’re very beautiful yourself, you know? You don’t need some stupid way, you just need to be yourself,”
She said it as if it was nothing, as if it hadn’t just hit him in the chest that she thought he was attractive, though he still remembered that first day they’d met when she assumed he was a stripper.
His heart swelled in his chest.
“You really think so?” He asked unsure, waiting for her to laugh in his face and tell him it had just been a tease, she was good at those. But she was never cruel. Never to him. He didn’t know why he’d expected it.
“Absolutely! I’ve seen like three girls already giving you goo-goo eyes. Believe me, you got the looks,” She simpers, watching his eyes scan the crowd to look for the supposed culprits.
“So, what, it’s my personality they don't like?” He asked, though he knew that was more than likely the case. He’d always been told he buzzed in people’s ears like a fly, like he was simply background noise the greater population wanted to tune out.
He knew that would be it. It didn’t stop the small stab of hurt in his stomach however.
“If someone doesn’t like your personality, that is a them problem, Spencer, not you,” Bugsy was quick to snap, the joking lessening in her eyes as she caught his dejected expression, “Girls like it when you talk about something you enjoy, something you know what you’re talking about. Which should be easy, since you know everything. What do you feel most comfortable talking about?”
“Statistics,” He said with a nod, to which she looked at him fondly.
“Okay, we have statistics as a backup option. Anything else?” She looked at him, the light bouncing off her eyes in a way that had him pause to think.
“Magic?” He offered, and she smiled even wider, if that was even possible.
“Magic! Perfect, girls love feeling magical,” She beamed, nudging him again with her elbow, and the two of them walked over to the bar, “Show me then, Gandalf. What moves would you pull on me if I was a girl?”
He blinked at her, “Are you … not a girl?” He asked, pure bewilderment on his face as he stole a few napkins from the counter.
She snickered, “Okay, if I wasn’t me. If you didn’t know me,”
“If I didn’t know you, I’d be way too nervous to even talk to you. And you definitely wouldn’t want to talk to me,” He said as he fiddled with the paper between his obnoxiously long fingers, folding the sheets into miniature shapes.
She chuckled at him, shaking her head. It had never been like this with them before. Sure, she teased him, like she always had, but he was teasing back. Complimenting her with a seriousness beyond just being nice.
Something was different in him since the day Cyrus dragged her away. And if that hadn’t done it, then seeing her every morning for two weeks had changed the boyish anxiety that had lingered even then.
“Stop stalling and show me these tricks of yours,” She bit playfully, though the grin she gave him was genuine as she saw something mischievous flash in his eyes.
“Patience is virtue, patience is virtue-” He murmured, fiddling with the short, plastic straws they kept at the bar, “Now for this to work, I’m going to need a beautiful assistant. Do you think you could find one for me-”
She smacked his arm, and he snickered. She shook her head, fighting her own laugh overcoming her.
Maybe she was right. Talking about something he loved made him feel entirely at ease, like he controlled every angle their conversation took, and the air between them had taken this odd electric turn he wasn’t expecting like someone had pumped a thousand volts under his skin.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” He replied, holding out one of the straws, about as plain and simple as it would be if it were in a drink, “But I will need some magic words,”
“Ofcourse,” She drawled, her cheeks hurting from how tight she was smiling, “What are they?”
“Magic words are, ‘I’ll be there’” He instructed, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves as he watched her frown, and he pointed the straw at her mouth like a microphone, “You got it?”
“Yep,” She responded, even though the confusion read clear as day on her face. He tapped the straw on her nose and cleared his throat.
“3, 2, 1,” He tapped it to her temple, then to each of her shoulders, “Go on a date with me?”
“I’ll be there,” She responded, and in a strobe of light the single instrument became a trio of origami roses, stuffed into the straws as stems.
Her brain caught up to her as he gently placed them in her hand, her eyes gazing at him like he had just presented her with a 24 carat diamond, though in reality it was nothing more than a silly trick with napkins and plastic.
“Spencer,” She said earnestly, and he could have sworn her voice quivered for a split second, before she shook her head at him, punching him on the hip gently, “You are the most humble man I’ve ever met. You do that to any other girl and you’re getting laid, I’m telling you,”
He rubbed his chin bashfully, both of them catching the way the waitress behind the bar watched him with large, blue eyes Bugsy could have bathed in. She was gorgeous, and she stared at Spencer as if she’d been the one given roses.
Attracted. Interested.
“Talk to her,” Bugsy whisper-yelled, nodding over to the barmaid who busied herself with another order, though they both saw the way her flicking glances to the two of them as she scooped ice, “She would have seen if a guy like that frequented somewhere like here, talk to her,”
“What- no-” He protested, but his eyes widening as Bugsy leaned over the bar to flag the woman down with that playful charisma of hers, not missing the way a few heads turned as the dress tightened around her ass as she bent forward.
He felt his chest flash with anger, glaring at the men, hoping it was enough to ward them off. Her hand enclosed around his wrist, drawing his attention back to the bartender who watched him with a sweet face. He had to admit she was attractive.
“This is my very best friend, Spencer,” Bugsy told the woman, who smiled at him, and the Prentiss girl lifted his hand up to wave at her like he was a ragdoll, “Spencer, wanted to show you something, didn’t you, Spence?”
Raising her eyebrows at him, nodding to the flyers in his hand.
“I’m gonna go dance,” She fibbed, knowing she was going to go scout out the crowd to see if any guys fit the profile, nudging him a little harder than before, “Remember what we talked about. I’ll be by the DJ,”
Grinning encouragingly, he watched her swoop into the crowd like it was second nature, not missing the collection of guys who watched her every move; she captured the room when she moved, when she smiled, when she politely excused herself past a group of girls that tried to pull her into their circle with friendly cheers.
He did another one of his tricks for Austin, he’d come to learn was the name of the girl behind the bar, but it hadn’t felt the same, not even when she gave him her number unprompted, even as she flirted, smiled prettily, batted those sea blue eyes at him. It wasn’t the same.
He worried for a moment that the electricity he’d felt was reserved only for Bugsy, but he squashed it down faster than he could confront the idea.
2. The one where he nearly dies
“I don’t know how to do this,” JJ confessed, her bluebell eyes filled with tears as she stared out of her boss’ office and into the bullpen full of officers, scientists and even the damn military tearing through pages and pages of resources for answers.
Anthrax. A weapon of mass destruction they’d already had a small dose of, was on the move through the BAU’s own city. And they each had strict instructions to not alert their loved ones.
“I can’t stop thinking about Henry,” She whimpered through a strong facade as she turned to Hotch, and she saw the same guilt eating him up in those dark eyes of his that rarely let anything slip.
He had Jack. He had Haley, even with the divorce papers signed so long ago. He had people at risk too. And yet she couldn’t stop seeing her precious little boy’s face as he lay back in his pushchair and enjoyed the sights of the park, the same park that had just been targeted with an airborne disease-
“He goes for a walk almost every single day at Potomac Park,” She sniffed, the nausea chewing away at her brain as she recounted the lesions on that poor teenage girls skin, that's going to be Henry, that’s going to be Will, “What type of mother am I if I don’t atleast call and tell them to stay home?”
“JJ, we can’t,” Hotch said, though he felt his own dam start to tear down as he tried not to think of what could possibly happen to his own sweet son.
“I know, but-” Her throat bobbed, “It-it’s not just me- Emily’s worried about Bugsy. She told me she cuts through the park on the way to her lectures- she has one every day this week- Hotch-”
It was true. She had caught Emily in her own turmoil as the woman sped off to grab a drink seconds after chugging down the dose of Cipro they’d all been given that morning. She’d caught her filling a glass of water until the liquid started leaking down the sides and went over her shaking fingers, and even then she’d had to tug her friend out of whatever rabbit hole the words ‘Media Blackout’ had sent her down.
“I understand you both have people you want to protect,” Hotch was the voice of reason, as he always was, and it stung her to see his face so cold since she knew he was drowning his own sorrows behind it, “But if we all called home and used this information to give us an advantage other people don’t have, is that the right thing to do?”
She bit her lip, knowing he was right. She just prayed on everything she had Will would stay home with Henry today, Haley would have a movie night with Jack, and for whatever she had seen in Emily’s eyes earlier, a pure, unadulterated self-loathing, that Bugsy at least took the day off teaching.
JJ prayed, and prayed, and prayed.
–
She shuffled her notes together as she marked papers at her desk. They let her take the office to herself since she’d been at the University for five months now, gave her free reign of her lectures without having a supervisor like they had the first eight weeks or so. Bugsy enjoyed, surprising as it was to her, the feeling of somewhere that wasn’t the laboratory. Emily and Spencer had forced her to apply for jobs when they caught her binge watching real housewives for the sixth time back to back, of course lacking any bottoms.
Emily didn’t know why she thought twenty-four year old Bugsy would be any different. They had thought at least that Derek holding her hair back on the night of her birthday party as she threw up copious amounts of jello shots on the sidewalk would be an eye opening moment, but it hadn’t deterred her in the slightest. She had just chucked a handful of gum in her mouth, patted the man on the back and asked Emily to hit up the drive thru on their way home.
It wasn’t until she got the job did she feel a little bit more responsible, like what she was doing actually affected the people around her. Teaching first year college students was so very different than she’d expected, she was the authority figure.
She could hear her mother laughing at her now.
She almost smudged the little smiley face she’d drawn beside one of her student’s B+ as the phone rang on her desk, because she had an office phone believe it or not, and she cleared her throat, trying to sound as grown up as possible whilst also trying not to grin how excited she was to use her new landline.
“Miss Prentiss speaking, who’s calling?” She said, almost not recognising herself as she squeezed her gel pen in delight. She had this grown up thing down to a tea.
“Hi, Bug.” Spencer’s voice sounded out of breath, and she heard his converse slapping against a linoleum floor fast, as if he was pacing, “I got a quick hypothetical to run through with you,”
“Y-yeah, sure- Where are you?” She asked, her brows furrowing when he gave a wheezy cough, “Spence?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you, but I’m fine- for now,” He winced as he said the last part, as if it had slipped unintentionally, as if he knew what was coming next. He could practically hear her brain ticking over, “So, when you’re in the lab-”
“What do you mean for now?” She cut him off, standing up from her desk, already collecting her pencils back into their little pink case, “Where’s Emily? Is she okay? Is anyone hurt?”
“Everyone’s fine; as I was saying, hypothetically, when you’re in the lab where would you-” He talked over her right back, his slender fingers flicking through the piles of work, hoping he stumbled on a formula, a sticky note, a damn cheat sheet, anything.
“Don’t avoid my question, Spencer,” She snapped, and she could already feel the worry lines on her forehead.
He sighed, hoping she couldn’t hear the way his chest rattled and he choked down a cough. It would only make her worry more.
“I promise I will tell you what’s going on if you just answer my question,” Spencer rushed, feeling his face growing sweaty, opening the entire cabinet of drawers. “Okay?”
She nodded, biting her nail, as she sat back down. “Okay fine, shoot,”
“Where would you put your valuable items if you didn’t trust your lab partner while the two of you were working together?” He asked, wiping his brow with his sleeve as he held the phone tight to his ear with his shoulder.
She paused for a moment, “Well it’s standard practice that all jewellery comes off before we get scrubbed, so as not to contaminate anything. I usually put my scrunchie through my rings and tied it back into my hair so they wouldn’t get stolen. I knew some guys who put their watches around their ankles. Basically anywhere we could feel it on us,”
He cleared his throat again, and she heard him take a few steps, “How’s grading papers going? Did you get a fax machine yet?”
He was trying to change the subject, trying to take her mind off whatever it was he was doing that required such an urgent and peculiar question.
“It’s going good, I miss you bringing me coffee; it was like I had a maid who helped me with my crosswords,” She said, biting her bottom lip squeezing her thumb in the middle of her fist to slow the nerves. He tried to pretend he wasn’t smiling hearing that. “Now tell me what’s wrong. Did you go running without your inhaler again? I told you to leave a spare at ours so I could rescue you if you ever-”
“Bugsy, you’re a genius!” He cried, ignoring the way it made his throat burn, “Remind me to tell you every single day how smart you are- I have to go,”
“Spence- Spencer-” She tried to cut in, but he had already put the phone down.
So much for not worrying her, she thought, as she got on the phone to Emily within seconds.
-
Bugsy all but burst through the hospital doors, apologising when she nearly knocked a stack of files from a nurse's hands, wishing she had an inhaler herself after she had ran all the way from the car park, including the three flights of stairs.
After calling in sick the rest of the day, and practically volleying her rucksack into the passenger's seat of her car, she had blindly called Emily four more times until the woman answered with a frightened lilt to her voice.
Spencer was headed to the hospital. Spencer was headed there on full blues with lungs full of an even deadlier strain of Anthrax. Last Emily had heard he was getting worse. Bugsy put her foot down on the pedal even harder.
She knew the speeding ticket would come any day, and didn't even want to think about the state of her parking. All she cared about the second the lady at the desk had said what room he was in was seeing he was okay, that he wasn’t growing lesions or choking on his own blood or having half of his brain boiled alive.
Bugsy felt a small spike of panic, if it could even get worse, as she yanked the curtain back to see him asleep, a cannula tucked into his nose, a hospital gown tied over his shoulders.
Diving for his file that was attached to the end of his bed, she looked through his information to check what meds he’d been given. He once told her he was allergic to narcotics, said he had been since birth, and while she trusted one of the team to have passed the information on, she had to see it for herself that he was stable.
No narcotics given. Only paracetamol for his fever that was rapidly coming down. She could breathe again.
She jumped out of her skin when the curtain rail was pulled back a second time, and Derek seemed to startle for a moment too before a tired smile met his handsome face.
“Where have you been, Baby Prentiss?” His breath knocked out of him when she threw herself at him, a sigh of relief coming from her bitten lips.
“Oh, thank god you’re okay,” She murmured, and his chuckle echoed through his chest into her ear, “You all worried me half to death,”
“You’re looking very grown up,” He teased as he patted her on the back. And she was. She had taken to wearing maxi skirts and tights, even throwing on a cute blazer for affect, she was the teacher after all. She shoved him away with a smack to the chest. He laughed, holding up the opened pot of jell-o to her face, “Jell-o?”
She gagged, filled with memories of her birthday.
He shook his head with a smile as she sat down in the seat next to the bed and he spooned the first mouthful of the fruity dessert into his mouth.
“Is everyone else alright?” She asked, wringing her hands together. She fought back the urge to tuck Spencer’s curls behind his ear, knowing he was sleeping peacefully.
“Stop worrying. Team’s fine; we caught the guy and confiscated his supply. Even saved the last few survivors with you telling Reid where to look,” Morgan watched her jaw feather, and she picked under her nails.
“I keep telling you guys, I didn’t do anything. I just… spoke to him. He’s the genius, not me,” She said solemnly, staring into her lap with a frown.
“Not to him. Whole journey back, before the aphasia kicked in, he kept telling paramedics to tell Doctor Kimura it was you who’d figured it out.” Derek said, but it seemed to make her sulk more.
She said nothing, pulling out her book from her bag to continue reading as she waited for him to wake up, and Derek took it as a sign she was in no mood to talk, god forbid even take a compliment, and opened the magazine he’d grabbed from the cafeteria.
–
Half an hour and another pot of pudding for Morgan later (she gagged again at the sweet strawberry smell of it), the pair of them sat in silence, reading their own materials when a very sleepy, doe eyed man looked up and frowned.
“Are you eating Jell-O?” Spencer asked, barely noticing the girl on the other side of the bed, who shot up out of her seat as he came around.
“Hey doc. You have a visitor,” Morgan said with a small smile, Spencer’s face falling into a frown. He looked to the other side of him, just in time to see a worn copy of Middlemarch being flung to the floor and a hand grabbing his clammy ones tightly.
“Spencer I’m- I’m so mad at you-” She gasped, every soppy feeling of sadness she’d been stewing in leaving her body when she saw his hazel eyes fall to her, “You put the phone down on me and next thing I know you’re in the back of an ambulance nearly flatlining- I’m so-”
She breathed when she saw his eyes soften. He didn’t think she knew it but he saw the way her eyes glistened, her voice trembled underneath her anger. He felt the way she had yet to let go of his hand, how nice and warm it felt in his palm.
“I’m sor-” He hadn’t even finished his apology when she had latched onto him, trying not to hug him too tight but hard enough she could tell herself he was still here. He was okay.
And he could understand. He’d felt the same when they’d found her in that church, when Cyrus had hauled her away after she’d practically offered herself up in exchange for him. He’d known she was braver than she gave herself credit for, but that had stopped his heart right there and then. He had grabbed her in a hug the first chance he’d got even then, even when he barely knew her, when she was Emily’s sister and not Bugsy. Not the woman he’d spent every morning with for weeks bringing her a coffee just the way she enjoyed it, the woman he’d sat with on Emily’s couch with her legs across his lap as they did the puzzles in the morning paper together. She tried to do them, and he would finish them when she got too annoyed by the ones she couldn’t answer.
“I’m sorry,” He said, his arms gently hugging her back and he felt something wet on his shoulder blade before he knew what it was. He felt even worse for worrying her, squeezing her tighter than was even comfortable for him.
“Don’t do that to me again,” She said through tears as she settled in his arms.
He really hoped she couldn’t hear the way his heart pounded.
3. The one at Haley’s funeral
She had no idea what to say. Emily had always been the one who knew how to talk to people. She had this horrible habit of saying the first thing that came to her head, probably because a lot of the time it was the most real, and people liked real.
But now wasn’t the time for what was best for her. Haley Hotchner had been murdered.
She hadn’t spoken to Hotch yet, she’d only met the man a handful of times. But he’d invited her anyway, for the team. For Emily, maybe even Spencer; Emily said he liked when she was around. She couldn’t imagine any other reason she would be there.
Other than, ofcourse, to be Spencer’s crutch. Literally. Since his real one had broken and he was still limping around with one knee weakened by the bullet wound in it.
She’d nearly had a heart attack when he’d called from the hospital, again, though this time he’d waited until he’d gotten the all clear to tell her so she didn’t panic quite as much as last time. She’d cursed him out for being so reckless, and requested another week's sick pay to take care of him until he was able to actually walk. It was only a one year contract with the university anyway, she didn’t care if she missed a few days to make sure he was okay.
“You look very handsome today,” She whispered to him as she hauled him out of the car, minding that he didn't hit his head on the ceiling. He gave her a small smile and tucked her own hair behind her ear seeing it come loose from its braid when she’d leaned down to grab him.
“Just today?” He asked, and she finally smiled back. She’d been stuck in a bubble in the car; her and Emily both had. They had the same thinking face, he’d realised.
“Just especially today,” She answered honestly, and he worked on adjusting his black jacket so she could hold onto him comfortably. She was quieter than usual. Feeble, almost.
“Thankyou, you do too,” He replied, his face scrunching after a moment, “Look pretty I mean,”
He leaned on her arm, looped it around hers as he tried to be the least amount of imposing as possible. That went about as well as you’d expect for a six foot one bag of bones.
She gave up after just a few steps, moving his arm to wrap around her shoulder as she walked with him. To anyone else they would easily pass as a couple, especially as she squeezed him tightly to her when the men laid down Hayley’s coffin, and the service began.
“W.S Gilbert wrote ‘It’s love that makes the world go around’ and if that’s true, then the world spun a little faster with Hayley in it.” Aaron began, his voice strong as his large hands gripped the eulogy like it would give him any comfort. She smiled softly, her eyes glued to the man who stood unmoving for his son, “Haley was my best friend since we were in high school. We certainly had our struggles but if there’s one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and our commitment to our son, Jack,”
Bugsy smiled sadly when Jack looked to the floor bashfully. Glancing between the photo on top of the coffin, a beautiful blonde woman grinning back at her with brilliantly happy eyes and a soft face, she saw where he got most of his looks from.
“Haley’s love for Jack was joyous, and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn’t here today. A mother’s love is an unrivalled force of nature, and we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life. Haley’s death causes each of us to stop and take stock of our lives. To measure who we are and who we’ve become.” She felt Spencer’s head knock into hers, felt the sniff run through him, and she searched her pocket for a tissue, “I don’t have all those answers for myself, but I know who Haley was. She was the woman who died protecting the child we brought into this world together; and I will make sure Jack grows up knowing who his mother was. And how she loved and protected him. And how much I loved her.”
If Haley were here today she would tell us not to mourn her death. She would tell us-” Aaron cut himself off with a watery voice, his resolve finally melting as he realised this would be some of his final words to his wife. Bugsy felt her bottom lip quiver in remorse, “She would tell us to love our families unconditionally. And to hold them close because in the end they are all that matter.”
Spencer felt her tug him closer as she hid the lone few tears from the rest of the mourners and wished more than ever he could press a small kiss to her brow.
–
No, Bugsy was not good with knowing what to say and when. Wasn’t good at cheering people up no matter how much Spencer told her she always made him feel better. Didn’t really know much about how to make someone understand that she cared other than showing them with her whole body.
So by the time it was her turn to offer condolences, she didn’t bother shaking his hand. That meant nothing to her. That was a business deal, that was an agreement, a formal way to pretend you cared. But she did, she felt terrible for Hotch, wanted to fix him and his sweet son until Haley was right back there to thank her.
She didn’t shake his hand like everyone else had. He held his hand out for one, his eyes soft and warm, like he could see she was struggling. She brushed past his hand and just pulled him in for a hug, and he wondered if she was always going to greet him that way.
“I guessed that sorry wouldn’t make anything better so I brought you the biggest bottle of wine the store had,” She murmured into his chest, and she was gobsmacked to hear him chuckle weakly. She felt his hands pat her on the back gently, and he appreciated her candour. “I’ve got some Xanax if you’d really like a treat,”
She was a breath of fresh air. Aaron truthfully had been sick of people saying they were so sorry for his loss, and he felt like shaking them and yelling, screaming that they hadn’t been the one to kill Haley, Foyet had.
He pushed all of it down, focusing on the way she’d tucked herself to him like she had the day she’d become a runaway bride dripping rainwater over his bureau floor.
“She would have really liked you,” Aaron confessed, and they finally parted, and she saw he was smiling like he meant it, not just saying it to make her feel more comfortable being here. “You would have made her laugh,”
He saw the easy expression on her face fade, and she turned to look at her heels, nodding quietly.
“I would have been lucky to have known her,” She said, handing him the gift bag with a very heavy present inside. “I only wish someone would ever love me the way you love her,’
And with that she bid him a smile, and returned to her seat in between Emily and JJ, the pair of them mother henning her all day.
Aaron wished he could have said more to her after that, but before he knew it, someone else was offering him their condolences, and the sadness in her voice was forgotten.
–
The team sat around the table, nursing their beers, or in Spencer and Bugsy’s case a tea. Spencer didn’t want to affect his healing process with alcohol, not that he’d ever been big on the stuff, and Bug said she struggled driving even without the help of a beer, so they chatted between sips from two very fancy china cups.
Emily and JJ sat to the other side of her talking about how beautiful the flower arrangements were when a small, fawn haired body came wandering over to where Will held a one year old Henry on his knee.
“Would he like to play?” Jack asked shyly, trying to peer up onto the adults table to see if there were any other kids his age that would like to do something with him. His dad had been busy talking to all those people, and auntie Jessica had been trying to make it round to every table to thank people for being here. He didn’t entirely understand what was happening, in all honesty.
“He’s still a little too small yet honey. In a year or so, you guys can be best friends,” JJ said sweetly as he pulled his chin up to the tabletop and spied the younger woman sitting next to uncle Spencer.
He tottered over to her, where she sat unaware she had a shadow until Spencer's face softened as he looked behind her, and she swivelled around in her seat.
“Hello,” Jack said quietly, looking up at where she seemed to buffer, feeling eight pairs of eyes on her as she interacted with the small boy.
She had never been good with children, had never been around them since she was their age, even the kids she taught now were all at least eighteen.
The mantra to absolutely not fuck up the next few moments reverberated around her head.
She gave him a soft smile, holding out a hand for him to shake, “Hi, Jack. I’m Emily’s sister. You can call me Bugsy,”
His tiny nose scrunched as he watched her, shaking her hand the way dad had shown him how.
“Bugsy? That’s a weird name,” He said, and she chuckled, “Like the bunny?”
She shrugged, “I guess like the bunny, yeah,” although she had never thought of that before.
“Would you like to play with me?” Jack asked, and she felt her chest warm unnaturally. He had such a sweet face. It was just like the woman in the picture.
Smiling at him crookedly, she rooted around her bag for the notebook and pens she kept for her to-do lists. Maybe Spencer was rubbing off on her.
“We could do some drawing if you want?” She offered, showing him the pad with kind eyes. That seemed to satiate him as he grabbed her knee and started pulling himself up to sit in her lap, and she paused.
Kids were so funny, she realised, she would never just start grabbing someone she just met and asking to climb on their lap.
She got him comfortable on her knee, not noticing the flashing glances Spencer gave her between his conversation with Kevin, Garcia’s beau, as Jack started drawing a bunny with a human face, that was supposedly meant to be her.
Spencer watched her giggle as he gave the rabbit a pretty dress, like the one she was wearing, and Spencer had to admit it was a pretty dress she’d gone for today. Had he not been so mournful earlier he thinks he would have blushed how tight she’d held him.
She showed him how to play noughts and crosses, and she let him win most of them, laughing when he asked to tear out the page from her notebook to show his dad later.
That is, until the man himself came over to the table of his work colleagues, only to see the group watching their youngest playing with his sweet son.
“Bugsy,” Hotch said, and her head shot up to him, a guilty look passing over her face, worried she’d overstepped, though the fact he hadn’t said her real name said otherwise, “Can I talk to you for a moment outside, please?”
She blinked, straightening in her seat “O-ofcourse!” Shuffling Jack off her lap as fast as she could without hurting him, smoothing out her dress down as she followed him to the small balcony the funeral home had. It was a classy manor, but she guessed Hotch would have only had the best for Haley.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Jack asked to sit on my lap- and- I’m not good with kids anyway I just didn’t want to tell him no, especially not today-” He put his hand on her shoulder to shut her up, a small smile spreading on his face. It was fatherly and calming, something her own father had been much too busy to ever bother with.
“Not at all, that’s not why I called you out here,” He reassured, squeezing her gently as he leaned against the railing, taking a deep breath of the midnight air, and he felt his professional mask begin to slip. “I’ve been thinking… about how much help you've been to us over the years. Reid would be dead if it wasn’t for you.” She opened her mouth to protest, and he flashed her a look that said he was serious. “Let me finish,”
She wrung her hands guiltily, “Sorry,”
“You’re very resilient far beyond your years, you’re incredibly charismatic when you need to be, and you’re by far one of the smartest people your age,” He said, watching her face to see how she felt. He knew she didn’t take compliments well, for some other reason they could dig into any other day. But he needed to say it now, needed her to know now for what he was about to ask her.
“Whether that is true or not, why are you telling me this?” She asked politely, without the usual bite that went with it when they tried calling her something she wasn’t.
“I need to take some time off to spend with Jack, try and help him…” He trailed off, unsure as to what he wanted to say. “Help him understand Haley’s not coming home,”
She nodded with a glistening lash line, and grabbed onto his arm gently.
“My team looks to me to be their glue, but I know I can’t keep everyone together and look after my son. Emily said your contract at the University was ending,” He cleared his throat, looking at her again with something vulnerable in his sable black eyes, “So I was wondering if you would reconsider the FBI academy? It’s only twenty weeks, but Rossi and I can put you forward to do the written exams earlier if you’d like, and then Strauss can have you assigned a trainee position at the BAU-”
“Anything,” She nodded, “Anything you need, I’ll do it,” and he hugged her for once. Maybe it was the way she had said it so willingly, no matter her own reservations about joining the academy, no matter her stubbornness and resistance to her sisters pestering, or even the fact they all talked weekly about how much easier their job would be if she was there. Her and Reid’s brains together were a force to be reckoned with.
And he knew, the surprisingly kind girl that clutched at him back, would keep his team together, would be the glue to keep their heads on while he took some time to watch his son.
“Thankyou,” He murmured into her hair, and she forced herself not to get weepy at the grief in his voice. Of all people here, she was the last person who should be allowed to cry. Least of all to him.
He pulled away from her eventually, cursing himself for letting the front slip, but it was as if she had that effect on everyone on the team, like she had this little way of worming her way between that gap in their chests where their hearts once were before they’d seen the things they had, dealt with the people they had.
It was for that reason Aaron knew they would be just fine.
“You know, when I was a kid, mom got letters every day from people with their own agendas against her,” Bugsy said once they’d taken a gulp of cool night air, “They all said the same thing; that they were going to take me for ransom unless she left the country. She didn’t think much of it until a guy started following the car home from school and she decided to get me trained in self defence,”
Hotch frowned, his chest tightening. He knew how it felt to be a parent on edge for his kid’s safety, but to hear it from the other side cut deeper.
“Which was fine, I got a pretty mean shot if I say so myself, but eventually it progressed into hostage training, in case…” She swallowed dryly, clearing her throat and picking her nails, “I wet the bed the first time they grabbed me, the whole idea was that I wouldn’t know it was coming. They let me go pretty fast, I don’t think they’d expected the eleven year old to reach for the kitchen knife,”
Hotch scoffed, shaking his head in horror, though he didn’t doubt her for a second.
“I slept with it next to my bed for a year, so that next time they came for me, they would think twice and let me sleep in,” She said with a thoughtful smile.
“And did it work?” He asked, watching her run her hands along the stone wall beneath his elbow.
“I dunno, but the one guy left pretty quick when I almost took his eye out,” She giggled, and the sound made him laugh quietly as well, “My point is, you’ve got nothing to worry about with Jack. Kids like us, we get made tougher, resilient. And with parents like you two, I’d say he had a pretty good head start.” Bugs said, smiling to herself flicking a glance up to his face that said just how touched he was. Deciding he was likely waiting for her to turn around before he let himself cry, she took a step back, heading towards the reception. “I mean look at me, I turned out alright!”
She barely heard his small chuckle that faded into a weep before she shut the door behind her, heading back over to the table where the team sat, Jack now with his auntie Jessica, and their eyes fell on her, waiting to hear whatever it was she had to say.
Taking a deep breath, she gave them an awkward smile, “Guess I’m joining the academy afterall,”
And that was all she got out before Garcia dived on her with an excited cuddle.
4. The one with his new hair
He knew he was sweeping his fingers through his hair much more often than usual, his hazel eyes flickering to his reflection in car doors in a way that was almost obsessive. He liked what his barber had done, but that wasn’t the point.
He was hoping she liked it.
Bugsy had passed the academy with flying colours, not that anyone had ever doubted her, and had been part of the team for all of two weeks, though he would argue she was BAU way before that. Hotch had figured out a staggered schedule where he could take care of Jack four days a week and work the rest until Jack settled back in at school.
It had been nearly five months since Haley had died, but it hadn’t gotten any easier for the boy.
Spencer definitely, definitely hadn’t spent the last two weeks practically breathing down her neck whenever they went out into the field, nor had he definitely not found himself fighting off the grin that threatened his composure when he caught her scribbling notes down to herself whilst Penelope presented the cases.
And he most definitely hadn’t gone out to get a new hair cut in the hopes she would find him more attractive.
Definitely not.
And yet, her face was the first one he found himself looking at as he stepped into the office, watching as it trailed up from her notebook, her pink gel pen paused mid sentence as the rest of the team went silent, her face spitting into a grin the minute she saw him.
“What, did you join a boyband?” Hotch asked in a rare moment of teasing, Derek snickering as Emily nudged his arm with her own chuckle.
“Can I be your groupie?” Bugsy asked, which made them laugh harder, though she stared at him with a small twinkle in her eye the way she always did when he squirmed under her compliments.
He hadn’t thought she was being mean, not even when they took a moment to settle down, not even when she smiled wryly at him, her eyes flicking up to his hair twice more before her attention was stolen back by Garcia switching the board.
“Okay, so what are we looking at here? Late twenties, early thirties?” Emily asked after they quietened, adjusting her bangs over her brows.
“All single, though two are in committed relationships,” Rossi added, flicking through his own pack of notes. “All living on their own,”
“Looks like normal suburban houses. Give the Unsub privacy,” Morgan added, his face scrunched in disgust as he looked at the crime scene photos.
“The differences are more striking than the similarities. Different hair colours, different body shapes.” Reid noted, Bugsy’s handwriting scrawling over her notebook as she tried to capture everything they were saying.
“What do we know about his MO?” Hotch asked JJ, the blonde woman shaking her head with a grimace.
“That’s why we were invited in, the abduction sites are pristine,” She said gravely, looking between her team as they seemed to balk at the information.
“No DNA besides the victims, and there’s no sign of forced entry or struggle,” Bugsy noted in the pack Garcia had given her that morning, along with a little pat to the head for good luck. Before now, in those two weeks, they had only dealt with one kidnapping and one group homicide that had turned out to be one very stupid teen spiking drinks at a pool party. This case would be the worst one she’d seen yet.
“And the victims aren’t reported until two or three days after they’re abducted,” Emily tailed off the end of her sister, her eyes serious as the team came to the same conclusion.
He had days to spend as much time with the bodies as he wanted.
“Two or three days? Women like this don’t just disappear without somebody noticing,” Rossi chimed in again, as JJ clicked onto the next screen handing the remote to Garcia.
“Yes, which is why I had Garcia dig into their lives a little,” She said, taking a seat next to Hotch to let penelope lead.
“And I took a look at their online activity, I could easily see what the Unsub was doing,” Penelope said, clicking onto a screen full of the women’s profiles.
Bugsy couldn’t even say she was shocked. Ever since she was in highschool, friendships, or her lack thereof, had been entirely decided on who had the most likes on their status update. Apparently no one found the girl who read Russian Literature for fun cool, nor did they want anything to do with her. Emily didn’t know she’d sat in the school toilets to eat her lunch for three years straight. Turns out kids from every country were bitches.
“Social Media profiles?” Her older sister asked, though the surprise was evident on her face atleast.
“Yeah, facebook, twitter, you name an online life-sharing time suck, these victims were on it,” Penelope said, enlarging the screen for the team to see the specifics, “And if you look at each of their last posts, they say kind of the same thing, ‘Going out of town, Going on a business trip, Going on vacation,’ but when you look at the time and date stamps on each of these, queue the twilight zone music because they were all posted the morning after each of them went missing,”
“The unsub posted them?” Hotch concluded, his natural frown deepening. This Unsub had a way to keep all of his victims hidden for much longer than they’d anticipated. Who knows what he could be doing as they spoke.
“You know, social networks are an easy way for an unsub to target his victims. These women were especially open, they posted everything from what they had for dinner to where they were going on dates,” Spencer said, looking at the print outs Pen had handed to them.
“The unsub ‘Friends’ his victim, and then uses it as a cover once he takes them,” Derek said, as Bugsy’s face scrunched in disagreement.
“What are you thinking, Kiddo?” Rossi asked from her left, as he head shot up to see the team watching her, waiting for her input.
Surprising to everyone, she was somewhat nervous when she’d started at the BAU. The Bugsy Prentiss, the woman who had caught out parts of the Russian Mob when she was just a college student, was nervous to not mess up in front of them.
“I understand what Derek’s saying, but nowadays you don’t actually have to be friends with someone to follow them.” She said, picking her fingertips in thought, “A lot of people have hundreds of total strangers they’ve never met on their page; some settings mean you don’t even need to be ‘friends’ in the first place to see what they're posting. The UnSub probably wouldn’t even bother implicating himself in the first place by following them, he could just access their profile and see what they're up to. I think he profiles as patient and organised, and somewhat tech savvy if he’s up to date on the way these medias work,”
The team watched her carefully, Spencer beating down the proud smile he wanted to flash her, knowing he needed to be focused on this case, but she seemed satisfied with her answer when Penelope nodded in agreement.
“So you don’t think he’s an old guy like me, is what you’re saying?” Derek asked with aghast, knowing full well mid thirties wasn’t too old. Hadn’t stopped his pride hurting.
She shook her head, “I just think he wouldn’t be as old as you. Mine and Reid’s age maybe. But he seems obsessive, and he also must have a job that affords him the spare time to spend the following few days with the bodies, but it means we should also assume that these women are likely already dead,”
She looked to Hotch hopefully, to see him staring at her unreadably for a moment, before he looked to Rossi with a nod.
David slapped her on the shoulder affectionately, “You just put together your first profile, kid,”
And before long, they were heading for the jet with her deductions in mind to hand over to the cops.
–
“Can someone explain to me the appeal of these sites? ‘Eating sushi tonight, yum!’ ‘Boss is keeping me late at work, grr,’” Rossi stared at the status updates, perplexed, as the team snickered to themselves.
“Now, wait a minute. How did you find my profile?” Bugsy asked jokingly, and she drew a fond smile from Aaron her way when Rossi chuckled to himself.
He wished she would stop looking so nervous to contribute. She fit right in with the furniture.
“Whose life is so important that we’d be interested in this kind of detail?” Rossi asked seriously, though Bugsy supposed even the coffee machine was a new useless piece of technology to the man who liked his espresso fresh.
“That’s just it, no one is. I guess everyone just wanted to believe it to themselves that they all have an audience out there waiting to hear every update of their day. Some of them even have GPS tracking systems in place to make it even easier for people to find out exactly where you are,” Bugsy said, her eyes flicking to Spencer who watched her intently, automatically floating up to take in his new hair again.
She couldn’t help think he had stopped looking cute, and started looking hot. He’d always been cute, god knows she’d always thought he was good looking. But now he looked… dreamy. It had made her double take the minute he’d walked through the door, hoping it wasn’t too obvious she was staring.
“That explains how he’s finding them, but it doesn’t tell us how he’s getting into their houses,” Hotch nodded along with her, eying her carefully as she looked through her own notes she’d made once she’d brought herself round to ripping her eyes off Reid.
“At the very least I believe he has copies of their keys,” Spencer said, his finger trailing the information in his file, “Doris Archer had a home security system installed, but the disable code was entered at 1:56am, so he knew that too. He also found a way to deal with her dog, a German Shepard she adopted from the pound last year, it went missing the night she did,”
“Did they find the dog?” Bugsy asked, her face in a frown as Emily looked up to her.
“Why? What are you thinking?” She asked her little sister who played with the ‘TRAINEE’ lanyard around her neck.
“If he hurt the dog, it likely meant the dog had been on alert to him as an intruder, since opportunistic violence isn’t in his profile of being collected and organised. So if he didn’t hurt the dog, and he was found alive and unharmed, it means the dog knew him,” Bugsy explained, and Derek stroked his face in thought.
“This guy’s gotta be in and out of the house well before the night of the disappearance. He comes up with some ruse, talks his way inside, and then once he’s familiar enough with the house he knows he can come back and kidnap them without disturbing anything,” He said, the girl nodding in agreement with him.
“Think of people you let into your home you don’t consider a threat. Home repair guys, dog walkers?” Rossi offered, but JJ was quick to flick to her own pack.
“Detective Fordham looked into that too. No one came even close to being a killer,” She shut down, not wanting to waste their time running through avenues that had already been explored.
“Alright,” Hotch started as he glanced at his watch to see they were landing in around ten minutes, “Morgan and Prentiss, start with the last abduction site, see if anything points to his MO.”
Bugsy raised her hand politely, as if she were still in class, and he nodded in her direction to speak, “Do you mean as in me when you say Prentiss or as in Emily when you say Prentiss?” She asked, and Emily seemed to be having the same issue as she flicked a glance between the two of them.
“I mean Emily, for you I guess I’ll have to say-” But he stopped himself with a frown. What would he say? Bugsy? No, too informal on a case. Baby Prentiss? Absolutely not. He thinks she might just hit him if he said her first name too much. “We’ll workshop it for now. Dave, you, Prentiss, Reid and JJ go back over the women’s lives. Start with asking around their friends on the sites. If this is how the Unsub is finding them, maybe they’re connected to him without even realising.”
The team was quiet for a moment, before Spencer pointed to Bugsy with his pen, “So that time you meant Bug, right?”
Dave wished he could protest but he had also been a bit confused, as Hotch rubbed his head tenderly.
He felt the headache coming already.
–
“What was it about these women that made him choose them as targets?” Bugsy asked as she and Spencer sat in a small room in the Boise precinct, the three victims' profile pictures staring back at them from the board.
It was their second day working on the case, and other than Garcia tracking a very disturbing snuff film of the last murder being streamed from the victim’s own IP address using camera’s he’d set up in the home, they had yet to have a big breakthrough. Hotch had told her to leave the room when they’d shown the footage, knowing it was one of her first weeks on the case, and despite having a strong stomach, he wanted her to ease into the role rather than drop her in the deep end head first.
Even seasoned agents like Morgan and Rossi had both winced, JJ even gagging as they watched it happen. They usually dealt with the aftermath, not have front row seats on the act itself.
She had been allowed in once the tape had finished, but Reid had immediately shuffled her into the small office they’d been permitted to use by the Boise police, his face a little more peaky than usual.
She wished he wouldn’t worry so much about her, wished he would hide it better when he fretted over her. She was sure he would burst a vessel if he kept flicking his head to look at her, though she just sat staring at the women as if the answer would jump out at her.
“They’re all pretty, aren’t they?” Bugsy said, swinging her legs beneath the table, her eyes roving over the three faces, “Though unconventionally, they’re still pretty.”
They weren’t his type, Spencer thought, they looked almost nothing like her. She had removed the last of the pink hair dye she’d managed to keep on top of for a year or so before she’d started at the university. Her nose piercing had progressed to a little thin silver hoop, though her earrings had been dialled down for safety reasons in the field, and she kept her hair tied back away from her face most days. She looked older, which was a dumb thing to think, since of course she was older. But she had grown into her face, and Spencer was entirely convinced she took after her father since the only thing she shared with Emily was the same pout when she thought too hard.
He’d watched her grow for all of three years into the twenty five year old that sat before him, and yet her face had never really changed shape. She still had those pretty eyes that seemed to glint up at him, those soft lips that pursed when she tried not to giggle at him, that perfect nose he would trace the edge of using just his gaze when she had come over to his apartment to study for the academy. She was still as beautiful as the day he’d met her, he thinks part of him had always thought of her in that way. He had just put it down to a pretty girl giving him attention. But girls gave him attention all the time, he had realised since that stakeout at the club, when he’d given her those napkin roses. He just didn’t care for them.
He only cared about what she thought of him.
Only cared what her face looked like-
“Wait,” He stopped his thoughts that could go on for days, weeks, about her. They already had, it was difficult to pull himself out of it sometimes. He stared at the photos of the victims, his mind revelling in her own face that he didn’t doubt had guys swooning and falling over their own feet, as he zeroed in on their eyes, cheekbones, septums, “Their faces are all an identical structure,”
“How did you figure that out?” She asked, wide eyed and he ripped down the photos before she could catch him blushing.
He thought he might take it to the grave what he’d been thinking about.
–
“He’s going live,” Hotch seethed, clicking a button on the remote and the whiteboard in the centre of the room lit up with video footage, a small red dot flashing slowly in the corner telling them they were watching it being streamed.
Bugsy stood behind Spencer, her eyes glued to the small computer at the desk that played the same screen, her heart rate spiking when she saw a small body camera pointing at a house, the UnSub cutting across a lawn in a near sprint.
He’d lost control completely, and he had another victim set in his sights.
“He’s not slow, deliberate. This guy’s pissed.” Rossi said, his jaw hung open in horror as the streamer headed straight for the front door.
“All right, what do we see? Determining markers?” Hotch snapped the groups focus back from the gut wrenching panic that everyone felt, and it was like a switch flipped.
“A one story cottage,” Spencer noted, his eyes glued to the screen so tight he missed the way Bugsy’s face changed colour, and she looked like she was swaying on her feet.
“That could be anywhere,” Detective Fordham commented back, his face grimacing.
“Is there a number on the house?” Morgan asked, and everyone leaned in closer to the footage.
“No, he’s already at the door,” JJ said, running a hand through her long blonde hair.
Bugsy thought she might be sick.
“Garcia,”
“He’s using twice as many proxy servers,” Her shaky voice came through the speaker, furious typing in the background.
“Wait, this window in the background, is that the chat room?” Emily asked, pointing to the small screen at the bottom that flooded with comments from at least forty different users, and more began entering the stream.
Get that bitch.
Show her a good time.
Teach the pigs a lesson for sticking their nose in.
Bugsy wished she hadn’t been so fast at reading, as she felt her skin go cold at the sight of the comments.
“People are getting off on it,” She said quietly, but no one heard her, too focused on finding out where the UnSub was.
“Uh Huh,” Garcia confirmed, as the footage flicked to show a kitchen view, a pretty fair haired woman stood chopping peppers none the wiser to the sick people watching her life before it was about to be ended.
“He’s in the house, guys,” Reid ran clammy hands over his trousers, his stomach churning as the video went on.
“He’s completely changed his MO,” Derek added, and the team could do nothing but watch in terror, “There’s too much light, what happened?”
“Someone asked the wrong question at the press conference,” JJ explained from beside Reid, her nails bitten to hell.
“Oh my god, turn around. Just turn around,” Emily begged, and part of her little sister thought she might have been talking about her.
“Maybe she can fend him off,” Derek said, though even his tone of voice wasn’t convinced.
“New kitchen appliances, maybe we could check the work order?” Spencer was grasping at straws he knew that, but he couldn’t sit back with that big brain of his working overtime and not try to help at all.
“He’ll be gone by then,” Rossi said, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Garcia, can you give me anything?” Hotch asked, and the sound of typing got even faster if that was possible.
“I’m stateside now, I’m almost to Idaho, I just need more time,” but Garcia was cut of by the man in the video lurching at the innocent woman, his hands wrapping around her neck with a venomous grip, her every moment of pain and terror captured on his body cam for his audience to see.
His audience including the team.
Bug felt the bile rise then, felt her eyes burn as she watched the woman’s face freeze in fear, a yelp of “No!” leaving her oesophagus, her small hands coming up to his wrists to try pry him away from her, anything to gasp for another breath of air.
She wasn’t listening as Hotch barked orders at Garcia, her eyes were stuck on the woman that writhed in pain, pleading with the masked man to spare her. But her rebuttals got weaker, her whimpers began to grow quieter, and soon he’d tackled her to the ground in a blood curdling scream, his whole body weight crushing her throat.
Her own hand came up to cover her mouth that dropped open in shock, her eyes burning with tears that she couldn't let fall. It was this woman who was suffering, not her.
There was a bit more struggling from the woman, her eyes bulging from her skull, lips turning blue, until she slumped beneath his hands, and he released her.
She took a step back, bumping into a chair she hadn’t even known was there as her eyes fixed to the screen, and Spencer’s head shot around to see her shaking on the spot, her eyes haunted.
Emily followed suit, but Spencer was already out of his seat, rushing forward to grab her arms and lead her outside.
“I’m gonna get her some air,” He called behind him to the team that watched her go with forlorn glances, and he hated how he felt her trembling beneath his grip, grabbing onto his jacket just as tight.
They made it halfway down the stairs before she bolted for the bathroom, and he heard her retching as he dipped into the room after her, not caring that the sign clearly stated it was for women.
“I’m fine, Em, just give me a minute,” She said, and he heard the sniffles between her words.
“It’s me,” He said, finding the one stall on the end that had it’s door engaged, pulling a cup from out of the dispenser and filling it at the water fountain, “You should drink some water, the cold helps reset your body’s instinct to fight or flight,”
“Or in my case, make a complete fool of myself and take time away from a time sensitive investigation because I’m such a wuss,” She said cynically, coughing chestily and he heard the toilet flush.
His forehead creased as he frowned. The door unlocked and she stepped out, her eyes red and teary as she gently took the water from his hands, and he rooted around his pocket for a stick of gum to give her. She chucked it in her mouth, letting the peppermint clear the vile taste from her mouth, hoping she didn’t look too gross.
“You shouldn’t stand so close to me, toilet bowls are like full of germs and my heads just been in there, I know it makes you feel funny to be around germs-” He pushed her hair behind her ear as if to tell her to stop thinking so loud, and she couldn’t help smile sheepishly at him. “Do you think Hotch will be mad?”
He shook his head instantly.
“Mad? No. Worried? Incredibly.” Spencer replied, stroking her hair a little the way his mom used to when he felt sick.
Bugsy shook her head, sniffing to herself a little more.
She couldn’t stop seeing that woman’s face as the life slipped from her, the hands around her neck. The yelps and pleads and begs and she fought with everything in her.
“How long was it until you started feeling like this?” She asked earnestly, running a sleeve under her nose, “You’re so brave, I always knew you were but, since I started, it’s like I realised nothing really touches any of you anymore.”
He fought the incredulous laugh, him; brave? The man scared of the dark and elevators brave?
“We all take things home with us at the end of the day,” He said, wiping under her eyes for her with his own cardigan cuff, “If you didn’t feel anything for the victims we help, you wouldn’t be human, Bug,”
She nodded, “I know. I just don’t want to let anyone down. Not you guys and especially not the people we’re helping,”
“It’s for that reason I know you’re going to do great,” He said, giving her one of those small Spencer smiles he reserved for when he wanted to see one of hers.
Her forehead thumped onto his chest as he pulled her a little closer, and his cheek fell on top of her hair as he ran gentle hands over the sides of her arms, calming her until her breath started evening out.
“You never said,” She pointed out, “How long it took for you to start getting cold feet. Bet I beat some kind of record, two weeks is absolute dog shit,” She chuckled to herself, not noticing how his face evened out in sadness.
It was Tobias Hankel that had done it. It was getting tied up and injected that had made him feel like a failure, like he wasn’t cut out for anything let alone the force. Like his life was taking a huge spiral downwards.
But he wouldn’t tell her that, not yet at least.
“Come on, let’s get you back,” He brushed off, and she figured it was a sore spot for him. She cursed herself for asking in the first place.
Nodding, she downed the rest of the water and got herself a refill, following him out of the bathroom, looking back up at him for a moment.
“I forgot to say,” Bug said, nudging against his side with her whole body, knocking into him lovingly, “Your new hair is very… dashing. I really like it.”
He swore his face went crimson in a single second.
5. The one with his migraines
“Let me pay for your fuel at least,”
“Spence, just shut up and get in the car,”
That was around about how the past eight months had gone. Every day, she would drive by his apartment, Emily in the passenger seat of her little sisters beat up Renault Zoe, affectionately named after its model, the back seat reserved for Spencer’s lanky legs and satchel bag as she drove the three of them through through roads of Virginia, to work and back again.
Sometimes he surprised her with coffee, sometimes Emily brought them donuts. Either way, they all enjoyed their morning routine that had stood the test of time about as much as Bugsy had as part of the BAU.
It had gotten easier after that first case; she still had her moments, but her skin had thickened to a point she barely remembered what her life had been like before that day Hotch asked her to join the academy.
Things were going well, she felt settled, even with the new girl Seaver replacing JJ while Jareau was away on business in the pentagon. She couldn’t say she was the girl’s best friend, but they got along. And that was good enough for her. Her team was a well oiled machine.
That was, except for Spencer. Spencer she worried for every day.
She hated the way he twitched in the passenger seat, now his since she’d forced Emily to get the subway to work today, bitching eachother out in the way sisters did until the older woman left in a huff but without asking questions, and she left to take Spencer to the hospital.
The sunglasses did little to stop his eyes hurting, his brain quite literally feeling as though it was pressing against his skull. He even turned down coffee this morning, and her stomach had dropped when she realised just how serious it was.
He didn’t even question her when she held his hand tightly in hers as she walked him into the office, knowing he would hate every second of having this MRI done.
“Everything’s going to be absolutely fine, they’re going to find what it is and we’re going to get you fixed right up to your perky self again,” She said, as they sat together outside the doctor’s office, keeping her voice calm and quiet as not to upset his delicate head even more.
He nodded, appreciating her gentle touches on his hand, and he jumped in his seat when the door opened, his name being called through and he wished she could come with him.
“You got this,” Bugsy smiled at him reassuringly when he looked hesitant, and nodded again, squeezing her hand once before he let go, following the nurse into the MRI room, wondering how he got so lucky to have a best friend like her.
–
Spencer sighed, leaning back in his seat. The flight had not helped the building pressure in his head in the slightest. He looked up to the ceiling, closing his eyes as the harsh office lights beat against his face mercilessly.
Two bodies found sacrificed to a 'higher being', their tongues and fingers cut off, shells put over their eyes and mouths. They had seen worse, perhaps not as odd, but they had seen worse. And yet this was the case that made him feel like his brain was about to explode right out his ears.
He hadn’t felt like this since he had been on Dilaudid, since he’d be on a come down and his whole body would sweat cold, and his head would rattle with every movement. And even that almost paled in comparison to how bad his head hurt right now.
Spencer had wondered if that was what had done this to him, if it was a long term side effect of its use. He knew it wouldn’t be, but the self punishing part of him couldn’t help but fill his head with it.
He just wanted answers. He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted to crawl into bed with an ice pack over his face and never surface again until this thing had subsided.
Spencer felt hands in his hairline, fingernails weaving and massaging until he almost moaned, the touches releasing some of the metaphorical knots like magic at their fingertips, and he knew who it was, because that was how she always made him feel.
He opened his eyes to see her very upside down as she looked down at him, their eyes inline with one another as she continued running her fingers against his temples gently.
“You okay, handsome?” That was somewhat new, not that he was complaining. Part of him said she just felt bad for him and his weird brain, and maybe that was how it had always been, but ever since he had started getting these migraines she was impossibly even softer with him now. Like she was his comfort blanket he cuddled to when he was feeling particularly sorry for himself, and she knew it too. They were rarely not stuck together like velcro, where he moved, she moved. Where he sat, she was pressed against him like the concept of personal space had never been such a huge deal for him.
And when his pain struck him down into the embodiment of a wounded doe, she was right there fluffing his pillows, grabbing him aspirin, massaging his head like she could grab the bastard migraine right out of his skull and say leave my precious boy alone.
She was too sweet on him recently, but then he never wanted it to stop. It felt like a relationship without the kissing and especially without the sex. The thought of it made him want to moan again.
“This one’s a stubborn one,” It had lingered around for three days straight, and the Miami heat wasn’t helping as he looked up at her inverted face, and he could tell she was smiling gently at him.
She ran her thumbs over his eyebrows, smoothing them out and he sighed in delight as he felt the muscle begin to relax beneath her touch.
“You make things better,” He confessed, her fingers tracing down his pretty nose, and he closed his eyes as she went over the bags beneath them. “You always do,”
He felt her kiss his forehead for good luck, and he knew she hated seeing him in so much pain. He could have whined when she pulled away, letting go of him gently as Rossi stepped into the room, hoping he hadn’t seen the affection before too much teasing could come.
But he said nothing, even if he had seen, just raised his eyebrows and grabbed the file off the desk for his own thorough look through.
He sure as hell missed the way she interlaced their fingers under the desk though.
–
Spencer twisted the bracelet around his wrist as they sat together outside the doctor's office. Orula’s ide. That was what Julio had called it. Said it would protect him from the bad spirits that clouded his head.
Spencer was a man of science, a man of logic. But even he couldn’t quite explain how Julio had managed to figure out he was having migraines despite him not letting any infliction of pain cross his face, even more confused when Julio had said his body had been a conduit for a higher spirit who wanted to help him.
He was glad to be back in Virginia where everything made sense to him. Where she could hold onto his knee at the doctor's office to stop it from bouncing and his team couldn’t tease or ask him what was wrong or make her stop touching him so much.
“I say we get some ice on your head and put on whichever Doctor Who episode you want, don’t even care if we’ve seen it before,” She offered, smiling over at him and hoping he couldn’t see the worry in her eyes.
He could. He just nudged her shoulder with his forehead to say thankyou without ruining the solace the quiet brought him.
That is until his name was called, just as it was the last time he was here, and he stood to enter the office, not letting go of her hand as this time he’d made sure she could come.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” He said as he sat on the bed, his doctor showing him the clear brain scans that hadn’t flagged a single neuron out of place.
“I’m not sure what you want me to say,” His doctor replied, watching the way his female accomplice frowned, squeezing his hand tightly.
“Isn't there any tests that would look for a specific prognosis we could try?” She asked, and the man shook his head.
“Not unless we’ve ruled out every other option, and in this case I’d like to suggest that Dr. Reid’s condition might be psychosomatic in nature,” The doctor explained, wary of the way the two agents screwed their expressions up, almost identically, hearing his explanation of Spencer’s headaches.
“Psychosomatic…” Spencer echoed softly, in near disbelief.
That couldn’t be it. It had to be the Dilauded. Or a tumour. Or a long standing concussion. Something physical and tangible he could point out and get fixed.
“It just means a mental or emotional cause-” The doctor explained, only to have Spencer cut him off.
“No I know what ‘psychosomatic’ means Doctor, but it's not that,” He said, his voice tired; the idea he was making up his problem in his own head bothered him.
“Well, I think it’s something we should consider.”
“Listen, I’m not crazy,” Spencer insisted, and he felt her tugging his hand closer to hers, her own way of comforting him when she couldn’t grab at his hair or face or jaw.
“Dr Reid, I’m not saying-” But he was stopped by Spencer’s voice that was slowly growing more irate.
“No, listen, I have headaches. I have increased sensitivity to light, because there’s something wrong with me physically. Not mentally. It’s not that,” He corrected the doctor, his sweet face pulled into a grumpy pout, almost offended that the professional was willing to write his pain off as a hallucinations.
“That?” The doctor asked, a frown on his face as Spencer continued.
“Listen, doctor, my mother’s a paranoid schizophrenic who’s been institutionalised. So I know very well what mental illness looks like, maybe even better than you. It’s not that, it’s not.” Spencer said in a huff, standing from the bed and grabbing his satchel, all but pulling her from the room as she sped walked after him, her hand still tightly in his.
She was gobsmacked. She didn’t know how she hadn’t seen it before, and suddenly every single instance of her whining about her mother to him entered her head and she felt a pit growing in her stomach that only had room for guilt.
They sat in the car in silence, her hands at ten and two as she tried not to stare at him.
She couldn’t stand the quiet in which he stewed, murmuring to himself every now and then about how that most certainly wasn’t what was causing his state to decline.
“You never told me that before,” She said after a while, and it was quiet, whether to satiate his headache or because she didn’t know if she was allowed to say it he wasn’t sure.
“It never came up,” He said in a way that left little question. He didn’t want to talk about it.
They sat in the quiet some more, the only sound being the way her engine hummed beneath the bonnet, the music turned low for his pounding head, and he saw the way she chewed her lip and flicked glances at him from the driver's side.
He sighed, not wanting to snap at her the way he had the doctor, “Bug, would you please stop looking at me like that, like you pity me-”
“No, it’s not that it's…” She started carefully, her gaze flicking ot him for a moment as they stopped at a red light, “Every time I forget you’re the strongest person I know, you just seem to remind me,”
And just like that his heart swelled all over again, and he felt like maybe his head wasn't an entire failure to him.
+1 The one with the eulogy.
This was hell on earth.
She sat around the table at the funeral home with her mother to her left, her father and Stephanie to her right.
She could feel the team’s eyes on her; she hadn’t spoken in days, her face shallow and off colour, sick looking. Speaking to her mother and father was difficult for her on a good day, let alone when she was all alone.
Because that was how she looked, as if she were half a person now, her face bitter and angry as she tried to take up the least amount of space at the table as possible, her mother inspecting her finger beds as if they’d scorned her.
“Sit up straight,” She chided, nudging her daughter's knee, but Bugsy made no move to adjust her posture. She just stared blankly at the ugly floral tablecloth, waiting for the other mourners to arrive, to give their sorrows, before they could move to the church.
Emily was right next door. Cold. In a box. Her entire body was likely in rigour mortis now, her face was probably white as snow with the blood pooling away - pallor mortis Reid had called it - her hands were probably twisted and ugly like a raven's foot-
She couldn’t keep doing this to herself. And yet the thoughts wouldn’t stop, not even as Stephanie, step mother from heaven as she was, began to chime in to try lighten the mood.
Her dad hadn’t said a word to her yet, just patted her on the head the way he hadn’t done since she was five.
“It’s a lovely day for a funeral, don’t you think?” She commented, but her voice was too sweet, too soft, too normal to have the charm she’d intended.
Stephanie wasn’t a bad person. Not evil or horrible like Bugsy had always thought a step mother would be. But she was the person her father had left little Bugsy for, and though she knew almost all of her anger had been displaced onto the poor woman when he’d told her he had a new wife, Stephanie had never exactly bothered to remedy their relationship.
Emily and Bugsy had been someone else’s kids. Had been Richard Prentiss’ problems, not hers. And no amount of kindness she bothered to overcompensate with today would change the past twenty years her father had been too preoccupied to even call for her birthdays.
Bugsy scoffed, ignoring the warning look from her father. He knew very well how his youngest felt about his wife.
“Mr and Mrs Prentiss,” Hotch came over, as if sensing the girl’s annoyance at the woman’s words, and she mentally could have planted a kiss right on Aaron’s lips when he made the effort to exclude Stephanie in his condolences, “I’m so sorry for your loss. Losing a child is a devastation I never would wish on anyone,”
“Thank you for your kind words, Mr Hotchner,” The step mother piped up again, before either of them could say anything, and Bugsy shot her a look so full of hatred, Aaron thought she might have slapped her right then and there.
Richard cleared his throat, moving to put an arm around Steph’s chair, one that she’d pulled up to the table herself.
If there was one thing Elizabeth and Bugsy would ever agree on it was that Stephanie was intolerable.
Her mother looked empty as she nodded at Hotch, crossing her legs properly and pursing her lip, not saying anything. She’d never seen her mother cry, and she doubted that would start today. Elizabeth was much too of a proud woman to weep in front of the masses.
“Thanks, Hotch,” Bugsy said the first words she had in days, the only time she’d gotten out of bed was to feel Niko and Sergio or to use the bathroom. Her voice was raspy, ghost like, and it scared the crap out of him.
He couldn’t see her getting through this alive.
With Haley, he’d had Jack to get him through it, keep him going, if not to put on a front for his little boy that was the spitting image of his wife. But Bug had nothing left of her sister, nothing but herself and two parents that couldn’t stand to look at one another without screaming curses.
The other’s had already given their condolences, had already bombarded her with enough letters, flowers, stuffed teddies to fill a house, and she knew she wasn’t being fair ignoring them when they were grieving too. If not just as much as she was.
But she couldn’t do anything, couldn’t be anything except this shell of a woman once called Bugsy. Her sister gave her that name, she didn’t think she deserved it anymore.
Spencer just wished she would cry. He had been sobbing non stop, even where his eyes were puffy and red as Garcia’s as they stood in the funeral home, the smell of incense too strong, the sounds of wails too loud. But she looked… he hated to say it, she looked dead.
“That poor little lamb,” Penelope sniffled, tears already streaking down her cheeks as Derek tucked her under his arm, pulling her close into his smart black suit, “I wished she would let us in,”
“That girl is a carbon copy of Emily, of course she’s going to take herself off to lick her wounds,” Rossi said, his own fancy blazer stuffed with tissues in case his dark eyes welled up with tears again. He’d already managed to save himself once this morning before leaving the house, but he didn’t trust himself anymore than that.
Spencer missed her smile more than anything, though he himself was struggling to muster anything past a grimace.
“The Spring flowers are all in bloom, isn’t that lovely?” Stephanie continued, an easy grin on her face as she looked out of the window to the graveyard, as if she was entirely unaware of the grief lingering in the room, “I think she'll like it here,”
That was it.
That was what pushed Bugsy over the edge, even Elizabeth broke her cold facade to look at the other women in shock, her daughter’s eye twitching as her head snapped to Stephanie, a rage encompassing her entire face.
“What the fuck would you know what she liked or didn’t like, Stephanie? She barely even fucking liked you,” Bugsy hissed, drawing the attention of a few of the mourners with her vitriol anger.
That wiped the smile off the woman’s face harder than any slap could have.
“You watch your mouth, young lady,” Richard snapped, his face a blazen rage as Stephanie cowered behind him.
Bugsy scoffed, and Hotch knew by the sound of it alone, something had been lit inside her that was about to go off like a hand grenade.
He couldn’t say he blamed her.
“I don’t know why you even bothered showing up, Dad. You’ve not seen either one of us since Emily left college,” She spat back, her eyes wild like a cat ready to claw its way out of a fight, “Surprised you even remember my name now you have your shiny new family and your million honeymoons to keep you busy,”
Richard stood from his chair, his black three piece creasing as he pointed in her face, his hand shaking with rage, and she saw the tears well in his eyes that looked too much like her own for her comfort.
“You are turning out to be just like your mother, pushing away anyone who ever cared about you.” He barked, not caring that a few mourners turned to look at him in shock, “Don’t come crying back to me when you end up alone, little lady,”
And with that he took Stephanie’s hand, who was the patron saint of guilt as of now, a face like a scolded child, too naive for the grown woman she really as. At least she had finally shut up, Bugsy thought darkly as her father stormed out of the home, ignoring the way faces watched hers carefully, knowing every word he’d said had been true.
She thinks for a minute if Emily was here she’d poke fun at the way Steph’s face had been hilarious when her smile had dropped, or that her dad still had the worst temper out of them all, Bug included. She thinks that if Emily were here, she’d tell her he’d said all that stuff out of anger, and that she won’t end up alone, and that she’d always be with her.
She thinks that if Emily were here, she wouldn’t feel the empty nothingness where shame and sadness would be after having that entire thing play out infront of so many onlookers.
But Emily wasn’t there. And she couldn’t even say she was shocked when her mother stood from her seat besides her too.
“Where are you going?” Bugsy snarled, the Ambassador looking somewhat concerned before the expression fell and she went back to an equally lost look of her own.
“I refuse to be made a spectacle of today,” Elizabeth said detachedly, collecting her purse over her black midi dress, her painted nails skimming the handle gently, “I can say my own goodbyes to your sister later, when everyone has left,”
Coward. Coward. Coward. Bugsy wanted to scream after her, wanted to tear her hair out, wanted to grab the two of them by the neck and make them feel the way her words trapped inside her and clawed at her throat, sitting inside like a moth bouncing against a window trying to escape.
But she said nothing. Did nothing, as her mother left the home, left her sitting there alone, until the officiant came over to her not even a moment’s later and told her it was time to start the funeral.
And then she truly felt as if she would never be whole again.
–
Her hands shook as she got to the podium. She’d always hated public speaking, which Spencer thought was odd since she seemed to grab the attention of every room she walked into like it was second nature. She didn’t even bat an eyelid at chasing down a criminal or being shot at or evening chewing out a detective that wasn’t pulling his weight, but speaking to a handful of decorated officers that watched her with grieving eyes was too much.
Adjusting the mic to a more appropriate height, they watched her eyes scan the room, her brows scrunched, her mouth dry. Trying to find Emily, Hotch realised with a crack in his chest. The way she always did when she was nervous. The way she did when she was looking for Emily to come save her.
“H-hi, um,” Her voice shook, her fingers fiddling with the chord for something to do, “Mom- Ambassador Prentiss got called out on business so I guess I’ll be giving the eulogy,”
No one spoke, not even the ones who knew it was a lie, her eyes falling to where Spencer gave her a sad smile, some sort of encouragement for her to keep going, though his eyes were red and bloodshot, and he was sure the burn in his throat was rising again.
She hadn’t cried yet. Penelope had cried four times today alone.
“I- um, I wasn’t really prepared for a speech, so I’m, um, I’m just going to read the letter I wrote to her if that’s okay?” Her head shot to the priest who had handed the spotlight over to her, the warm spring breeze pulling at his robes as he nodded, his hand gesturing for her to continue.
She cleared her throat, tearing the envelope open, and the paper rattled in her fingertips with her shaking hands as she pulled out the double sided A4 that had been written on in neat blue ink.
Unfolding it, she let her gaze rip off the crowd of people who stared at her, waiting for whatever it was she had to say, the final words her sister’s body would hear before she was put in the ground forever. The last goodbye. The only one that had ever mattered.
“Dear Emily,” Bugsy read, her voice finding footing as she was able to look away from the hundreds of eyes that watched her tearfully. But it was the wrong move. Because the minute she’d prepared herself to say the words out loud she felt her eyes well up.
This was it. The last chance she would ever get to tell Emily how she felt. How sorry she was. How she was so damn sorry for being such a shitty person for so many years, for never saying thank you enough, for never hugging her when she really ought to have, for never appreciating how lucky she was to have a sister like her.
Her throat clogged, and she sucked in a deep breath, releasing a trembling sigh. Her bottom lip quivered.
“Sorry-” She apologised to the watchers, rubbing her mouth nervously, hoping no one could see just how deeply she had broken, just how harsh the wound had gaped open, “Dear Emily,” She started again;
“Everyone thinks they know what a sister is; it's the woman you share fifty percent of your DNA with who you’re put on this earth to annoy the shit out of,” A small wet laugh reverberated around the crowd, and she flashed a small smile at her own words. “But the truth is you can actually share up to sixty-one percent of your genes with one of your siblings. Which is crazy to me, because I know no matter how hard I try, I will never be even one percent of the woman you are,”
She swallowed heavily, and she heard Penny burst out crying again, her head buried in Morgan’s neck.
“If I was as gracious as you, I’d probably say you’re in a better place now, and if I was as brave, we probably wouldn’t even be here, because I would have been able to save you that day instead of just watching like a fly on the wall.” The first tear fell then, her face crumpling in pain. “If I was as considerate as you, I would be able to look every one of your friends in the eyes and tell them it would all be okay in the end. And if I was even the tiniest bit as kind as you, then I would have told you all of this to your face when it actually mattered.”
She sniffed heavily, and Derek did the same, his own throat burning, picking the thread on his nice trousers as Penelope’s tears wet his shirt through.
“Everyone thinks that true love is finding someone you want to marry and have children with, but I know now that’s not the entirety of it. Love is a person you want to spend every day making happy, and make them proud to say they love you too.” Her chin wobbled some more as she read the next few sentences with something darker than remorse in her glassy eyes, “I sometimes think, if we were given a second chance, if we could try again, I would be able to tell you that I truly love you, Emily, and that you’re the only person I ever cared about loving me too,”
Her voice cracked, and she regarded the paper with misty eyes, her cheeks soaked as she quickly wiped them with the back of her white, lace gloves.
“I think maybe next time I wouldn’t be so spoiled and bratty, and you could have been more relaxed and maybe less like my mom at times, but I think if we could do it over, we could have done it right, the way sisters are supposed to,” She sniffed, missing the way Spencer’s face dripped with tears of his own, her words tearing him inside and out with the guilt in every line. “But I guess it’s too late for that now. I only got one chance to be your sister and I failed, no matter how many times you pulled through for me. And that’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay.”
She braved a look at the closed casket, imagining her big sister, the only person she ever truly loved laying in there with fair, snow skin, her noir hair sitting perfectly like a princess in the fairytales she used to read to her before bed. Only this one had no happy ending. This one ended with her heart torn from her chest, bleeding for the rest of her days until her own body was buried and everyone could mourn the girl who was barely half the woman her sister was, no matter what the statistics say.
“I’m sorry, Emily” It was the first time she’d said the two words that had been playing in her head on a loop for weeks, the two words that sang to her like a mantra, every morning, noon and evening. Even in her sleep she had dreams where she could do nothing but scream into a void of darkness, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It should have been me, I’m sorry. “I hope you can forgive me,” She whimpered through a sob, ignoring the way her cheeks gushed with fat tears now, as she wept freely at the podium, her hands no longer shaking.
“Lots of love, your shitty baby sister, Bugsy.” She finished with a small whine, her expression broken as she folded the letter back up and placed it in the envelope, the cursive lettering of her big sister’s name staring back at her. Finishing where she’d started.
Tucking the letter underneath a tulip wreath atop the coffin, she stepped back down off the podium, ignoring the way the eyes followed her back to her seat, ignoring the way Derek rubbed her shoulder affectionately, or the way JJ handed her a packet of tissues, even though her own face was flooded, and showed no signs of stopping. She felt Spencer grab her hand in his delicately, entwining their fingers together, and squeezing lightly.
The priest continued with a hymn, though she didn’t bother singing it. She just stared at her shoes, as if her entire soul had been sucked from her the minute she’d ended the eulogy.
Which it had, because that had been Emily’s last goodbye.
She didn’t speak in the car on the way back to Spencer’s, not as Hotch pulled her in for a wide hug, rare and warm, even going so far as to stroke the back of her head with more affection than they’d ever seen him give her.
“Call me if you need anything,” He’d murmured into the side of her head as he held her close, feeling two hands hesitantly wrap around his waist, as if she wasn’t entirely switched on which, going by the vacant look on her face she wasn’t.
Spencer made her tea the moment they got in. She didn’t ask for it, she just sat on the sofa and stared at the beat up, old TV he kept only for the occasional documentary, and for the shows she liked to watch too of course. But she hadn’t even switched it on, just stared at the inky black glass like it would jump to life itself and tell her how to feel.
He took a seat next to her, on the other end of the couch, flicking the screen on for something to stop it from being so silent in his home; the silence meant they were alone with their thoughts, and for once he and his thoughts couldn’t stand being together. He didn’t want to interrupt her, or be the first to break the quiet. Not even when he watched her tea go cold in front of her, or as she barely acknowledged the cartoon on the TV, or when he pulled out his copy of The Brothers Karamazov that he’d been re-reading for the third time.
“Would you like me to read to you? Would that be better?” He asked tentatively, and she didn’t even blink, as if she were some sort of zombie or corpse sitting next to him programmed for instruction on acting human.
She said nothing, but she did move, the act of it making him jump slightly, and it was then he realised she had been perfectly still for the past half an hour, barely even showing signs of breath. A puppet with no master.
She leaned over, her body dropping onto the sofa softly as if she was taking a nap, only for her head to rest on his thigh, and his hand flew to pull the claw clip out of her hair like he read her mind. Her knees nestled to her chest, in foetal position, her pretty black dress, the same one she’d worn for Haley’s funeral riding up past her knees.
He gently tucked his long fingers into her roots, stroking her hair like she were a tame cat curled in his lap, clearing his voice as he continued where he’d left off, making sure he wasn’t reading too fast the way he would if it was just him.
His head still whirled around the eulogy she’d read. How watching her crack beneath the weight of her own words had hurt him more than his own grief, had made him bury whatever it was he felt and just need to put her back together again.
Because he didn’t need an eidetic memory to have ingrained what she’d said into his head, not even as they went to bed, and she burrowed into his side in one of his sweatshirts he usually saved for his own bad days.
“Bug,” He braved to say, watching her eyes force themselves open from where they were on the very lip of sleeping, “You’re my very best friend, did you know that?”
She hummed, her nose digging into his arm that he wound under her head, pulling her close enough he could feel her heartbeat against his own where she was in the crook of his neck.
“I love you,” She said, like those three words didn’t rip the air from his lungs.
Not even as her breathing finally evened out, and he felt himself heave a sigh of relief; the bags under her eyes had been more noticeable today than ever. Not even when he dared a kiss to her forehead as she slept, the smell of her shampoo completely taking over his pillow as he allowed his own heart to hurt for just a few moments, missing his friend dearly as he looked after the woman.
Love is a person you want to spend every day making them happy, and make them proud to say they love you too.
He knew then.
–
TAGLIST
@release-your-sweets @smileykiddie08 @caramelised-onions@the-tpd-bau @stephthepeach @sunflowersndpeaches @sammy-4103 @starmansirius @yeonalie @delusionallooney @hades-disappointment-child @sadbae-33
#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fic#matthew grey gubler x reader
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Can I request SAGAU with reader coming into Teyvat but being very hush hush about it and they get a job at Wangshu inn or something but one day they end up cutting themselves and boom golden blood? Sorry if this is too specific
Don’t apologize, I love this idea!
I have so many ideas for this one ranging from crack to angst hskakdk
Let’s say that all the documents about the creator have vague descriptions so they aren’t too sure about your appearance. The only key signs of being the creator are golden blood and crystal like tears.
I hope you like it! I think this may be my first request ^.^
—
Yandere!SAGAU x Secret!Creator!Reader Part 1
Your arrival to Teyvat is sudden. One second you had fallen asleep at your desk after a long night. The next second you lift your head and you’re in a completely new environment.
Surrounded by greens and vegetables you note you’re on some sort of farm. You warily get off the ground, dusting off the dirt from your clothes. You look around hoping to figure out where and how you had ended up in this unfamiliar place.
However, what catches your eyes in the dimly lit farm, is a little glowing blue figure floating wispily.
A seelie?
Your heart drops and your eyes squint through the dark taking in more of your surroundings. Your eyes finally land on a large statue in the distance.
Your thoughts are confirmed as you drop to your knees, eyes locked on a Geo Statue of the Seven.
You’ve read the stories, you know what happens.
“Hello? Who is out there?” a shaky voice calls out. You want to get up and run but the shock kept you in place.
An old man makes his way over, holding a lantern over you. The light illuminates your worry-stricken face. Thoughts run wild in your head as the old man helps you into his home.
Not wanting to risk being chased by all these powerful characters thinking you’re an imposter, while also afraid of being confined by obsessive acolytes, you think it’s best that your arrival to Teyvat is kept a secret.
The farmer that found you, a widowed man with no offspring, decides to take you in. To avoid feeling like a burden, you help out the old man in anyway you can, starting with farming. As if the land is trying to show their love for you, the vegetables you plant grow absurdly quick. They grow larger than the farmer had ever seen before. Vegetables farmed by your hand come out with the perfect texture and consistency. To the farmer, you’re like an angel descended from the skies.
It isn’t long before the old farmer’s business booms with the best vegetables in the market. However, he’s become too old and it’s become too difficult for him to transport all of these vegetables from his isolated little home to the shops down in Liyue Harbor.
You volunteer to do it for him. It’s the least you could do in return for him letting you stay rent free. Despite your willingness, you still can’t fight the anxiousness that comes with traveling in Teyvat.
The first time you enter Liyue Harbor, your hands are so sweaty you nearly drop the boxes of vegetables you are holding. Staying the whole day to sell vegetables in Liyue Harbor means that you are exposed. But when you finally came across your favorite characters, you realize you worried for nothing.
You first meet the Traveler and Paimon. The exchange is simple. They buy a few of your vegetables then leave to Wanmin restaurant to use the stove to cook some meals.
Then you meet Xiao. One day, a group of Hilichurl’s almost attack you while you are transporting goods to Liyue Harbor. He quickly wipes them out while you hide behind the cart you are pushing. Xiao simply looks at you for no more than 5 seconds before disappearing.
After that, the worry of your face being recognized begins to fade. If it weren’t for your oddly golden blood, you would have forgotten that you’re the creator.
You become accustomed to living life in Teyvat. It is peaceful. No exams or deadlines. Such simple tasks done day by day. You spend one day farming and the next transporting vegetables. You sit at your little shop selling items before heading home and helping out the old man. It’s not super easy but it’s a lot less stressful than your life before.
Everyday you get to bask in the sunlight and enjoy fresh air while you admire the scenery you had only ever seen through a screen. You are content and happy.
Until one day you accidentally make the smallest mistake.
Xiangling is a regular of yours. Your vegetables are by far the best she’s ever had and you quickly become her source of ingredients for her dishes. She speaks so highly of you that Zhongli, one of the characters you fear most, decides to drop by your little shop.
His presence is intimidating with his golden eyes peering down at you and his tall stature towering over your little stall.
Despite his slightly domineering presence, his voice is as smooth and soothing as you remember it to be and you’re able to calm down enough to treat him like any of your other customers. You’ve already met many characters and none of them were able to recognize you. How could he be any different?
Except he’s not like the others.
He’s nearly 6000 years old. He’s seen things others haven’t and most importantly, he’s worshipped the existence of the creator far longer than any of the Liyue Citizens have been alive.
From the very beginning, he sensed that there was something different about you. Something familiar and oddly inviting. The former Geo Archon thought he knew everyone residing in Liyue but it’s his first time coming across you.
His eyes can’t help but follow your every move as you wrap up his box of vegetables. You finally finish tying up his box with some sturdy rope and grab a knife to cut off the long ends. Just as you’re cutting the rope, your hand slips.
The sharp knife slices shallowly into your opposite hand. Zhongli is only barely able to catch a glimpse of gold before you drop to the floor.
It isn’t the pain that’s brought you to your knees but the fear. You crouch over your hands, covering the wound as best as you can hoping with all your being that he hasn’t seen anything.
Both you and Zhongli can feel your hearts beating faster than ever before.
“Are you alright?”
The former Geo Archon attempts to walk over to the other side of the stall, when he hears the Traveler call his name. His attention wavers and it gives you just enough time to wipe your blood away and stuff the handkerchief into your pocket.
Zhongli glances at you amidst his conversation just to see you finish covering your wound with a bandage. Any trace of blood is gone and the wound is completely covered.
He walks away from the Traveler to speak with you. The geo archon’s eyes never once leave your hand as he stands in front of you.
“Is your wound alright?”
You nod waving your hand a little.
“Just a small wound,” you say, hoping he’d accept your answer and move on.
But he isn’t satisfied.
“Are you sure? It look like it hurt. It’s important to put some cream on it so it doesn’t get infected.”
“Of course! I’m a lot stronger than you think.” You smile before repeating his total. The Traveler ends up paying for the vegetables and the two leave, but not without Zhongli glancing a few more times at you.
When his figure completely fades, your smile drops.
It seems you’ve stayed a bit too long in Liyue.
Shaky hands clumsily pack up your stall as you race to close up the shop early and quickly head home before the Geo Archon decides to return.
While you rush, you don’t notice the small white handkerchief falling out of your pocket nor do you realize that the small piece of cloth would be the sole cause of the upcoming chaos that erupts throughout the nations of Teyvat.
Next
#genshin impact#yandere genshin#yandere#yandere sagau#sagau#self aware genshin#zhongli#morax#archons#traveler#yandere x reader#sagau x reader#yandere sagau x reader#raiden#childe#xiao#venti#scaramouche#yanderexreader#liyue#ayato#hu tao#genshin x reader#kazuha#diluc#alhaitham#genshin cult au#acolytes#creator#creator reader
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Hi Neil.
I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.
First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.
So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…
Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)
Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.
Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.
(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)
I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.
But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.
I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.
But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.
I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.
It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.
I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.
My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”
But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.
In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.
Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”
As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.
I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…
The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.
So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.
People always say “it’s never too late.”
One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”
I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”
It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.
Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”
But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.
Whew.
So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.
And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.
Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.
Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)
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request: y/n and suna come back from an event that went on too long and she’s too tired to do her skincare and change so he does it for her? i love seeing the pinterest couple pics where the girl is sitting on the counter and he’s brushing her teeth and washing her face for her 💗💗 ty so much for your consideration 🥰
suna rintaro • love sick
“wait just a second, princess.” suna instructed you, his right hand opening his car door as he spoke.
you halted your movements, pausing the action of unbuckling your seatbelt out of obedience for him. you already assumed what he was going to do, it was a unwritten rule of his every time the two of you went out.
your hands tuckered back into your lap as you watched him exit the car, catching him sending a wink your way as he shut the driver door, leaving you alone in the warm interior as he jogged around the front of the car, nearly slipping on ice ungracefully.
you let out a worried yelp at the slip of his foot, but was soon relieved when he grinned at you as a way of reassurance.
“jesus.” you mumbled to yourself, nearly having a heart attack just then.
rintaro walked it off like nothing had happened, smoothly recomposing himself for your view only. if it wasn’t for the freezing temperatures, you would have been able to notice the bright blush on his cheeks from embarrassment. but he played himself off well, as usual.
when he got to your side of the car, he hesitated slightly before opening the door. it would be cold out here for you, and you were exhausted, nearly spent already from socializing all night with friends. the sudden, harsh winter air would make you displeased and shivering for a few fleeting moments before entering the house, and suna just couldn’t have that.
he couldn’t have his precious princess be cold for any more than a millisecond or else he’s be very disappointed within himself.
deciding what his solution would be, he help up one finger at you through the window, signaling for you to be patient for one moment and he’d explain the change of plans later.
“what?” you questioned him, but he could only read your lips through the thick glass.
“one minute, baby. i’m going to go do something really quickly, hold on.” he halfheartedly explained.
you understood what you needed to in order to ask no more questions— both exhausted and lack of communication being a result.
your eyes followed him as he walked to the front door of your shared home, unlocking it and entering the house before shutting the door behind him after blowing you a gentle kiss for good measure, a way of telling you that everything is okay and he’ll be back shortly.
you sat back in the seat tiredly, the heated interior keeping you in a nice warm hug while you waited for him.
after only a few fleeting moments, you had forgotten about rintaro and found yourself falling into a soft slumber.
“c’mon, sweet girl, let’s get you inside.”
you awoke slightly when strong arms wrapped around your body, closely holding you tightly to his chest to secure and comfort you as he lifted you carefully out of the car, nudging the door closed with his knee once your were fully outside and safe in his arms.
“rinnie?” you sleepily mumbled, your eyes still closed gently as you called out to him.
he glanced down at you as he began to walk up the driveway, a small smile on his face at your sleepy state.
“yes, princess?”
“are we in bed, yet?”
he chuckled, causing his chest to rumble and you to whine at the vibrations against your body.
“not yet, special one. i’m carrying you inside— you fell asleep in the car.” he answered as he walked into the warm house, you wrapped in blanket in tow.
you stirred slightly at the change of lighting, the dark night sky in contrast to the warm yellow light the living room lamp provided becoming noticeable to you.
your eye were still shut, too tired to open them and welcome light in as you stayed bundled in your boyfriend’s arms.
“gonna have to set you on the couch, okay, pretty girl? i have to take our shoes off.” suna explained, his voice soft as he spoke at you, his eyes taking in your resting face.
you tiredly mumbled a barely coherent ‘yes’ in response, your cute cozy voice causing rintaro’s heart to swell and his stomach to warm up in pure happiness.
how he got to lucky with you was beyond him, but he wouldn’t trade you for the world. every little quirk of your’s had him tripping over his two feet in adoration, much to your disbelief. he didn’t care if you believed him though, because he could feel it in his bones the each centimeter of you was beautiful— especially now as you drool sleepyly in his arms.
he walked a few feet in front him, stopping to crouch down and ever so gently set you down on the velvet couch he had bought a few months prior as a anniversary present. your previous couch had been stained by your newly potty trained puppy and you were heartbroken over it, but as always, suna knew just what to do to cheer his princess up once more.
the feeling of a soft cushion cradling your head had you nuzzling into the feeling, rubbing your flushed cheek against a throw pillow that suna placed there for under your head before lying you down.
a few moments passed before you were scooped up carefully again, your favorite blanket wrapped cozyly around you, granting you infinite warmth.
“alright, princess. now it’s time for bed.” he sighed, relieved.
you were too tired to understand much, only the nickname kissing your ears like a song. but, you trusted that rintaro would do whatever was in your best interest no matter how sleepy you were.
he made his way to the bedroom, continuing to carry you effortlessly throughout the house as you slept peacefully in his arms. he often glanced down at you, finding a small proud smile on his face as he did so.
you were everything to him, nothing else mattered when he was around you. his only focus in those moments were taking the best care of you that he could and making sure you were safe and happy. all of which you seemed to be in this moment.
rintaro watched you thrive tonight as you spoke to all of your friends at the holiday party, and he couldn’t have been seen happier in the corner. his face held a grin all night, a proud smile he wore for everyone to see as they passed him by. the other guests probably assumed that he was one of two things: either high or just had the best sex of his life— but he wasn’t even close to their unclean thoughts. suna rintaro was lovesick, so lovesick that you surrounded his whole night— even on the rare occasion that you were out of his protective sight. you occupied his thoughts every minute, the way you spoke to everyone with such kindness and consideration, the way you let some of them cut you off mid sentence but were careful to bite back if someone off hand was said, the way you gave him sweet reassuring glances every two minutes to make sure he was having a good time and welcome to join your conversation whenever, the way you blew him kisses when you passed by him to go into another room— everything about the way you glew at that engagement party had suna feeling like a hopeless romantic.
as he neared the bedroom, only being two steps away from it, you stirred slightly causing him to gently stop momentarily to check on you. this allowed him to also use this as an opportunity to admire your unconscious state.
‘a true sleeping beauty’ he thought to himself.
your eyes were relaxed, an eyelid delicately draped over them like a blanket.
your mouth was open slightly, leaking drool that pooled in the corner of your mouth. the same mouth the suna kissed every morning and night, and dreamed of stealing more when he couldn’t.
but, as he stared down at you, he noticed how dolled up you still were. you still had your makeup on, a tad but smudged but there and your hair was neater than usual.
“fuck.” he whispered under his breath in realization.
the bathroom wasn’t too far from where he was now, just a few feet behind him, but he didn’t want to move too much in fear of waking the sleeping princess. but, he could manage.
carefully, he turned around as smoothly he could without swinging you around in his arms, his sockclad feet skillfully shifting with little to no motion beyond his torso. glancing down at you, suna nearly sighed in relief to find you still sound asleep.
he confidently but carefully took a few steps before making his way to the bathroom.
“rinnie?” you mumbled dreamily.
his heart almost stopped, had not been gently enough?
“yes, princess?”
you opened your eyes, blinking up at him sleepily.
“i still have my dress on and it’s uncomfy.” you whined softly.
he smiled at your cuteness but sympathized with your uncomfortable feeling.
“i know, sweetheart. i’m going to take you into here and get you all cleaned up and ready for bed, okay?”
you pouted but nodded slowly, dreading having to wake soon to get unready.
———
after a few minutes of unexplained moment, you finally opened your eyes to find suna looking down at you as he cradled you in his arms. you quickly recognized that he was standing in your shared bathroom, the familiar dim light of the mirror giving it away.
“hey, beautiful. i have to wash your pretty face off, okay? you have makeup on.” he softly explained when confusion flashed your face.
“oh.”
he smiled and nodded in agreement before leaning over and eventually attempting to sit you up on the counter. little to no words were exchanged between you two as you repositioned, the action being understood by you quickly.
he reached behind your right side, sliding your cleanser forward before giving your nose a soft kiss.
“wait,” you interjected. “i need the makeup remover first before the cleanser…” you corrected.
he nodded understandingly, murmuring a quick ‘thank you, baby’ in return before correcting his almost mistake by placing the larger bottle of micellar water from near the light switch, next to the cleanser.
“this stuff?”
you hummed in agreement, a sleepy haze coating your eyes as he glanced back at you, taking note of how beat you looked. he’ll be sure to get you all nice and tucked in when the two of you finally lay down for the night, the best princess burrito he could muster.
rintaro leaned over closer to you, his strong scent filling the empty air between the two of you causing you to wake slightly but not enough to pull you out of your dozed off state. you’re eyes were open but you had zoned out within the few silent moments, brain foggy and peaceful. his catlike eyes narrowed at you, enjoying the beautiful sight of you so serene. it was like you were an enchantress, your beauty lit up his whole soul, opening him up with light and covering all of his shadowy spots with your glow.
“you’re so fucking beautiful, princess.” he mumbled. “all mine too.”
your lashes fluttered shut, a carelessly swift motion that sent suna’s heart on fire.
“tired.” you groggily mumbled.
“i know, sweet girl. let’s get you all cleaned up, yeah?”
he briefly caressed your hair lovingly before turning the faucet on and squirting a pump of face wash into his open hand.
“one or two pumps?”
you hummed out your answer, a low effort attempt to answer him.
“what was that, princess? gonna have to speak up for me.”
“t-two.”
he obliged, dispensing another glop and lathering it to foam under the running water.
“now, you’re gonna have to wake up a little more, okay? i’m sorry, babygirl, i know you’re tired.” suna gently sympathized, his large callused hands wet with foamy makeup remover.
you let a light whine pass your lips, frustration and exhaustion bubbling in your chest cavity and threatening to flood the bathroom, taking your beautiful boyfriend with it. but, you obliged; opening your bloodshot eyes and being greeted with the domestic sight.
he stood in front of you now, only about two inches of space left between you. his hands were facing up, arms slightly extended to keep the soap from getting on him or dripping everywhere. rintaro’s eyes watched you intently, awaiting your ‘okay’ to wet your face and wash away the day.
but the only thing you could focus on was the scent that filled the air; suna’s scent. the delightful musk of his cologne mixed with fresh linens and a warm scented candle you lit earlier that day embraced your lungs as you breathed in, causing your heart to warm up and a small content smile to graze your lips.
“what’s that pretty smile for?” rintaro asked, his expression mirroring your own.
“just love you so much. feel like home…”
“i feel like home? or this house feels like home?”
you paused, inhaling the comforting aroma once more. this time his icy cologne overpowered the other smells, giving you a nostalgic feeling and a fond memory of yours clouded your vision.
it was late last june, the third summer you had spent with suna wrapped around your finger and this particular night just proved how true that started was. you were sat on this very counter top, your nightgown stained with the green clay mask that suna sloppily applied on your face. your arms were outstretched in front of you, your fingers gently tracing his face and leaving a thick layer of clay trailing behind them with ever inch of skin you graze. his strong hands rested firmly on your hips, thumbs rubbing the clothed skin lovingly.
“is it supposed to sting? because right now it’s stinging.” rintaro asked, his voice filling the silent bathroom.
you chuckled at his childishness, his pain tolerance low.
“yes, just slightly though— nothing harsh. it means it’s working, as long as it isn’t too bad. is it?” you replied.
he shrugged gently, his hands still firmly placed on your generously loved hips. oh, how much he loved your hips.
“nothing major or irritating. just… different.”
you paused the motions of your hands, focusing your attention on the tranquil expression that graced his face. as if he wasn’t already stunning…
his eyes were rested, gently shut and relaxed as you applied the face mask to his already clear face. whispering promises of relaxation and baby soft skin. he trusted you, allowing you to put whatever you desired on him without question.
“you look so pretty, rinnie.”
he chuckled, slightly flattered but used to your compliments by now.
“i bet you look even prettier, princess. my pretty princess.”
your eyes nearly rolled back in ecstasy at the last statement, your tummy infested with butterflies that had just got a sudden burst of energy. 
“my pretty princess.” you tiredly mumbled, the memory of that beloved night leaking into reality accidentally.
he furrowed his brows at you, confused to say the least but sure you had a good reason behind it… at least he hoped.
“what, dollface?”
“you called me your pretty princess the night we did face masks for the first time. don’t you remember?” you explained, hopeful that the memory was dear to him as well.
you and suna were both very madly in love; truly, deeply in love. so in love that both of your friends were so sick of hearing how much you meant to one another, hearing brag upon brag about how amazing the other was. but the worst wasn’t even in conversation— no, it was the way he spoke to you.
you meant the entire world to him, and he was absolutely sure that there was nothing that trumped you in anything; beauty, intelligence, kindness, affection— all of the traits that rintaro was sure you were the best at. his most fond memories of you were selected carefully, hand picked by himself going off of a system he called love.
anytime he felt like his heart was going burst, or when his palms would pool with sweat out of nerves, or whenever you both did something for the first time together— he would hold those special moments as close to his heart as he manage.
so yes, he did in fact remember the particular night you are reminiscing.
“mhm.” he hummed back. “f’ course i remember, sweetie.”
you smiled tiredly, your eyes hardly open but still trying.
“you called me your pretty princess.” you repeated.
suna’s cheeks tinted pink at the way your voice sounded, as if you were dreaming and he was everything you could ever wanted.
and he was.
“i always call you that.” he deadpanned.
why was that particular name sticking to you? it wasn’t an unusual occurrence for those exact words to slip out of his mouth when addressing you, so why were you so hung up on it now?
“yeah- but this was different. you said it like you meant it-“
“i always mean it. always.” his voice was authoritative, as if he was ordering you gently to correct your thoughts.
like a king, ordering his insecure queen to trust his love, demanding that she change her course of thought before he beheads her.
or at least that’s what your groggy mind concocted.
“but this was the first. the first time that i felt you meant it. i could feel the love and security behind your words, even if there were only three of them.”
rintaro was silent, his rough hands foamy and awaiting your approval to wash away the exhausting party. but, he couldn’t think of that right now. all that filled his lovesick brain was how beautifully romantic your soul was, and how it took everything he ever said to heart.
a few fleeting moments passed as he continued to think, a calm silence building in the air before a cheeky grin spread across his face.
“fuck, i just love you so much. you’re so damn fucking sweet, y’know that? my princess is so goddamn sweet and lovely. i just love you. so so much, baby. don’t ever change, please.” suna rambled, a large smile on his face as he spoke.
he placed a kiss to you lips, quick but enchanting before he finally quirked a brow at you, suggesting that he was ready to get this over with. you nodded, consenting him to clean your makeup off at last.
“wet my face a bit first. it’ll come off easier.” you mumbled.
he hissed out a ‘shit’ before rapidly looking around for a washcloth to wet and gently rub on your face to dampen it as you suggested.
you quickly caught on and told him to just rinse off his hands and pat the wetness onto your face before his hands dried.
“are you sure?”
“yes. it’s not like you’re dirty or anything. i suck on your fingers all the time, i’m sure i won’t get any dirtier from this than that.”
he smirked at the mention of his slender fingers in your mouth, suddenly craving the sight and feeling of it. but, he had enough courtesy to wait until before you drifted off in bed soon.
the action wasn’t sexual when you did it, neither of you saw it that way. it was more of a comfort thing for you, and suna sure did enjoy watching you so content just from suckling on his fingers. his.
with a small sigh of self-dissatisfaction, rintaro reached his hand into the sink and nudged the faucet on with his large ring finger.
“suna?”
he ran his hands under the water as he let out a quite hum.
“would it be okay if you could undress me too?”
“of course, princess. i was going to anyway.”
“really? it wouldn’t be weird?”
he furrowed his brows once more.
“why would it, doll? i’ve seen all of you many times, and i adore it. sexually or not.”
your heart swelled.
“what would i do without you?”
he chuckled as his hands turned clean and wet, taking them out of the running sink to wet your face with them.
“nah, sweetheart. the real question is; what would i do without you? my life would be so meaningless without a pretty princess to take care of. who’s door would i open? who’s food would i cut up? who’s pretty feet would i kiss and rub on?” rintaro questioned, taking a pause to place his warm wet hands on your face.
you sighed at the warmth, the water being the perfect temperature for relaxation. plus, his slender hands felt so comforting on your tired face, allowing your eyes to close at the feeling of your cheeks being caressed by your love.
“i love you so much, rinnie.” you mumbled. “thank you for taking such good care of me all of the time. i-i can’t imagine my life without you.”
he huffed out a adoring laugh, leaning down and giving your nose a gentle kiss.
“the pleasure is all mine, sweet girl.”
#suna 🌷#suna rintaro#suna#suna x reader#haikyuu x chubby reader#suna rintaro x reader#suna x reader fluff#suna rintaro x reader fluff#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x reader fluff#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu oneshot#haikyuu drabble#suna imagines#suna rintaro imagine#suna rintaro x chubby reader
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break in, break down
"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering.
You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him.
With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.
this has been sitting in my drafts for like, ever. it's not the best cause its super old, like months old and i lowkey forgot i even had it, but it'll do for now while i'm in this writing rut.
happy reading <3
warnings: home invasion, panic attack reaction (i think that's it? lmk if i missed anything please!)
A loud bang reverberates through your apartment, your peaceful sleep interrupted.
You open your eyes with a start, the volume of the sound causing your heart race and your breath catch in your throat.
You're silent for another moment until the sound of glass shattering causes you to jump. You sit up now, dumbfounded for a brief moment before unshakable anxiety takes over.
There's no way this could be happening to you right now.
You immediately leap out of bed, grabbing a stray hoodie off the floor, slipping it over your thin pajamas. Next, you grab your phone with shaky hands, trembling from the adrenaline and anxiety coursing through your veins. The sounds from outside your bedroom are starting to get louder. You swipe your car keys from your drawer, shoving them into the pocket of your hoodie.
In a frenzy, you grope under your bed for a baseball bat, struggling to steady your shaking hands as you grip it tightly. The rattling of your doorknob nearly makes you pass out in fear. Simon had told you multiple times to keep your door locked when you sleep, stressing to you that it wasn't safe to leave it unlocked, especially at night.
There was no way you could escape through the hallway. Lucky for you, your apartment is on the first floor of the building, meaning that you would be able to safely jump out of your bedroom window without injuring yourself.
You place all your things down quickly, unlatching your window from its locks. You heave it open with all your might, grunting as you hold it up to lock it into an open position. Grabbing your baseball bat first, you throw it out the window and onto the grass below you. Could never be too safe.
Suddenly, the person or people on the other side of your door start kicking at it, the flimsy wood shaking from the impacts. You bite back a scream, prompting you to jump out of your window, dropping onto the grass below you clumsily.
You don't bother looking back as you sprint to your car in the adjacent parking lot, throwing yourself into the drivers seat unceremoniously.
Without another thought, you dial 911. Running on pure adrenaline, you tell the operator your address and the urgency of the situation. The kind voice on the other end tells you that the police are on their way before you hang up.
You bite back a sob as your shaking hands type in Simon's phone number. You hold your phone up to your, chewing your finger as it rings once, twice, and the line picks up.
"Hullo?" a scratchy, sleep-ridden voice on the other end of the line rings out. His accent sounds particularly thick.
"Simon," your voice breaks, the adrenaline now worn off, leaving you a wreck.
"What's wrong?" he asks immediately, now sounding more awake. You hear shuffling on the other end.
"I- I think my apartment got broken into," you sob, fat tears now freely falling down your cheeks. "I'm so scared," you cry, bawling like a baby.
Simon's voice takes on a sharp urgency. "'M coming over right now. Where are you? Are you hurt?"
"I'm in my car, in the parking lot," you say tearfully, trying to wipe the tears from your face unsuccessfully.
"I've already called 911; they're on the way—" you add, clutching onto your phone.
The sound of a door opening and slamming shut crackles through the phone. "Be there in ten. Stay on the line, love."
"I'm scared," you cry again, your free hand trembling as you reach to make sure your car door is locked.
"I know, love, I know. Just hang in there. 'M on my way," Simon reassures you, his voice gentle. The ten-minute wait feels like an eternity as you sit in your car, sniffling every so often as you look out your car windows to make sure no one is coming towards you.
Sirens wail in the distance, the police clearly arriving on scene. Despite the growing fear gnawing at you, Simon's voice provides a source of comfort.
"The police are almost here," you breath into the phone, pulling your knees up to your chest.
"Good, I'm here," he grunts. You look up and see his truck hurtling through the parking lot, stopping abruptly right behind your car. He slides out of his car, rushing to the drivers side of your car.
The moment he reaches your car, you throw open the door and practically fall into his arms. Simon holds you tight as you fall into him, sobs wracking your body.
"Don't cry," he soothes, pulling you tighter against him. "'S alright, 's handled."
He cradles you in his grasp, running his hand over your hair as you sob into his t-shirt, fists bunching up the fabric. You cling to him as if he's your lifeline, the scent of his t-shirt grounding you ever so slightly.
"I've got you," he murmurs, rubbing your back.
Your sobs gradually subside into quiet sniffles, and you take a deep breath.
The distant wailing of sirens grows closer, indicating the police are here. Simon releases you just enough to glance over his shoulder at the approaching vehicles. "The police are here," you whisper, your voice shaky but relieved.
The flashing lights of police cars illuminate the surroundings as officers approach. Simon steps back, maintaining a protective stance beside you.
Two police officers approach you and Simon, asking for details about the break-in. You pull at the hem of your hoodie, trying to cover up your practically bare thighs from your tiny pajamas. Simon settles his hand on your lower back, encouraging you to speak to the officers. You recount the events timidly, telling them as much as you know. After providing your statement, the police assure you they'll investigate your apartment, but advise you that it's not the best to stay there tonight. For obvious reasons.
Upon their insistence of you spending the night somewhere else, before you could even open your mouth, Simon is insisting, no, demanding that you stay with him for the night.
"You're stayin' with me tonight," he declares, voice firm and unwavering.
You open your mouth, nearly telling him no, I'll find a hotel, but the look he shoots you suggests that you go with him.
With a nod of agreement, Simon leads you away from the scene, his hand on your back firm and reassuring.
As you approach his truck, Simon opens the door for you. He helps you up into the passenger seat, making sure you're settled before closing the door with a determined thud. Simon then strides around to the driver's side, the scent of him lingering in the air as he gets in. The engine roars to life, and you find comfort in the steady hum of the engine.
The drive to Simon's place is mostly quiet. He occasionally glances at you, concern etched into his features. You stare out of the window, the events of the night replaying in your mind. You shiver in your seat, thinking about what could have happened if you hadn't escaped through your window. Simon's hand finds yours, a silent gesture that makes your heart ache with gratitude.
As you pull into Simon's driveway, you're met with the warm glow of his porch light. The familiar sight brings a new sense of relief. It's not the first time you've been to his quaint home. Simon turns off the engine, and without a word, he's at your side, opening the door for you again.
He leads you inside, the click of the door shutting behind you echoing in the quiet house. Simon heads to the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets. Moments later, he appears with a mug of tea, a small but comforting gesture. He hands it to you, the warmth seeping into your cold hands.
"Drink this. It'll help calm your nerves," he says, his voice gentle.
You take a sip, the familiar taste of chamomile offering a small respite. Simon sits across from you, watching as you try to steady your trembling hands. The silence between you isn't uncomfortable; it's a shared understanding that words might not be enough to mend the damage that's been dealt.
After a while, Simon breaks the silence. "I'll make up the spare room for you. Take your time. We'll deal with everythin' in the morning."
He disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the living room. You look around his living room, eyeing his front door for a brief moment. You finish the tea and set the mug on the coffee table, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.
When you enter the spare room, you find it tidy and pretty bare. The scent of clean sheets and the comforting atmosphere of his home a stark difference from your own. You watch as he double checks the windows to make sure they're locked tight. He also shows you the lock on your own bedroom door.
"Everythin' is secure, 've triple checked it all," Simon states, turning from the window to look at you. His concern is evident in his eyes, and you nod in response.
"Thank you, Simon. I appreciate all of this," you say, your voice quiet.
He moves over to the wall, crouching down to plug a night light into the wall. He taps it a few times to make sure it works. When it flickers on, he grunts, satisfied. Pushing himself up to standing, he walks over to you.
He gives you a reassuring smile. "No need to thank me. 'S the least I can do. You get some rest. 'M right across the hall if you need anything."
With that, he leaves the room, gently closing the door behind him. You make sure to lock the door behind him as he leaves. You crawl into bed, pulling the covers over your weary body, exhaustion settling in.
You close your eyes, hoping that sleep will offer some reprieve. As you lay there, the events of the night replay in your mind. The fear, the vulnerability, and the violation of your home weigh heavily on you. Slight sounds make you jump in fear, and all of a sudden you start to breath heavily. You can't be in here, not alone.
You stumble out of the room, practically falling into the hallway. The dim glow of the nightlight casts long shadows, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. Determined, you make your way to Simon's door and knock softly.
The door opens, and Simon appears, concern etched on his face. "Everythin' alright, love?"
You can barely form the words, your voice barely a whisper. "Can't stay in there alone."
Without hesitation, Simon opens the door wider, gesturing for you to enter. His room is dark, all lights off. You step inside his room, tugging your hoodie tighter around your body. You settle onto the edge of his bed, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to ward off the residual fear.
Simon shuts and locks the door behind him, plunging you both into darkness, save for the slight shine of the moon pouring through between a crack in his curtains.
Simon stands in front of you, looking down with a mix of empathy and concern in his eyes. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need. I don't mind."
"Thank you," you manage to say, the vulnerability in your voice more pronounced in the darkness of the room.
Simon hesitates for a moment before flicking on a small bedside lamp. The soft light casts a warm glow across the room, revealing a space that's both lived-in and comforting. You feel a bit more at ease.
He pulls a chair from his desk and sits across from you, leaving a respectful distance. The silence between you is filled with unspoken words, the weight of the night's events hanging in the air. Simon's gaze is unwavering, and you find solace in the fact that he understands what you need without the need for words.
As the minutes tick by, the atmosphere in the room becomes less tense. Simon breaks the silence, his voice a gentle murmur. "I don't want you to go through this alone. You deserve to feel safe, love."
You manage a weak smile, touched by his sincerity. "Thank you, Simon. You really don't have to be doing all of this for me--"
"Don't say that, I want to," he cuts you off gruffly, offended as if you would even suggest that you weren't worthy enough of his care.
His response hangs in the air, and you notice a flicker of something in Simon's eyes—a hint of frustration or something deeper. The unspoken tension lingers, causing you to shift slightly.
"I just... I don't want you to feel unsafe," Simon adds, his voice softer this time. He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, his gaze fixed on yours. "Or alone. Fuckin' hell, if you hadn't been able to get out of there..."
He stops, jaw ticking as he thinks. He can't even say it.
The room feels charged with unspoken emotions, and you sense a vulnerability in Simon that mirrors your own.
"Simon," you say softly, your voice a gentle reassurance, "I feel safe with you."
"I've... 've cared about you for a long time, maybe more than I should," Simon admits, his words hanging in the air like a fragile confession.
The vulnerability in his admission tugs at your heart, and you find yourself pushing yourself up off the edge of the bed, cupping his face in your hands.
"I've cared about you too," you confess, the weight of the unspoken finally lifted.
He looks up, meeting your eyes with a mixture of relief and adoration. Simon's hand reaches up to grasp your wrist lightly, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand, his eyes searching yours for confirmation.
"I never want you to feel unsafe or alone again. I can't stand the thought of somethin' happenin' t' you."
Your heart swells at the sincerity of his words, and you lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.
The conversation lulls, and for a moment, it's just the two of you in the sanctuary of Simon's bedroom. The emotional exhaustion begins to take its toll, and your eyes grow heavy.
He stands from his chair, grasping your upper arms gently, leading you towards his bed once again. Before he sits you down, he looks at you expectantly.
"Is this what you want?"
"Yes," you nod, "I've never wanted anything more."
With your permission, he lays you down on his bed, following you into the bed with a contained eagerness. He drags you up until you're settled on a pillow. Simon slides into the mattress right next to you, pulling the covers up and over the both of you. You turn on your side to face him, eyes searching his face just before he turns off the lamp, plunging you both into darkness.
Simon's hand brushes against your forearm, seeking permission yet again. You scoot over until you're flush against him, cheeks heating up at the proximity. You feel Simon's warm presence beside you, his hand finding its place on your waist before he pulls you up against him, cuddling you. Simon's fingers trace patterns on your back, a soothing motion that pulls you deeper into relaxation.
"Get some rest. I'll be right here if you need anything, love," Simon whispers, playing with the ends of your hair.
"Thank you," you whisper into the darkness, your voice barely audible but carrying a depth of gratitude.
He tightens his grip on your waist, a silent affirmation that he's here for you, that you're not alone. The warmth of his touch and the gentle rise and fall of his breath provide a sense of security that eases the lingering tension in your body.
. . .
The morning light begins to seep through the curtains, casting a soft glow in Simon's room. As you slowly awaken, the events of the previous night come back to you in fragments. You turn slightly to find Simon still asleep beside you, his features softened by the morning light. His arm is draped protectively over you, and a sense of peace settles in the room. For a moment, you simply revel in the quiet stillness, savoring the moment.
As Simon begins to stir, his eyes meet yours, and a sleepy smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Mornin’," he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep.
"Morning," you reply, a small smile playing on your lips. The air in the room feels different, more relaxed.
Simon props himself up on one elbow, his gaze searching yours. "How are you feeling?"
"Better than I thought I would," you admit, a genuine warmth in your voice. "Still kinda freaked out that people broke in to my apartment, but better."
He nods thoughtfully. "We should probably get up, check in with the police," Simon suggests, but there's a reluctance in his eyes to let go of the warmth of the bed.
You cuddle against him once more, hugging him tightly. His arm comes to wrap around your back, hand splayed across your skin.
"Yeah, we should," you say, pulling away gently as you push yourself out of bed.
"We're goin' together," he tells you. "And I will be installing a new security system in your apartment."
You manage a small smile. "I don't think you understand how much I appreciate you for this."
He sighs as he leads you to his small kitchen. "You never have to thank me for anything, love."
Before you can retort, he turns to you. "Let's get some breakfast in ya. How do you like your eggs?"
#*ੈ✩ simon “ghost” riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#cod#call of duty reader insert#call of duty#ghost#simon “ghost” riley#fluff#ghost x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley imagine#ghost imagine#hyperactivelyme
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Hiii!! ummm… could u write sth fluffy for Simon w/ his pregnant wife pls it's ok if u can't love your stuff btw❤️
i don't even like babies but i'd give this man everything 😮💨😵💫😵💫 he's so fucking fine 😭
hope you enjoy babe <33 it's rushed i know 😭
"no. absolutely not. you set that down right now" before you could even breathe, you heard the stern command of your husband right behind you. it was in the same voice he used when he spoke to johnny or gaz, telling them to behave and stop messing about or to the recruits that joined. either way, it was a voice primarily used by ghost. not by simon who was your dearest husband
"si... i can handle this" you sigh, raising a brow as you turn around. he has that frown on his face, creasing his forehead while his lips were set in a straight line. it would've been adorable and had you not been a little annoyed, you might've marvelled at how beautiful simon looked even when he was annoyed
"you're eight months pregnant. the only lifting you need to be doing is taking your arse from the sofa to bed" he swooped in and took the box from you, holding it in his hands as he chuckles softly. he gave you a sweet kiss to your lips, nuzzling your cheek a little
"m'sorry love but you know how i feel about you bending and lifting anythin'. you'll hurt yourself or the baby. i couldn't bear that" he grimaced slightly, shaking his head to rid the thought of any injury to you. your unimpressed face brings a soft chuckle to his lips as he sets down the box on the side, wrapping his arms around your waist as he caressed your swollen belly. his chin rested on your shoulder as he took in how far along you were. and how beautiful this was, the greatest gift you could've ever given him.
he knows the strain this pregnancy is having on your body and every single pain you experience makes his heart ache because he can't get rid of it for you. even with his support and assistance and help, your pains still make him feel so guilty for being the one to do this to you even if you both wanted it. he's a little more clingy during the last trimester of the pregnancy, he almost damn nears having a heart attack when you want to help and carry objects that are a pound heavier.
it's just in simon's nature to care deeply and it doesn't help all the parenting books he's read up on makes him that much more protective over you. still, he doesn't want to overwhelm you so he tries to hold back even if it nearly kills him in doing so.
"you look so goddamn beautiful, lovie" he hummed softly in your ear, his thumb stroking tender circles on your hip whilst he gently rocked you both side to side
"you're just saying that" a soft chuckle leaves your lips and he narrows his eyes a little, amused at your words
"you know i've never lied to you before and i don't intend startin that now. you're beautiful. you're so beautiful to me, baby" he spoke with nothing but pure sincerity in his voice, his dark brown eyes sparkling underneath the living room lights. they're just so expressive, you can't help but lean into him with pure love at how you could've scored such a perfect guy.
it's such a warm intimate moment shared between the two of you, his hand gently rubbing over your baby bump while he holds holds you close. his whole family in his arms <33
#asks#simon riley#call of duty modern warfare#cod mwii#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#ghost x reader#ghost x y/n#simon riley x reader fluff#dad!simon riley#dad!ghost#dad!simon riley x reader
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whiplash - e.m.
eddie munson x fem reader
warnings: teeny tiny violence, reader has a panic attack, eddie is the sweetest, eddie and reader are in college
a/n: this is absolutely inspired by my first experience being shoved into a mosh pit at an avenged sevenfold concert when i was a wee teen. i hope you enjoy xx.
also shout out to my love @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me with the title and some of the dialogue, and my bby @undead-supernova for beta reading for me. ILY BOTH SO MUCH 💕
hot, sweaty bodies were pressed against you at all angles, nearly suffocating you. at this point you couldn’t even see the band playing on the stage, a sea of taller bodies now blocking your view.
when your best friend asked you to attend a metallica concert with her you didn’t exactly know what to expect.
but this definitely wasn’t it.
the small venue was packed, the air filled with the smell of sweat, marijuana and cigarettes. your choice of a leather jacket felt incredibly stupid as it was now tied around your waist due to the growing heat surrounding you.
your palms felt clammy as they clutched onto the hem of your friend’s shirt. the constant moving of the crowd seems to pull her farther and farther away from you. until the swirling pit of metalheads swallowed you both whole, losing sight of her head of blonde hair instantly.
your panicked shouts of her name were drowned out by the screech of an electric guitar— your body now being shoved around to the chants of ‘pounding out aggression.’ the song eerily fitting as you see a ringed fist connecting with another man’s jaw.
your heart is beating in your ears, that familiar feeling of panic washing over you as you continue to be shoved around like a rag doll amongst the group of men. until you somehow landed on top of someone… who had been knocked to the ground moments before you.
before you have time to react a large hand quickly wraps around your forearm, yanking you up and out of the dizzying circle of death. you all but let the stranger carry you through the crowd. the male shoving past throngs of people until you’ve safely reached the back of the bar.
you barely register his voice as you lean against the brick wall, chest rising and falling at an embarrassingly fast rate. your eyes squeeze shut as you attempt to get your breathing under control. those same hands that pulled you out now resting carefully on your shoulders, helping to ground you.
“hey sweetheart, you alright?”
his face finally comes into focus as you blink your eyes open, your heart now beating against your ribs for a completely different reason.
he was painstakingly gorgeous, full lips lifting up into a soft, dimpled smile. “there she is— hey man can i get some water?”
he slaps his hand on the bar top, the clear liquid sloshing out as a glass is slid over to him. his chunky rings clinking against the side as he grips it, now holding it up to your lips. “it’ll help, trust me.” you gladly take the glass from him, gulping down the lukewarm tap water.
“thank you…” you mumble, setting the now empty glass back on the bar and wiping the corners of your mouth. mentally forcing yourself to stay put, despite the bigger part of you wanting to run out of the bar from sheer embarrassment.
“are you here by yourself?” he asks, as you shake your head in reply before resting it against the brick wall behind you. the brunette seems to be studying you as you take in some slow but shaky deep breaths. letting yourself do the same as your heart begins to return to a normal rhythm.
even in the muted light you can see his dark curls were damp with perspiration, bangs sticking to his forehead. no doubt from being in the middle of that pit for quite a while. his cut off band tee showing off an extensive collection of tattoos. that soft smile morphs into a small smirk, as you realize you’ve been gawking at him.
calming breaths long forgotten.
“you can g-go back out there… w-wouldn’t want to keep you from the show.” you fumble over your words, now finding the sticky floor and your beat up sneakers far more interesting than the gorgeous metalhead before you.
the male chuckles, casually resting his shoulder against the wall next to you. his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he leans closer, “not a chance sweetheart. until we find your friends, you’re stuck with me.”
you glance back up at him, surprise crossing your features. knowing most people would gladly leave you behind in the shadows, especially considering the band that’s owning the stage. that sentiment alone makes the butterflies raging your insides flutter even faster. the chaos of the crowd is now forgotten as he grins sweetly down at you.
“i’m eddie by the way.”
the music has seemingly gotten louder since the two of you left the crowd, now having to shout your name back in reply despite the lack of space between you. his smile only widens as you turn to face him fully, crossing your arms over your chest. “and what is a fair maiden like yourself doing in a place like this?”
you can’t stop the giggle from leaving your lips as he gestures dramatically around the dingy bar before his dark eyes are back on you. “oh no reason at all… just needed a study break.” he can tell from the ride the lightning t-shirt adorning your frame that you’re teasing him, but he plays along anyway.
“so you stumble into a random metal concert, only to get caught in a circle of death? that’s quite the break sweetheart.” he nudges your foot with his own, earning another giggle from you. “something like that, yeah.”
he hums in response, running a hand through his unruly curls. “duly noted— i’ll have to take study breaks like that more often,” the two of you quickly fall into easy conversation, no longer paying attention to the concert goers surrounding you.
despite having only met him less than half an hour ago, you both seem quite comfortable with each other. any embarrassment from your small panic attack now a fleeting memory as he tosses his head back with laughter. the sound warming you from the inside, out.
“gotta say i’m a little shocked, first show and you’re already hitting the pits like a pro.” he jokes, leaning in a little closer to you. the scent of his spicy cologne washes over you, making your head spin, “practically took that guy out by sitting on him.”
you groan in embarrassment, playfully shoving his shoulder as he laughs again.
“i’ll have you know i’m quite fond of the music… just not the…” you gesture towards the sea of bodies that are jumping, shoving and headbanging to for whom the bell tolls. “moshing?” he finishes for you, as you nod sheepishly.
before he has a chance to say anything else, a loud squeal fills your ears as a body slams into you at full force. nearly knocking you over in the process, “there you are babes! i’ve been looking for you everywhere!”
earlier you would’ve been relieved to hear your best friend’s voice, but now you can’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. hoping your emotions aren’t written across your face, but she doesn’t seem to notice. she’s a little too preoccupied with staring at the male leaning next to you.
“now who is this?” her tone is overly playful, wiggling her eyebrows at you suggestively. before she can embarrass you further, you elbow her in the ribs. effectively stopping anything else from leaving her mouth besides a little huff.
“eddie munson, certified mosh pit rescuer at your service ladies.”
he does a little half bow, causing both of you to break into a fit of giggles. “wow… a modern day knight in shining armor huh?” she teases but seems impressed nonetheless, “wish i had a hot guy to pull me out of there, i basically had to army crawl my way out.”
even in the shitty bar lighting you can see his cheeks are tinted pink from her compliment, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “it was nothing really, just happy to help.” he shrugs before pushing himself off the wall, sliding his hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans.
“modest too? where did you find him?” she gushes, gently bumping her hip into yours. “and does he have a brother?” she whispers that part to you, ignoring the way you roll your eyes at her.
“well i see you’re in good hands now sweetheart, i hope you enjoy the rest of the show.” as he turns to leave you feel your friend shove you forward, giving you a look that screams, ‘are you insane? don’t let him get away!’
“eddie wait!” you shout, gently tugging on the male’s wrist before he gets too far. that dimple making another appearance as he turns back to you, “miss me already?” eddie teases, fully enjoying the flustered look that crosses your features.
“i uh, i-i’d really like to thank my knight in shining armor properly… maybe over coffee?” you nervously chew on your lower lip, praying that you didn’t read this entire interaction wrong.
but seeing his face light up squashes any doubt, watching as he grabs a pen off the bar. holding the cap between his teeth as he takes your hand, scribbling his phone number onto your palm with a satisfied grin.
“looking forward to it sweetheart.”
he mumbles, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand before disappearing into the rowdy crowd.
tagging some moots who seemed interested 💛
@babygorewhore @hellfirenacht @thepurplelovewitch @impmunson @voyeurmunson @madelynraemunson @take-everything-you-can @corrodedcorpses @serasvictoria @munsonhoneybaby @splendiferous-bitch @eddiesxangel @taintedcigs
all dividers made by yours truly 💕
#the freak writes 🫧#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson meet cute#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson one shot#eddie munson fic
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Daisy
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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader
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Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.
But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...
[Minor violence, Non-consensual choking]
🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼
Chapter 2 "The Proposition"
You wanted to say something desperately, but your mouth came dry and empty and you promptly closed it to avoid any stray specs of sand. Your neck ached from having to keep it so profoundly craned just to hold eye contact and avoid the gun from pressing against your Adam’s apple.
His boots sunk in the dune as he juggled his weight tantalizingly, prowling in front of you and looking like he was ready to pounce. He was staring at you like you weren’t even human and it made sense because he didn’t look like one. The sun scratched at your exposed shoulders and upper back, hair pooled over your face and breasts and no longer acting as a shield for your delicate skin. It hurt, it burned, your flesh felt like it was cooking on a barbeque rack, but there was nothing you could do except take it like a champ and worry about it later.
This was not how you imagined the world above to be… You never thought you’d be attacked by giant roaches or chased by deranged criminals smelling of shameless cannibalism or held at gunpoint by the man…thing, that saved your life. You never imagined it was this bad up here, so desolate and askew, everything was old, rusted, worn, and crumbling and you had half the mind to just go back and let the raiders kill you and make their threats a reality of making you into human jerky.
The gun tapping incessantly against your cheek failed to pull you out of the depths of your spinning thoughts. But when it was forcibly pressed against the center of your forehead, nearly knocking you back on your arse, you stiffened with a gasp.
Your hero was becoming impatient.
“Never seen a ghoul before, darlin’?” he asks with somewhat of a frown, his agitation brewing with your silent treatment and mindblown stare. He pranced around you, circling your kneeling, hunched-over form as you tried following his movements with doubtful eyes and a racing heart. “You been livin’ under a fucking rock?”
His gun was cocked and ready to fire, a steady forefinger resting over the trigger in case you decided to be stupid and try to run or lunge at him. He scoffed at the idea but kept his guard up just in case. After so many years of roaming, he’d seen just about everything, he wasn’t risking it no matter how defenseless you appeared at first glance.
“N-No…No, sir. Never seen a…ghoul. Before.” you forced the words out, fearing his wrath, and clung to your sides as your hands kneaded through the soft material of your dress. Your head lowered obediently, lashes shielding your darting irises as they read his every movement. “A rock? No, I – “
It took him a single spin to notice the Pip-boy slapped over your wrist and his eyes hardened. He stopped by your side, towering over you, and ripped your arm away, clutching it in his hand with a roughness you’d never experienced before. You winced as he leaned over to inspect the device and grimaced with a twitching upper lip.
“ – A vault dweller…” he spat and his gloved fingers dug into your flesh. He ignored your whiney noise of protest, jostling you into silence before shooting a flesh-searing glare right into your soul. “You a vaulty?”
“What? I – No! Yes. Wait – ” you stammered when he dug a knee into the sand and let your arm go before gathering a handful of hair on the back of your head and forcing your neck back to make you look at him. He was…menacing, practically bolting you to the ground with a single glare. “Wait! Please, wait. Please! I – ” your hands shot up to grip his wrist, trembling and useless as you pleaded. He dug the gun under your chin, preventing you from swallowing. “Please, I did. I lived in a vault, but I don’t know anything! Please, please, I promise. Don’t – “ your eyes frantically shot down at where the barrel sunk into your skin, teeth chattering as your lashes heavied with tears.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?!” he snarled, leaning so close that if he had a nose it would have bumped into yours. His breath stank of spirit and you tried to recoil but were promptly jerked back into place.
It didn’t click in your brain what had upset him so. The vaults were created to preserve humanity and its antics from before the bombs, it was for the betterment of the future. It was so that his children could eventually live better lives after you finally left the sanctuary of the underground and restored order to the surface, or so you’ve read. It made no sense for him to hate you based on a stupid Pip-boy that wasn’t even yours, you’d done nothing to him, you didn’t even know him! How could he be so nonchalantly cruel? How could he touch you without your consent? What gave him the right!?
The firearm digging into your flesh told you what.
“I was sick!” you wail, fighting back your tears and a pitiful stutter from poisoning your reply. His grip on your hair tightened and you twitched in pain, shaking like a leaf beneath him and clutching at his wrist in a silent plea to let you go. “I was isolated. I didn’t know anyone but my mom and dad, I didn’t do anything. I don’t know!” you debated for your life, prolonging his spine-chilling intentions. Bargaining with the devil was a difficult task when your body and mind worked against you, all blabbering words and choppy thoughts and jittery limbs. “The vault was taken over and I ran and I don’t know anything about the people and I just – Please…My parents are dead…Please, mister, please don’t shoot…” you beg through sobs and a sniffling nose, tugging at his iron grip to no avail.
With a grunt and a flexing jaw, he threw you back, treating you with disregard equal to tossing out a piece of garbage, releasing you to curl up protectively over yourself, and standing. His gun clicked and he secured it back in the holster on his hip.
You instinctively rub at the tender area on the back of your head with a dissatisfied plaint, locking your thighs to obscure your exposed privates. Propped up on one hand and with a shaken look, you watched him spit and turn, his expression solid and distasteful and beating down on you for no reason that you could comprehend. Your breaths begin to event out and you swallow with a shuddering hum.
He turned away, drawing distance between you with stiff steps, fighting his resolve as his hand itched to draw his weapon and just shoot you on the spot.
But he couldn’t…
You weren’t worth the bullet, he repeated that bitter sentence under his breath to convince himself that he hesitated and withdrew simply because you were a waste of ammunition. It wasn’t your doe-eyed stare and too-soft-for-this-world skin that felt like silk when your tiny fingers had lingered under the edge of his sleeve. It wasn’t your delicate, shiny hair that looked like it would tear under his hold or the thick, heavy lashes that framed your eyes and held your tears that shone like diamonds in the sunlight. It definitely wasn’t that tiny dress that hugged your little frame and would make any goon go rabid from just a glance. You were no wastelander, didn’t look like any vault dweller who had crossed his path, you were too soft even for the life before the bombs. He didn’t know what you were, but you weren’t worth the cogitation.
You weren’t worth the bullet. You weren’t worth anything. You were nothing.
You were –
“ – Wait!” you hurry to rise and stumble after him. Despite his demeanor, he was the only thing that hadn’t tried to kill you on sight, and without anything or anyone else around, you had mentally latched onto him as your hero. “Mister, wait! You can’t just – “
He raised his weapon and pointed it at you faster than you could blink. Your hands shot up to shield your face and you shrunk in submission, rapidly blinking and with a hesitant look.
“Come closer.” he barks and cocks his gun, arm extended and eerily steady. “See what happens.”
“I – You can’t just leave me here!“ you protest, mustering what confidence you could, scraping at the bottom of a barrel that was emptied the moment you had set foot outside the vault. You straighten when no bullets come and your palms curl into fists, stomping a foot for emphasis. “That’s not right. You can’t just ditch me.”
“Watch me, princess.” he chuckled, sneered, and bared his yellowish teeth at you like a dog. He gestured with the gun in dismissal and rested his free hand on his hip after flinging his coat back. “Now get!”
“I don’t know where to get.” you whine and curl your fingers in air quotes in a brash display, pushing your luck and mocking his conceit because you were so desperate you took your chances. “I don’t even know where I am!”
He just snorts at you, unbothered and uncaring, and proceeds on his way with a flick of his wrist, refusing to entertain your tantrum any longer.
You didn’t understand how someone could turn down a person in need, it made no sense, the lack of compassion was incomprehensible and so…inhuman. How could a man be this purposefully ignorant of another’s struggle and choose not to do anything? You could never turn down a cry for help, not that you’d ever been faced with such a situation before, but you knew you wouldn’t. So what had this ghoul lived through to be so detached and devoid of sympathy? How much had he been hurt to abandon emotion entirely for the sake of a still mind and dreamless sleep?
What kind of world forced a man to abandon his humanity…
Fueled by frustration, you take a few steps after him, so hellbent on keeping the spotless image of your hero you had forced upon his shoulders that your rationality couldn’t break through your naivety. He couldn’t be this cruel after saving your life and not even bringing up the possibility of a reward. He had to have a soft spot somewhere, beneath the rags and the ruggedness and the hissy threats and brutish actions. He was still a person just like you even if the harshness of the surface had disfigured both his body and soul, you believed in him, you had to for your own preservation.
He heard you move, heard the rustling of fabric and the shuffling of sand, and snapped with a cornered animal.
“Oh I’ve had about enough of you!” he snarled and whirled around, covering the distance between you with three long, menacing strides. Your startled scream was cut short when he squeezed your neck and forced you down on your back like your resistance against him didn’t even exist. He caged you beneath his tights, keeping you in place as you clawed at his stone-firm grip and gasped apologies and pleas through labored breaths. The gun knocked against the side of your forehead to stifle you into stilling. It clicked threateningly as he applied pressure to the trigger, sunken eyes staring down at you without any hesitation. “First rule of the wasteland, sweetheart.” he grumbled through gritted teeth and a stiff jaw, tightening his chokehold until your eyes rolled back and you burst into a fit of coughs. “Don’t trust nobody.”
Your mind raced fervently, battling against the lack of oxygen and trying to search for anything in your memory that could guarantee you even a chance at surviving his unrelenting assault. A sliver of hope as unconsciousness splotched the edges of your vision with viscous darkness. Your ears screeched as blood thrashed around in your head and face, bulging and boiling, trapped and unable to reach the rest of your writhing body. Your feet kicked and thrashed without results and no matter how deep your nails sank in his leathery skin he didn’t so much as flinch. Spit dribbled from the corner of your gaping mouth, the threat of the gun completely discarded due to suffocation and your lungs screamed and burned with the scarce air.
And he just watched you struggle with a solemn visage and jagged features.
“Say something! ANYTHING! THINK OF SOMETHING!!!”
“Water!” you croak and it was nearly unintelligible, but he understood.
“What?” he hisses and his grip on your throat slacks enough for you to finally suck in a full breath.
You gulp greedily at the dry, scorching air, groaning in octaves so low you couldn’t recognize your own voice. Supposedly having your neck nearly crushed like a rotten pencil did that to one’s vocal cords. You relax beneath him and hold onto his forearm for support as if he hadn’t been the cause of your near-death experience. You cling to him like a lost child and not his victim and it utterly baffles him. He tried to find a glimmer of hatred or disgust, anything that would deter him enough to just shoot you and get this overextended fiasco to an end, anything that would let him pull the fucking trigger. There’s nothing though, just desperation and confusion and fright and you had placed him as the only barrier between yourself and the rest of the world and even when he watched the life drain from you as you fought for breath you still didn’t even glare at him. You were just too pure, undefiled by the cruelty of the world you’d set off to venture and a tiny, once-dead part of him boiled at the incessant thought of you falling into the hands of a less kind man. What if someone else had found you first…
“There’s a storage safehouse. It was made for emergencies.” you gasp and clear your throat, pushing past the need to gag and looking up at him because you were taught that holding eye contact was a good thing when speaking about something of grave importance. He softened above you and leaned away and you took that as your cue to continue. “Those people, the ugh…the bad guys can’t get to it. It’s hidden and you need a Pip-boy to unlock it.” you gulp audibly and wince at the soreness before licking at your chapped lips and wiping the drool off your cheek. “It’s full of food and water…and stimpaks and bandages and…whatever you wish. You can take all of it just – ” a wave of trembles racked through you and you tried to suppress a whimper, but couldn’t. “ – Please, just help me get to it…I just want to go home, sir…”
“Thought you said you didn’t know anything, princess? You tryna lie to me now?” his chin dipped as he cocked his head to the side. His voice was flat, and his cold demeanor breaching through your dress and nipping at your insides until you were littered with goosebumps despite being pinned down in a desert in the middle of the day.
“I don’t…I’ve never been there – I was an archive keeper. I know everything in theory I just never knew the people except my parents…But I can find my way to it just by memory, I know where it is I just need to walk around a bit and – ”
“ – Stop yappin’.” he scolded, cutting your rant short before tucking away his gun.
He took a moment to mull over your words, still keeping you locked beneath him while you laid there like a corpse and prayed wordlessly as anticipation punched at your churning stomach. He rubbed at his chin, tongue twisting in his mouth as if he were tasting your proposition. His eyes dipped down to your scrawny form, done skimming over the barren desert sea and deciding this didn’t need much more contemplation. You got to go home and get off his back, he got supplies for a good few weeks, and a handful of raiders would end up dead. Simple. Easy. He could do that.
“Done deal.”
You nearly cried out in joy at his words.
Then he finally stood and gripped your upper arm before roughly pulling you to your feet and you nearly faceplanted in his chest at the force. He laughs as you flounder and fight not to trip, the baritone of his voice sending you spiraling into a pit of embarrassment and abashment because he was the first person you had ever properly met and you were making a fool of yourself. There was a feint, innocent need prickling at your heart, you wished you could’ve impressed him, and made a good first impression, but that had been thrown out the window in its entirety the moment he’d pointed a gun at you.
Now you were torn between needing him close because he was your only source of comfort and wanting to slap him because he was such a rude and foul man. Who even pointed a weapon at an unarmed woman?
He did…the bastard.
“Shoulda just started with the storage, missy.” he teases as if he’d not nearly killed you a few minutes ago, all lighthearted and smirking. He holds your arm until you’re stable enough to stand on your own and you’re grateful even if a bit abrasive. “Coulda saved us a whole lot of tusslin’.”
“I would have, sir, but you – “
“ – Sssst!” he susses you like one would a mischievous cat and your lips are sealed in an instant. Then he nudged his head forward and readjusted the collar of his coat after releasing you. “Walk.”
Deciding you’ve run your luck dry for the day, you let go of a snarky remark hanging on the tip of your tongue and do as instructed, trudging through the dunes as the familiar sting returns to the bare soles of your feet. Now, however, you had a nasty gash on your ankle to boot and it didn’t help that it was slowly getting covered by specs of sand that rubbed excruciatingly against your exposed flesh.
God damn those roaches, they were a menace when they were tiny! Now? You mouthed at the recollection.
You bite your tongue to keep from whining when the hurt becomes too unbearable, the rest of the time you were heaving with an open mouth as the idea of licking at your sweat for some sort of thirst relief grew. You’d not known thirst until today, it was worse than any needle or medical practice your father had used on you, you couldn’t even swallow properly, the motion happened automatically and you cringed at the stickiness of your dried-up throat.
It was too hot and you were woefully unprepared to deal with it or any of the other discomforts tugging your nerves thin. It bothered you how unphased he seemed by the harsh weather, one glance at him told you he hadn’t even broken a sweat. He was covered from head to toe in heavy clothes and strode with confidence and ease as if he were taking a walk through a park. You shrug without realizing it, too sunken into your head. Maybe he doesn’t have sweat glands anymore.
The sun was finally moving, sinking to the west and casting dramatic shadows over the desert. As his shadow grew, you found sanctuary in it from the still-sizzling rays and sighed in relief. It was a tiny drop of comfort, but it was enough to ease some of your strain. The muscles in your thighs were numb from overexertion for the first time in your life and you dreaded the cramps you’d have to deal with later on. The skin on your feet was smooth as butter from the intense exfoliation of walking through sand for so long, that was an interesting little fact you’d never heard of before. Dead skin cells could be removed by rubbing coarse surfaces over the body. Dope.
Locking yourself in the sanctity of your head and isolating your surroundings, you were numb and blind to how your legs shook. It wasn’t until you collapsed and tasted brittle little specs on your tongue that you realized you were lying down.
The ghoul paused and turned to look at you over his shoulder with profane boredom.
“Didn’t tell you to stop, princess.”
“Mm…My legs don’t work.” you state before even realizing the cruciality of that bit of information. Your eyes pop open and the exhausted expression vanishes in an instant, you prop up on your elbows and stare back at the limp limbs. Panic ensues, pumping through you like a drug as a dry sob punctures your chest. “My legs don’t…My legs!”
“What in the hell!”
He’s on you in an instant, bent over and pushing at your shoulder until you roll on your back, the spaces where his eyebrows should be are locked together and he shushes your cries with a curt noise, but you’re too stressed to acknowledge it. There are no more tears left, your nose can’t even fill with snot from dehydration, and you end up a mess of ragged sobs and loud wails as you paw at your legs to wake them up. You double over and clutch at your upset stomach with a shaky hand as your teeth grit in dread.
If he hadn’t left you behind yet, he would now…
And you couldn’t even debate him on it this time, you wouldn’t even be able to stalk him if he tried.
“I can’t move them…” you hiccup. You manage to wiggle your toes but lifting your foot or bending a knee just doesn’t register, instead, you get a few twitches from the spent muscles and nothing else. The worst scenario plagues your sanity and you look to the ghoul for guidance because there is no one else. “What if – ”
“ – Shut the hell up!” he scolds and shoots you a brief glare before averting his eyes down as he cups a large gloved palm in the junction of your knee before lifting your thigh in uncharacteristically gentle examination. His thumb dips in your supple flesh, rubbing in circles, searching for something to hint him in on what the issue was, the concentration evident on his distinct features. Your cries die down to whimpers as he juts a finger against your lips. “You – “ he sighs and after a handsy inspection of your other leg, covers his eyes with his hand and presses down on his eyelids as the urge to hold you in another chokehold resurfaces. “ – You’re just fucking tired, you smooth-skinned little – ” he huffs and halts the slew of curses less you start crying even harder.
You don’t have time to react when he grips your sides and lifts you in the air before tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of tatoes. You wretch when his shoulder digs into your stomach and cough it off with arms flailing. Shaky hands clutch at the back of his coat as he secures one arm around your bare thighs and begins walking as if he’s not carrying another full-grown adult.
“Throw up on me and I will fucking blow your head off.”
He understood your sheltered way of thinking, but this was fucking unheard of. A newborn probably had more stamina than you, more strength too if your display of power earlier while he had you pinned down was the brink of your ability. You were so fragile it was annoying, you wouldn’t last a day out here, would’ve ended up as radroach food if he hadn’t stepped in. You were scrawnier than most people he’d seen and he’d seen plenty, and those who were smaller were on the brink of death from starvation. Who the hell went out in the wasteland unarmed?!
You did…fucking idiot.
“Thank you.” you mumble and audibly exhale, despite his threat, closing your eyes at his scarce kindness and smiling through bitten-down lips to cease your sobbing. You tried ignoring the fact that your butt was a few inches away from his face or that his hat grazed against your side with every step he took. Such bashful thoughts had no right to take up space in your head, but then again, he was your first friend and just having him around shot bolts of excitement through you.
Sure, he was a bit…rough around the edges. But he had saved you and he was carrying you back home. And he was a surface dweller who’d probably never known the comforts of the vaults so you couldn’t hold him accountable for being aggressive. Well, you could, and technically should, but you knew better than to bite the hand that feeds you.
“Don’t thank me, princess.” he snorts and pats your thigh in feign caringness. “You owe me supplies. I ain’t gonna let you cheat me outta that.”
“There’s a few of them, though…the criminals, I mean.” you mused over what to call them while chewing on your bottom lip, hanging off the shoulder of a ghoul in a thin sundress, carried through a desert, like it was just a normal day.
They had looked more like bandits, but what else were you supposed to label them as? The judgment system was a thing of the past, so what were these people considered now? Outlaws? You continue with a pang of concern, fearing for the safety of your rugged savior, too attached to the idea of companionship and just sick of seeing violence. You’d had enough for one day.
“Are you sure you can handle them? They didn’t seem very friendly.”
“First off, they’re called raiders. Everyone ‘round here’s a criminal now.” he laughed, tipping his head back and you feel the raspy chortle swell your chest.
You liked him happy, he was almost charming this way. Or maybe it was a “Rescue Romance” you were experiencing and the ghoul was just a crusty weird man who had saved you without considering what a pest you might turn out to be. You’d try to find that one psychology book and re-read it once you got back home just to make sure.
“Stop swooning!”
“Second, it’s my job. I’m a bounty hunter, sweetheart. I kill people for a livin’.” he tilted his hollow nose to the side, addressing you properly as he spoke, and if you’d seen the gesture you would have appreciated it.
“Oh,…a bounty hunter? Like in the Old West then! I’ve read so much about that!” you squeak and perk up, wiggling in excitement as your face beams. Your calf twitched as some feeling returned to your limp legs and it only added to your brightened mood. Now you could actually feel the cool texture of his coat gliding against your skin.
You didn’t see his features grim or how his hat tipped to obscure sunken eyes and hide the brisk vulnerability swirling in them or the flash of regret, the pain, the little piece of humanity he didn’t even know he still had. His grip on your thigh tightened and you strayed to one side and glanced at the back of his head in question, expecting him to be more boastful about his job. Instead, he was mournfully silent and you feared you’d said something wrong, reopened an old would accidentally.
“Just like the Old West, yeah.” he nodded with a low grunt and you frowned. The words slip past his teeth with such dreadful familiarity that you can’t help the curiosity that would no doubt be your downfall one day. You press a tender palm between his shoulder blades, more for your sake rather than his, and pray he didn’t change his mind to drop you and leave.
You doubted books were a common luxury in this crumbling world, you also doubted the ghoul was a man of knowledge, he didn’t look like the type to read. Maybe there were still movie cassettes and TVs in good enough shape to be used and that’s how he learned of the old cowboy history. As slim as those possibilities were, they made more sense than him being alive before the apocalypse and still walking the earth in the present time. His distorted appearance didn’t give you any indicators of his age, so trying to guess was out of the question, but even then the war was over two hundred years ago. He couldn’t possibly…
Maybe you were simply overthinking, but the way he’d said it sounded like he’d lived through it and the longer you pondered over that the sharper your awareness became.
“How long do ghouls live, mister?” you ask, uncertain of what he’d answer, but holding onto your speculations until he did.
“That the vault?” he shoots back, coming to a halt and straightening and completely sweeping away your inquiry.
It was a good enough answer and despite your gnawing curiosity, you decided not to press the matter further because you didn’t know how far his courtesy extended before he had his gun pressed to your temple again.
You hadn’t even noticed how much ground he’d covered with you slumped over him, everything around you looked the same and with fatigue fogging your lapse of time it wasn’t surprising. He was built for endurance or…mutated for it. What exactly was a ghoul, anyway?
You coil around him like a snake and he holds you secure as you clutch at his shoulder and turn until you can see what he sees.
The distinct metal of the vault door glinted in the dying sunlight, mostly concealed by debris and toppled over stone blocks.
Everything around you was bathed in warm hues of maroon and deep orange and for just a moment the world felt so peaceful. The sun had almost completely set, dipping behind golden dunes, the breeze hollered a deft, haunted tune and there was no noise besides you and the ghoul’s breaths. It was all so beautiful you wanted to cry, your eyes dampened as you soaked in the sight with a slack jaw. The magic of a sunset was so foreign it hadn’t even registered until you’d been made to look around instead of troubling yourself with the bounty hunter’s backstory.
How could something be so impossibly mesmerizing?
“Yeah…” you manage to answer, at a loss for words, yet still conscious of the question and your friend’s proven lack of patience. “Yeah, that’s it.”
He plops you down unceremonially without even asking you if your legs were back in order before grabbing your arm and dragging you along. You waddle after him like a duckling and clutch at his coat when your ankles intertwine and trip you in your stride. A startled noise escapes you, but you successfully manage to keep up with his hasty footing until he’s pulled you directly in front of the vault door, grumbling at your clumsy nature and lack of coordination. A few low curses are hung over your head but you don’t pay them any mind.
“Open it.” he demands and pushes you forward, then unclasps his gun and then another you hadn’t even noticed he had.
Whatever nonchalant demeanor you’d made him settle into was discarded for one so icy and sharp that you failed to understand how he just switched within a blink.
You straighten your dress with a huff, patting out the newly acquired wrinkles and trying to ignore the variety of stains. The Pip-boy is raised up as you maneuver around the plethora of menus.
The ghoul steps closer, stopping once he’s right behind you with a raised weapon and steady eyes glued to the entrance. The lid hisses and you recoil at the scratchy sound until you’re pressing back into him, he wraps an arm around you on instinct, then scowls and rips away as if burnt by a hot rod.
“Watch your step.” he hisses and points the guns at the entrance, treading cautiously, on high alert for any noise that echoes beyond the darkness. Once he’s glued to the vault door he beckons you with his hand and you quickly follow, feet pattering against the metallic floor until you’re closely pressed to his side and peeking from behind him.
It wasn’t scary when he was with you. You strangely didn’t fear the raiders lurking inside anymore, only worrying over the potential harm they might cause him. But he’d proven more than capable, you made yourself believe he’ll be just fine and so would you.
When nothing comes and he’s confident the threat lies further inside, he steps past the entrance.
“Stay behind me.” he makes a face at his statement, then glances back at you. “And don’t get in my way.”
Chapter 3 >>>
#the ghoul fanfic#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul x you#the ghoul#the ghoul fallout#x reader#cooper howard x you#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard#fallout tv series
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@steddieholidaydrabbles valentine's day prompt | read on ao3
tags: established relationship, fluff
“Wait, how is it possible that you’ve never had a Valentine’s Day date?” Eddie asks. “You literally dated Nancy for almost a year.”
Steve shrugs. “She was sick that week. I had something planned, but had to cancel. I brought her soup and stayed with her for a little while, but it wasn't really the date I had hoped for, you know?”
In the nine months he and Steve have been dating, Steve has gotten better about asking for what he wants, but he still gets weird about some things though. So Eddie knows he’s bringing this up a couple weeks before Valentine’s Day for a reason—that even though he can’t really say it, he wants to have Valentine’s Day plans with Eddie.
So Eddie starts planning.
His plan starts with breakfast in bed because he doesn't want to take away from whatever Steve’s got planned for dinner — he knows Steve will probably plan something romantic for that.
His suspicions about that are proven right when Steve not so casually asks at the beginning of the week if he has “dinner plans on Saturday” as if Eddie won’t remember that’s the 14th. He plays along and says he doesn't have any plans yet, watching as Steve tries to hide his small smile behind his hand. He’s so fucking cute.
On Valentine’s Day, Eddie wakes up earlier than he has since he graduated high school and makes his way over to Steve's with his supplies.
He lets himself into the house with the key Steve had given him a few months ago and gets to work quietly making breakfast.
He mixes the waffle mix before he puts a pot of coffee on, fiddling with the coffee machine that he’s only used a few times because Steve tends to wake up before him and already have it brewed.
He hums quietly to himself as he cooks the bacon and eggs, the waffles cooking away in the waffle iron.
When the food is done, he grabs the tray he brought with him and arranges flower petals around the plate. He turns to grab a coffee mug and nearly has a heart attack at the sight of Steve leaning against the archway leading into the kitchen.
“How long have you been standing there?” he asks, watching as Steve starts to walk forward towards him.
“A few minutes. I woke up and heard something and figured you must be down here,” Steve says, coming to a stop right in front of Eddie. He’s smiling softly and his eyes are fond and happy and Eddie gets lost in them for a moment before he remembers—
“Wait, no, go back to bed! This is supposed to be breakfast in bed!”
Steve brings a hand up to push Eddie's hair out of his face and cup his neck. He says, “Breakfast in bed is a really sweet idea, but I don't think I could handle the crumbs,” and Eddie groans.
He forgot how much of a stickler Steve is for not having food in his room. “I wanted to be romantic!” he whines, sticking his bottom lip out. Steve swoops in and kisses it softly.
“It was very romantic to wake up to the smell of coffee and come down here to see you singing and cooking me breakfast,” he says, thumb stroking over Eddie's cheek.
Eddie leans into the touch and says, “Go sit at the table and I’ll bring it to you. At least let me have that.”
Steve smiles wider and says, “Okay, love.”
Eddie pours them both a cup of coffee, adding sugar and cream to Steve's, repeating what he’s seen him do countless mornings, before he finishes plating the food.
He grabs the tray and his own plate and brings them to the dining room, setting the tray in front of Steve.
He’s about to go sit in the chair next to him when Steve pulls him into his lap.
Eddie laughs and turns in his lap so he’s sitting sideways and not blocking the food.
“You shaped the eggs like hearts,” Steve says, looking up at Eddie.
Eddie sets his plate down on the table and kisses Steve, soft and slow.
“I think this is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Steve says when he pulls back. His eyes are shining a little.
“You deserve romantic things,” Eddie says, kissing Steve's temple. “You deserve all the romantic things, in fact. I have a whole day of romantic things planned just for you.”
“The whole day?” Steve asks, surprised.
“What, did you think I’d feed you breakfast and then just leave you alone the rest of the day?” Eddie asks with a playful scoff. “We’re gonna eat breakfast and then we’re gonna watch the cheesy romantic comedy I rented. Then we’re gonna go to Lover’s Lake and have a picnic in the back of my van. Then we’ll come back here and I’ll let you have your way with me before you whisk me off to whatever dinner plans you made.”
Steve has the nerve to look caught out at that last bit. “You knew?” he asks, mouth pulled into a cringing smile.
“I know you, darling,” Eddie says, grinning at him. “You’re a romantic.”
“This is going to be the best Valentine’s Day ever, spending the entire day doing what you planned,” Steve says, nuzzling his nose against Eddie’s jaw. “But I hope you know I’m gonna woo you tonight. Sweep you off your feet.”
“Oh, are you now? How do you plan on doing that?” Eddie asks.
“It’s a surprise,” Steve says, voice teasing. He picks up his fork to start eating.
Eddie hums. “No thoughts about the having your way with me part of my plan?”
“Oh I have thoughts. Many, many thoughts,” Steve says, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Eddie's jaw. “I’ll try not to wear you out before dinner.”
Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m holding you to that, big boy.”
#steddie#stranger things#eddie munson#steve harrington#steddie ficlet#steddieholidaydrabbles#janai.doc
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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
「 ✦ logan howlett ✦ 」
╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all logan howlett stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3
╭┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈╮
➤ as it was by @ichorai
✗ you first met logan as weapon x, wiped clean of any memory of his past life. he had nearly killed you then. and now, almost two years later, he’s pressing kisses over the very same scars his adamantium claws had inflicted.
➤ blast from the past by @lune-hime
➤ a wolverines heartache by @imaginesforfandom
✗ On two separate occasions, both Y/N and Logan find jealousy within their friendship.
➤ feral by @angelltheninth
➤ worked up by @loganbcrnes
✗ logan breaks the bed
➤ anything by @woodolly
✗ Almost everyone fears Logan but Logan only fears you. His wife that happens to be pretty mad at him.
➤ @lilac-mushroom
✗ i need you baby
⑅ When you found out that mutants were being chased and attacked, you couldn't stand the thought of Logan, an old friend of yours, being hurt. Upon arrival at the place he was staying at, you found him beaten up and hurting, his healing powers slowed down. Deciding to take care of him, you couldn't ignore the closeness and strong sexual tension felt between you, just like old times. It wouldn't be bad to give in to it... right?
✗ above the clouds
⑅ Flying over to Atlanta for a mission with the X-Men, you sat next to Logan on the plane. But when his hand sneaked to caress the top of your thigh, you were faced with having to decide between sneaking off with him to the bathroom and leaving Logan painfully hard for rest of the flight. Maybe if you tried to be quiet...
➤ apologies by @jbreenr
⑅The Wolverine's presence in your life took a turn you did not expect.
➤ @buckylattes
✗ two wolves, one bunny
⑅ Logan and Bucky have had their eyes on you for a little bit now, and you can’t stand to wait any longer for them to finally make a move. So you make a move of your own and finally, you all get what you’ve been wanting.
✗ next door neighbor
⑅ Your next door neighbor, Logan, has been trying to get your attention for a while now, but he fears that he’s taken the whole situation the wrong way. Will you ever give him a chance?
✗ possessive
⑅ Logan is always very possessive of you, his girl, but you can’t really be mad at him even if you try.
➤ @buckyownsmylife
✗ untangle me
⑅ The one where once it becomes clear that Logan is your alpha, he’s the one left pining
✗ first burn
⑅ The one where Logan is so crazy to make sure that everyone knows you’re his, that he fucks you in front of everyone.
➤ prom by @loving-barnes
➤ touch me like nobody else does by @galatially
✗ you called and i came, the history between us too broad to ignore; when he showed up on your doorstep five years after he disappeared in the middle of the night, logan howlett decided to clear the air.
➤ in love with the wolverine by @ellana-ravenwood
➤ @hannibals-favourite-meal
✗ sunshine and flowers
⑅ Logan has had a great many loves in his long life and he’s over it. He doesn’t want to lose anyone else yet somehow, the annoying and very much younger art teacher at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, wormed her way into his heart.
✗ the way back home
⑅ After months of being apart from each other, he’s finally back in your arms
✗ worst possible decision
⑅How could Logan be stupid enough to fall for the little sister of an overprotective metal controlling mutant? As it turns out, very easily.
➤ body swap by @make-me-imagine
✗ reader and wolverine get body swapped, and the reader just so happened to be on their period when it happens + them having to deal with each others mutations.
➤ wolverine x reader by @carry-on-wayward-sun
➤ @wolfdeamonghoul
✗ it should have been me pt2
⑅ Bucky and you had a good relationship, until he felt like didn’t need you anymore and so he breaks up with you and starts dating Natasha soon after. It only takes seeing you walking down the aisle, saying your ‘i dos’ to someone else for him to realize his mistake.
✗ what a tease
⑅ you tease Logan too much that he begins to pleasure himself
✗ sexting
➤ @holylulusworld
✗ breed out
⑅ you woke the animal in wolverine.
✗ bed sharing
⑅ “Can you do ‘bed-sharing’ with Wolverine? He’s grumpy and you believe he doesn’t like you, but he can’t stop himself from sniffing at your neck and it can be smutty or just fluff. You decide.”
✗ cranky
⑅ Your boyfriend is cranky in the morning.
➤ @kgficz
✗ newbie
⑅ Logan had arrived at the X Mansion only a few days ago, finding it difficult to adjust. One night when he can’t fall asleep, he finds you awake in the kitchen and strikes up a conversation.
✗ back in time
⑅ Set in Days of Future Past; Logan has lost everything, he has lost you. He’s finally been sent back in time to change the future. How can he keep his head straight when he travels back and sees a younger you?
➤ logan training by @imyourbratzdoll
✗logan and the reader end up training in another... more fulfilling way.
➤ labels by @mlmxreader
✗ you and Logan discuss your relationship over a beer.
➤ the last goodbye by @trickstersteve
➤ just a dance by @lipstickandvibranium
✗ Logan wasn’t fond of parties, but he was fond of her.
➤ i guess you didn’t cheat, but… by @youreobsessedwithtoomanyfandoms
•MASTERLIST
•XMEN MASTERLIST
hopefully all links work, let me know if not <3
last updated april 16, 2024
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett smut#logan howlett fluff#logan howlett angst#logan howlett oneshot#wolverine#wolverine x reader#x-men#x men x reader#logan howlett imagine#wolverine imagine#logan x reader#james howlett x reader#james howlett#james howlett imagine
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you're not his. but he hopes that with this, you'll finally see how much he wants you.
content: the brothers give you their purest form of affection. what do they do?
warnings: if you don't like physical affection, this may not be for you (⇀‸↼‶)
part two with the sides here.
belphegor; he bites you.
he watches you flip through your homework, his gaze following your pen as you scribble across the page. it's not long before he decides he can't hold back anymore, and eventually makes his way over to you. he places his hands on your shoulders, letting you know he's there, before he nips lightly at the base of your neck.
"wha- belphie! what was that for?!" you cry out, your face beginning to flush.
belphegor smiles at you, his eyes soft yet mischievous. "figure it out yourself."
═ ˎˊ˗
beelzebub; he gives you bunny kisses.
after a hard fought fangol game, beelzebub can't help but look for you in the crowd. when he finally sees you, arms waving excitedly and all, he runs harder than he did the whole game. the demon slows to a stop in front of you, your grin inviting him closer. his hands move faster than he thinks, cupping your face as he leans in to rub his nose with yours. when he pulls back, his hands are replaced by a light blush.
"beel, you..."
beelzebub takes your hand in his. "let's go get something to eat."
═ ˎˊ˗
asmodeus; he pampers you.
a long day leaves you too tired to properly freshen up at the end of it. but asmodeus decides that if anyone gets to share his special beauty products, it's you. he tugs you into his private bathroom with the utmost care, handing you bottles of who knows what that he says will help you. when you've finished, asmodeus has you lay down on his bed, his hands slowly working the knots out of your back.
you release a relaxed sigh under his touch. "thanks, asmo," you murmur.
asmodeus delights in the way you start to melt. "anything for you, darling."
═ ˎˊ˗
satan; he touches foreheads with you.
the sight of you reading a book he recommended while sitting in his favourite chair was simply too much. he stares at you a while longer before he decides he's had enough. the blonde makes his way towards you, his lips pouting, but his eyes loving. he waits for you to look up at him, and when you do, he leans down, pressing his forehead onto yours. his eyes flutter shut, and he is internally thanking the stars that you haven't pulled away.
"are you okay?" you whisper ever so softly.
satan reaches to rub a thumb over your cheek. "i am now."
═ ˎˊ˗
leviathan; he links your arms together.
he spends at least fifteen minutes debating if he's allowed to even touch you. you're so close to him; if you were sitting any nearer, you'd be brushing elbows. was it so bad of him to want that? the game he's playing with you takes second priority for a brief second, causing leviathan to slip up and nearly die in game. when you look at him, concern written across your face, he can't stop himself. his arm snakes around yours, linking together.
"levi? you're okay with this?"
"i-if it's you... yeah. i think am," he stutters, trying to ignore the way you shift closer to him.
═ ˎˊ˗
mammon; he gives you a back hug.
when he comes home, the last thing he expects is to overhear you arguing with lucifer about him. but when mammon listens to you defending his name, he nearly breaks down then and there. he waits for you to leave lucifer's study, waits for you to pad down the hallway down to your room. when he finally catches a glimpse of you, he's throwing himself around you, arms wrapping your waist and his face burying into your hair.
"what's this about, mammon?"
"... nothin'." mammon sighs against your neck, his fingers tapping on your stomach one time, then four times, then three times. he hopes you'll understand.
═ ˎˊ˗
lucifer; he kisses you.
the eldest of seven nearly has a heart attack when he awakes on his bed. he remembers falling asleep at his desk, not his bed. lucifer snaps his head around and is greeted by you, sitting at the desk he thought he had never left. he barely registers the words that leave your mouth as he begins to walk towards you. for once, lucifer acts without thinking, and he finds himself gravitating towards you to place a gentle kiss on your lips. he practically shudders with joy when you return the sentiment.
"good morning," you say as you separate, breath fanning against his lips.
"good morning," lucifer returns, chasing you for one more kiss.
a/n: asmo is so hard to write for me... i'm sorry asmo fans. (also, should i do a part 2 for purgatory hall and royalty crew?)
#obey me#obey me swd#obey me nightbringer#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#lucifer x you#mammon x you#leviathan x you#satan x you#asmodeus x you#beelzebub x you#belphegor x you#aris writes 🐈⬛
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Can I please request a reader that has been so traumatised by what’s happened in the Scarabia book that they actively avoid the entire dorm and have Ace and Deuce as their guard dogs (I love those two and I really love how you wrote them as the readers protective besties during the Malleus break up fic). Like how would Kalim, Jamil and Adeuce react to that?
I find it really cathartic when I read fics that have the characters feeling guilty after what they put the reader through whilst the reader is getting support from their friends.
(Something I’m really salty about in twst is how no one ever holds the overblots accountable for what they’ve done. I full on agreed with Ace when he told Riddle that crying wasn’t going to erase all that he did before the overblot and I literally fell in love with him when he punched Riddle after he insulted us/Yuu/the player. I understand that those boys are traumatised and are in desperate need of therapy and overblotting was the only way for their problems to be solved but the treatment they inflicted on Yuu/us was downright hellish. Azul made us homeless and tore us away from the only family/comfort we had in twst (the ghosts) and then sent the tweels to terrorise us in our attempts to reclaim said home and free our friends from servitude; Jamil kidnapped us, hypnotised us, locked us up in a room against our will, isolated us from Adeuce and took away any contact we had with them, forced us on long marches in the dessert and turned a blind eye to our clear suffering during that time; Vil acted like a literal demon to not only us (and then almost made my Deucey cry) but everyone else as well and that was before he decided to try to murder an innocent teenager. Like why does no one understand just how much this can damage an actual child who has no magic and has been stripped from their home and family?)
Reader Terrified of Scarabia After Jamil’s Overblot
TW: PTSD; Mental Breakdown; Disassociation; Mentions of Abuse; Kalim and Jamil are tragic
Info: Ace, Deuce x Reader (platonic or romantic); Kalim, Grim x Reader (platonic); Jamil and Reader (neutral)
🍓I love requests like this tbh. My own OC sorta has her own grapplings with this stuff that I like to touch upon, and I’m excited I get the chance to talk about it here :) THIS IS LONG AS HELL BTW(like this intro here lol). I had a lot of fun writing it :))) I added a cute, shorter little grim part, because our little guy deserves more lovin’ than he gets. I also decided to do a cute little (read: long) intro, and then head cannons since you didn’t specify for either. I hope you enjoy this style, and I’m sorry for the wait <3
You had been through… a lot in your time at Night Raven College. Being thrown into a completely different world would’ve been enough, but it seems that the great seven thought you needed some extra troubles. You weren’t sure how you could’ve encored their wrath, but you were, and you were chugging along despite it all.
First was the attack from the phantom in the mines — something that should’ve been foreshadowing for what was to come. You didn’t even do anything to be in this position. It was Ace Grim and Deuce, but you got dragged into it all because you were “Grim’s keeper.” You managed to befriend Ace and Deuce though, so it wasn’t so bad.
Second was Riddle with his unending temper and strict rules. Despite everything telling you to just stay out of it, your good-natured heart just couldn’t stop you from helping Ace and Deuce. Nearly dying in the process, you managed to help Riddle and made newfound friends in Heartslabyul.
Third came Leona, the selfish, stuck-up, lazy no-good prince of the Savannah. You knew he was trouble from the start, and you wanted nothing to do with him or his little lackey Ruggie. Then he hurt Trey, and you couldn’t stand by while he reigned terror on the school. He was a favorable ally to gain in the end, so you could dismiss his actions so long as he kept in his lane.
Fourth was Azul, another student you figured would cause you trouble. With the extra scary Jade and Floyd always tailing him, and that too buttery sweet voice of his, you were determined to keep your distance. Again, however, your friends were in trouble and you couldn’t help but help them. Azul was a broken person, and you could sympathize with his struggles. He even gave you a job at the lounge to help with funding yourself, so he couldn’t be all that bad.
You’d come to dislike the other house wardens out of principle. A pattern had emerged among them, and you weren’t going to fall victim to another horrific overblot. You still had suction cup-shaped bruises on your arm from Azul’s breakdown. Leona had given you more than just a nasty burn from the scalding hot whirlwind of sand he conjured up. The scars Riddle left behind on your face and arms were healed, but they still ached when you touched them. All painful reminders that you could not truly trust anyone here, that anyone could lose control of themselves and hurt you. Yet…
When you met Jamil in the kitchen, he seemed so kind to both you and Grim. He seemed so genuine and honest. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was you missing your friends, but you wanted to trust him despite your gut feeling to be distrustful. Could everyone here really be that bad? Certainly not. Ace Deuce and Jack went here as well… so surely… surely…
The alarm bells didn’t ring at all during the dinner, and Kalim — despite everything you’ve been through — seemed so nice, if not a little overbearing. You could see the tiredness on Jamil's face, and you had the kindness in your heart to express your sympathies. And oh, Jamil so humbly assured you that he was fine. Filling your head with little half-truths and ideas that Kalim had been overworking not only him but the other students. That he had been acting “off” as of late.
You saw Kalim’s sudden shifts in personality. How he would be so sweet, so kind and soft. How he made sure you were enjoying yourself, made sure you ate to your heart's content, made sure you were comfortable in your uniform and your sleeping quarters. Then he would be yelling at everyone, demanding unspeakable exercises and work.
If Ace were there with you, he would’ve called bullshit. Still, you trusted Jamil to start. You actually believed he was kind and had good intentions. You believed that Kalim was the real evil here.
Then he wouldn’t let you and Grim leave, and the students were suddenly so aggressive toward you. He took everything you had and stripped you of your dignity and pride until there was nothing left but fight.
Truly, you didn’t realize it was him that was the issue until he was over-blotting in front of your eyes. It wasn’t an unusual sight to you at that point, you’d defeated multiple overblots and befriended these people. You don’t know what it was. The way you’d trusted him. The fact that you felt truly alone without Ace and Deuce. This one broke you…
You just didn’t feel a damn thing after he was saved. You felt no pity, no joy, no relief. Absolutely nothing, an empty void in your chest. Even as everyone around you celebrated, there was nothing. You stood watching everyone parade around with glee blankly, unable to speak to anyone around you. Just listening to the voices that had begun to mesh together.
You didn’t show anything until Ace and Deuce showed up. Something about their faces, the way they were looking over you, the way they seemed so scared for your wellbeing… it made you cry. It made you cry and cry and cry until you couldn’t make any noise and then you cried some more. They had to drag you away from everyone because you just couldn’t quite stand upright when Deuce would try to get you to walk away with him…
The days after were blurry. You remained holed up in your dorm, unable to really move from your bed. Ace and Deuce stayed in their own separate room next to yours. You could hear them talking through the walls about how worried they were about you, how angry they were at Jamil, how angry they were at themselves for not getting there in time to help you. If you’d had the energy, you would’ve scolded them for being so hard on themselves, but you could hardly speak in the first place.
They cared for you as best as they could. Deuce attempted to cook the recipes Trey sent him over magicam, making sure you ate and stayed hydrated. Occasionally you’d hear Azul downstairs, and Deuce would give you something nice from the Monstrolounge — free of charge, he promised. You could tell that he wasn’t sleeping much in his worry over you.
Grim remained at your side as loyal as a dog and boasting that he’d keep you safe, but you knew he was scared too. He proclaimed that he would keep you safe, but you could feel him trembling at every sudden noise. You had to comfort him from the horrific nightmares he was having. That was okay, though, he was family and you were his.
Ace was the only one who really kicked your ass into gear. He’d tug you out of bed and into the shower as people began to return from winter break. Made you go on walks around campus to show you that you were completely safe. Eventually, he’d been able to get you to visit Azul to thank him directly for his kindness. He wasn’t soft or gentle with you, that wasn’t in his character at all, but he made sure you felt safe enough to return to classes before they started.
They both worked hard to help you recover, but you were still so afraid…
Ace
-Ace isn’t exactly the most comforting person, and he never claimed to be.
-He’s not good at reassuring people, but he’s good at being honest, and if he was being honest he knew that you were safe around him and Deuce.
-He walks you to and from classes, spends most of his nights in your dorm doing whatever the hell you’d like him to do without complaint, distracts you when you’re freaking out, and most importantly keeps that snake as far away from you as possible.
-If he was being honest with himself, which was his whole thing, he didn’t really get your reaction to everything.
-You’ve all been through this before, it's textbook at this point. A guy does some shady shit, a guy gets caught doing said shady shit, a guy overblots, and you defeat a guy with the power of friendship. Boom. Done.
-He’d get it more if you were completely alone, but grim and the octanivelle freaks were there! Kalim too, and he’s always seemed pretty nice. Not the best company, sure, but still you had people helping you out.
-When he looks at your face and sees how tired you are, he forgets the logical stuff. All he can hear are those horrific sobs you let out when you saw him and how you nearly ripped his uniform in half with how tightly you were holding him and Deuce.
-If that was too much for him, he can’t imagine how badly it must’ve felt for you. How bad it must still feel.
-So screw what he thinks, he’s gotta make sure you’re taking care of yourself.
-He doesn’t ask you how you’re feeling, he knows it's not good. He focuses on keeping your mind off of everything that might trigger you.
-Reroutes your paths to classes to avoid Jamil and Kalim completely. Sure it’s longer and more annoying, but it's better than you going dead silent and shutting him and everyone else out again.
-He does everything in his power and you’re doing so well… and then the VDC happens.
-You’re given the title of manager and you’re forced to be around these people who terrify you.
-Vil won’t budge on anything and sevens Ace wishes Rook would let him try out a little target practice with the (illegal) bow and arrows he’s got in his room.
-He keeps himself between you and Jamil at all costs. He won’t let Jamil bother you at all, not that he was trying in the first place.
-The real issue is Kalim, which sounds crazy, but it’s true.
-Kalim is so… forceful. A pretty strong word, but honestly the only one Ace can think to use.
-He’s really nice, really sweet, seriously such a good guy… but you’re still unsettled by him.
-There are several times during practices that Ace has to yell at him to just leave you alone.
-Sure, it gets him a pretty big scolding from Vil, but he couldn’t care less honestly. He doesn’t wanna risk you having a panic attack because Vil doesn’t wanna be a responsible leader.
-You confide in Ace a lot. How you really want to move past all this, but Crowley won’t provide you with any form of therapy, and you’re just not ready to forgive Jamil or Kalim for what happened.
-He won’t tell you this, but hearing you talk like this breaks his heart.
-You’re normally so strong, so brave, so confident… and now you’re absolutely broken.
-He’s proud of you for putting on a brave face to placate Vil, but he’s angry you have to.
-Surprisingly, though, you do begin to warm up to Kalim. Just a little.
-It's only when Ace, Deuce, or Grim is around, but it's a really big step forward in his eyes.
-You’re getting back to where you used to be little by little.
-He still won’t give you or Jamil the chance to reconcile, but you honestly couldn’t be more grateful for that.
Deuce
-Deuce is incredibly different from Ace in how he handles everything.
-He’s a delinquent, sure, but he’s a Mama’s boy at heart. Therefore, he’s much more equipped to help you emotionally through all this than Ace.
-Where Ace is the harsh pushing force to keep you going, Deuce is the calm where you can rest and cry your heart out for as long as you need.
-As I mentioned, he makes sure you’re eating and drinking and at least speaking to someone.
-He asks Trey for recipes without leading on to what’s going on and asks Cater for advice on helping someone feel safe after a traumatic experience.
-It’s not subtle, but it helps.
-He handles making all your meals, even though he isn’t the best cook, he absolutely puts all his heart and soul into everything he makes.
-A good portion of his days are dedicated to cooking for you, and he gets pretty damn good at it by the time classes start up again!
-With Sam’s shop closed, he has to go into town to get the ingredients he needs, and then he has to spend hours preparing and serving the food.
-He watches you eat, encouraging you that everything is safe and that he made it all by himself by hand.
-He doesn’t question why things ended up this way for you, he wonders how can I help?
-And he does help, a lot, more than just with food.
-Sometimes, late at night, he hears you crying alone in your room. He gets up from his own bed, quietly enters your room, and holds you and grim while you both tremble in fear.
-It makes him so mad. Mad that this happened to you. Mad that Jamil did this in the first place. Mad that he couldn’t help more than he already is.
-Like Ace, he accompanies you to all your classes and makes sure to stay close to your side if any Scarabia students are around.
-He’ll go anywhere you need him to, and if you’re not comfortable being alone and he’s got plans, you’re invited to join him. No matter what anyone else thinks.
-Things get better little by little. You make strides in your ability to be independent again and you’re smiling and joking around like you used to. You even agreed to try out for the VDC with him and Ace… a big mistake.
-He didn’t expect to actually get in, let alone get in with Jamil and Kalim. If it were just that he could’ve been civil, but no, you had to be dragged in too… because that’s always how it works out.
-He has to hold himself from getting in Jamil’s face more than once because just him looking at you is enough to send you into a clear panic attack.
-Deuce does his best to comfort you between all of this, though. Being your shoulder to cry on and trying his best to be your protector… it's just hard. Hard to see you like that, and hard to keep his cool for your sake.
-It's worse with Kalim because both you and Deuce know he means well. You both know he wants to reconcile, but you’re not quite ready.
-Deuce helps the confrontation with the two feel a bit easier though. He acts as a mediator between you and Kalim, and eventually, he’s proud to say he helped you trust Kalim just a little bit.
-Jamil… both of you could use some work, but Deuce is more willing to hear you out on him than Ace is.
Grim
-Grim was there with you the whole time. He understands the fear you’re feeling deeper than anyone else.
-He could just tell something was wrong the second he saw your face. Despite all the celebrations, he was focused on making sure you were at least a little okay.
-He tried to talk to you, tried to make you feel okay, but the only comfort he could offer you was letting you hold him while you cried.
-He could still hear your cries, and they made him want to cry too. He almost did, but he was your guard cat — he had to be strong for you.
-Unlike Ace and Deuce, he never left your side. Not a second. He was there with you from the moment you were unwittingly kidnapped to the sleepless nights in your dorm to the horror of finding out you’d have to work closely with Jamil for the VDC.
-He made his distaste for him very known, sure to make a snarky comment at least once every time he saw him.
-It was so bad, at one point, that Vil had to give him a stern talking to. He didn’t stop regardless.
-You are Grim’s best friend, the only family he has, and Jamil hurt you in unspeakable ways. He couldn’t just sit back and be okay with that.
-He’s really such a good guy.
Kalim
-Kalim means well. With his whole heart, he has the best intentions… just not the best execution.
-See, he didn’t notice initially that anything was really wrong the whole time.
-He didn’t suspect Jamil at all. In fact, he thought that you were really enjoying your stay in Scarabia, you seemed so happy and chatty up until Jamil flipped things on their head.
-Call him air-headed, but he was caught up in his own whirlwind of emotions at the time. You know, the whole betrayal of his supposed best friend took a toll on him too.
-It wasn’t until you were sobbing your throat raw that he realized something was really wrong.
-The look of sheer terror on your face when you made eye contact with him sent shivers up his spine.
-He knew that look. He’d worn that look on his own face too many times as a young child.
-Believe it or not, without Jamil’s intervention, he knew to keep his distance. He knew he had to give you time to adjust.
-Then a few days turned into weeks and weeks turned into a little over a month, and he had hardly seen you around campus.
-You are avoiding your normal route to class, and when he did see you he was also greeted by the harsh glares of your good friends.
-He understood if you’d never want to talk to him ever again, honestly. He couldn’t blame you. You were more headstrong than him, after all.
-Still, when the VDC came around… he was hopeful. Truly he was hoping that something would give.
-He would talk to you in hopes of showing you that he meant no harm, but Ace or Deuce or even Grim would shove their way between the two of you.
-Several times Jamil had to tell him to knock it off because “It’s not worth forcing.”
-Still, he wanted you to know he felt bad. He felt horrible.
-In a very un-Kalim-like move, he quietly asks you if you can speak with him. Alone. But in a crowded enough area that you wouldn’t feel threatened.
-He didn’t expect you to accept it, he wouldn’t have blamed you at all. But you said yes.
-You showed up, with Grim by your side, which was fine. He earned some apologies too.
-He poured his heart out to you, apologizing for things that he couldn’t even control. In turn, he listened to you rant about how scared you were, how angry you were, how you wished you were any of these things.
-And after that, things improved. Slowly, but surely. You became more comfortable around him, and you spoke to him again.
-Sure, you wouldn’t be caught dead at one of Scarabia’s parties, but you considered him a friend.
-That’s all he could ask for.
Jamil
-Jamil is the monster in your story.
-He’s the evil guy who kidnapped, manipulated and lied to you.
-He’s the one who used his misplaced anger as an excuse to hurt others.
-He’s the boogyman who made you endure days of long and hard training, just because he could.
-Of course, he felt bad. What he did was unspeakable, but he was more concerned with how his reputation would last after the overblot.
-More concerned with it not getting out for the safety of his family.
-Even with you sobbing, he just thought you were being dramatic in all honesty. You have a reputation already, he knew you’d been through this whole thing before.
-It didn’t really strike him how badly it affected you.
-He didn’t notice how you switched paths, how you were never in the same area as him for long, and the glares of your friends never once phased him.
-Even Ace’s snarky comments during basketball didn’t bother him for a second.
It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway, and he saw the look on your face that he realized.
-The terror in your eyes, the way you shrunk back as if he would strike you. It was the same way his parents acted around the Asim’s.
-If he were a more insane man, he might’ve found it liberating, but it wasn’t.
-He had become what he hated to you, he had done what he hated to you.
-Jamil was not only your monster, but he was his own.
-He steers clear of you and keeps as much distance as possible for both your sakes.
-He couldn’t handle someone looking at him like that, and he was sure you couldn’t handle the sight of him after what he did.
-Still, this is NRC, and luck is never on anyone's side here.
-Both of you are forced into a position where you cannot escape the other, you have to learn to live with the awful pits in your stomachs.
-He keeps Kalim away until you both are on good terms, then he simply watches quietly.
-He won’t apologize, he won’t antagonize, he won’t speak unless spoken to.
-You two never truly recover your small lasting friendship, but you do make amends with each other.
-During the trip to the scalding sands, you get to meet Najma, whom he’s confided in about ‘accidentally upsetting a classmate’.
-You get to have a good talk with her, and it makes you really realize some things about Jamil.
-You realize he’s just as broken as you, just as tired as you, and that he feels the most immense amount of guilt for hurting you.
-You, being you, find it in your soul to forgive him.
-Nothing really changes between you. The guilt is still there, and the fear still shakes you to your core, but you both have closure.
-In a situation like this, closure is the best grace a person can ever have.
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