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the-kr8tor · 8 months

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Pin my Heart

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Sexual innuendos, FLUFF.

*I don't consent to having my work translated/published on other platforms*

Main Masterlist

Thread the Needle Masterlist

PROLOGUE

Chapter 1 >>> Chapter 2

Shielding yourself from the harsh rain with your windbreaker, you bravely wade through it, with one objective - convince Hobie to be your partner and model for your final project. The entire day you've been thinking if he still owes you a favour that you can maybe cash in, and you've got the perfect one. You think at least, You never know with Hobie really. You'd think after more than ten years of being friends, you can get a read on him, but alas he's quite unpredictable, maybe that's why you like him so much, he still has a few surprises up his leather sleeves even after years of friendship.

The loud music coming from Hobie's and his roommates' garage acts as a beacon for you to follow through the downpour.

Entering the band's domain, you wave at them since they wouldn't even hear your greeting with the loud music they're playing. You watch Hobie do his guitar solo as you wrangle your wet windbreaker off you, used to the loud music, you watch his long fingers expertly play with the guitar. You catch yourself staring, so you turn around to hang your soaking windbreaker on an empty shelf, using this excuse to hide your flustered state.

Hobie finishes his solo and you turn back around, avoiding the knowing stares from his bandmates.

"There's our number one fan!" Hobie screams, his ears still ringing from the loud guitar riffs, adrenaline still rushing through him.

"Hey, everyone" you awkwardly greet.

"Hi, shy girl!" Hobie gives you a hug, knowing he's all sweaty from rocking out.

You try to avoid his hug by putting your arms towards him, "Hobie! You're all sweaty! Stop!"

"Look who's talking! You're also wet!"

"Yeah! from the rain, not sweat, asshole!" You try to push him off, but he's too strong, damn him and his strong arms.

He hugs you fully, putting all his weight on you, chin on top of your shoulder, his breath tickles the shell of your ear. "How's your day?" The ringing in his ears finally stops, and he can finally talk without screaming at you.

"It would've been good, if I didn't get Hobie sweat all over me" you huff, leaning away so that Hobie couldn't hear your heart beat quickening.

"Don't act like you don't like it, sweets" he winks at you, releasing you from his grip, but he keeps his hands on your shoulders, you're an arms length away from him. He stares at you, head tilted to the side.

Yuri, their new drummer pipes up, she clears her throat, getting both your attention from eachother. "I'm making Tea, y/n you want some?"

"Yes please, thanks Yuri" You smile at the raven haired sweetly.

They all pile out of the garage, as Hobie manually closes the gate. He reaches up to grab the handle to pull it down, his shirt rides up, you ogle at the exposed skin on his hip. For the second time that day you look away immediately, finding the discarded drum kit more interesting than Hobie's toned back.

The loud crash of the gate closing signals you to look back at Hobie. A chill runs through your body, you wrap your arms around your shivering form.

"Shit, you're gonna catch a cold, let's get you warm, yeah?" Hobie rubs your arms. He grabs your backpack from the floor, and then slings his precious guitar on his back. Hobie leads you inside the house.

The house seems to be much cleaner than the last time you visited, probably thanks to Yuri. The warm aromatic smell of the tea hits you like a truck, you sneeze at the sudden change of smell, or it might just be from the rain soaking you.

"Bless you!" Ned, the band's bassist, yells from the living room.

"Thanks Ned" You sniff.

"C'mon, let's get you dry, don't want you getting sick on me now" Hobie hugs your shoulder with his free arm.

"That was one time, Hobart" you glare at him. He snickers at your comment.

You two stand in front of his door covered in various punk band stickers. He leads you in by your shoulders, and sits you down on the bed.

"I like the new song" you say as Hobie plugs in the portable heater, then places it in front of your shivering form.

"Thanks, we've been working on it for a while" he grabs a towel from his drawer, while rummaging through it for a clean shirt, he tosses the towel on your head.

"Is this even clean?" You get a whiff of soap from the towel, answering your question.

"I'm not a barbarian" Hobie takes off his shirt, before you could ogle at him once more, instead you watch the light on the heater flicker. It's not the first time you've seen him shirtless, so why are you feeling so flustered right now? "What do you wanna do today? Can't go out though 'cause of the rain"

"Can I ask you for a favour?" You try to be blunt, so you could get it over with, wrapping yourself in the towel.

Hobie leans against the door, hands on his hips, he's now wearing a grunge long sleeved shirt that's too big on his shoulders, you see a peek of his skin from the various tears of the shirt.

"Ah, already cashing in the favour I asked you last night?" He raises his pierced brow.

"Yeahh? It's - I need your help" You look at Hobie, determination in your eyes.

"Are you in some kind of trouble? Knew you had it in you" he smirks.

"No, it's not that, I need your help for my final project"

Hobie remembers the tea waiting for you, "hold that thought" he leaves the room, you try to call him back in, but he continues towards the kitchen, you huff but you still follow closely behind. There goes the privacy of convincing him.

Yuri, Ned and their other band mate, James stop their conversation in the kitchen when they see you both walk in.

"Alright, what kind of project?" He questions your intentions, while preparing your tea, your preferred mixture practically ingrained in his mind.

You swallow your nerves, "It's nothing too big really, I - no, we need to create a look that encompasses us both, and for you to model it in front of my class?" The end of your sentence unintentionally sounded like a question.

Hobie stops from pouring milk on your tea, you can't see the growing smirk on his face. You snuggle the towel closer to you. His housemates sip their tea simultaneously.

Hobie stirs your drink wordlessly. He composes himself, turns back towards you, still stirring your drink dramatically. He looks like a Bond villain who can't wait to tell you his master plan.

"What's in it for me?" There it is. He sips your drink loudly, knowing that he's annoying you with the sound.

He doesn't even like milk in his tea, you thought, you bite your tongue from saying it out loud, you need to sweeten him up, so you try playing the nice card.

"What do you want?" Saying it through gritted teeth, trying to give him your best smile, you probably look like you're in pain though.

"Hmm, let me think" he taps the teaspoon against the mug, it clinks against the ceramic, he then brings it to his mouth with a loud slurp, releasing it with a pop. He's doing this on purpose, you cringe at the sound.

"How about I do your laundry for a month?" You negotiate.

"Nah, I can do my own laundry"

"I'll wash your motorbike every month for the rest of the year" you counter.

"Y'know I never let anyone else touch my baby"

His band mates' heads move from Hobie back to you, like they're watching a tennis match.

"Ok, um I'll buy you a new guitar then!" Gotcha you finally got him, hook, line and sinker.

Hobie hums at that "hmm, tempting, but no"

Frustrated at his lack of cooperation, "You know what fine, James," you turn towards his equally punk friend, "you wanna do it with me instead?" You should have worded that out better.

Hobie widens his eyes at the unintentional innuendo, he smiles at the opportunity, "Hey! No! I'm the only one you can do it with!"

His friends snicker, James looks at you with a slight blush on his cheeks.

"Maybe you can ask Yuri, She might be more of your type." Ned teases.

Yuri winks at you. They laugh, Hobie looks at you through his mug with a smile, watching your reaction.

"Guys, really? You're a child, Hobie" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Wait, I've got an idea" Yuri runs off to her room before you could question her.

You and Hobie stare at each other, while he drinks your tea.

"You're lactose intolerant, you're gonna shit yourself later" you grin at him.

"I have lactaid," he says matter-of-fact.

Yuri comes back and gives you a card. "Here"

"What's this? A business card?" You ask.

"Oi, are you actually trying to get a lawyer involved?"

"Yeah, a divorce lawyer, with how you both are acting like you're married" Yuri sarcastically says.

"It's a rewards card from starbucks?" You show Hobie.

Hobie comes closer to see, you both look at Yuri questioningly.

"Since Hobie here can't figure out what to ask of you in exchange for his cooperation with your thing," Yuri points to the both of you. "I figured you both need a rewards system. You poke out a hole in the card every time Hobie wants you to do something for him"

You look at the card with ten logos you can poke out, words printed neatly on top 'buy ten drinks and get a free one!' you look at the back - it expired a year ago.

"So he can ask for ten things then?"

"That's right, better than what you were suggesting, and you can keep track of it all," Yuri adds.

"Nah, I don't think this is better" Hobie declines.

"Do you have any better ideas, genius? Or do you want us to keep going back and forth" you shove the card in his free hand.

"Fine, say pretty please first, lovey" Hobie walks closer to you, the tips of your sock clad toes kisses his bare ones with how close you two have gotten. He looks down at you with a smile.

If you didn't like Hobie so much you would've asked James or any of his punk friends. Honestly you just want an excuse to spend more time with him. With how busy your schedule is, the same goes for Hobie, compared to when you were younger, you two barely hung out this year.

Hobie hopes this project of yours makes you two closer than ever, he also hopes when you finally graduate you get to finally hang out more, but it's a stretch.

You exhale, you look up at him through your eyelashes, "Pretty please, Hobie" you say sweetly. You don't break eye contact, you're not going down without a fight "with cherry on top?" You bat your lashes for added effect.

With how pretty you look up at him, Hobie's breath hitches in his throat, he tries to play it cool though, so he lightly shoves his mug on your chest, signaling his defeat.

You take the mug to your lips, and sip victoriously. You lean against the kitchen island.

"Does that mean I'm out of the picture then" James says, you all look at him unsure if he's joking or if he actually means it.

"Come off it, mate" Hobie shuts him down.

—

You're sweating bullets, wringing your fingers over the other, you wonder where in the world is Hobie? You sneak glances over your classmates and their chosen partners.

You see Flash next to a bombshell of a woman- all high heels, and manicured nails. Compared to his sporty style, he chose well. But judging from how the woman picks at her nails, and sighing every now and then, she definitely did not want to be there.

Your other classmates also chose well, the differences between their partners a stark contrast to each other.

Then there's you, sitting alone, without a partner. You busy yourself by sketching out a prototype of your project, instead of letting your thoughts freak you out.

The creaky doors open, like nails on a chalkboard. You stop in your tracks, head perking up at the sound, is it Hobie?

Your hope fades when your professor's heels echo around the room.

I'm gonna kill him, you internally curse.

Your professor looks around the room, her nose held up high. She opens her mouth to speak—

The door opens in a loud bang, the familiar leather boots strides in nonchalantly.

You would've sighed in relief, if not for Mrs. Williams glaring at Hobie.

"Sorry I'm late, teach" Hobie's hands are tucked inside his leather jacket, your professor's eyes narrow as she looks him up and down.

His eyes zeroes in your form. He smiles lopsidedly, Mrs. Williams follows his gaze, sizing you both up, she finds your pale blue cardigan a glaringly obvious difference to Hobie's leather jacket.

Noticing eyes on both of you, you give Hobie a shy smile, waving to get his ass over to your station.

The various metal on his clothes swing loudly, grabbing attention from everybody else who wasn't already looking your way. You cringe at the unwanted attention.

"Hey, love" Hobie gives his signature smirk.

"You're late!" You whisper-shout.

"Y'know how much I hate waking up early"

"It's half past eleven, Hobie"

"I'm here now aren't I?" He raises a pierced eyebrow.

You would've scolded him more if it weren't for your professor, glaring daggers in your direction.

"Looks like you all partnered up well" Mrs. Williams says plainly "ready your photographs" as she strides up to the nearest station.

"What photograph?" Hobie mimics your professor's cadence.

You elbow him to stop, just in case Mrs Williams has super hearing.

"This picture" you show him a polaroid tucked inside your sketchbook.

Hobie grabs it carefully, it shows you both two years ago, you're smiling widely right next to Hobie as he slings his arm around your neck with his guitar on his back. Hobie grins at the camera as sweat drips on his face.

He chuckles at the memory "I remember this, battle of the bands, right?"

"Yeah, your band won second place" you point at the silver trophy that Hobie's holding in the photograph.

"Should've won though" he slides the picture back to you.

"Aww, still salty, huh"

He leans on your side of the table, hand on his chin "we were robbed, lovey"

"Mmhm, sure" you tease him, even though he's right.

From your peripheral you see your professor looking in your direction.

You swallow down your anxiety, leg bumping up and down, feeling a firm hand on your thigh, you stop, looking at Hobie, a comforting smile on his lips, but all you can give him is a tight lipped smile.

He rubs comforting circles over your thigh, leaning slightly towards you to whisper "it'll be alright, it's just an introduction, you've got this" you would be flustered at the contact, but your nervousness triumphs over it. Hobie shakes your leg, taking his hand back when the professor stops on your station.

She takes one look at the both of you, eyes darting between your forms, she watches as Hobie places an arm behind your chair, smirking at the woman.

You can feel the bead of sweat falling on your forehead, hands shaking.

Mrs. Williams extends a lithe hand to you, asking for the picture on your table. You quickly hand it over, you don't want to make her wait, fumbling a bit, scared to give her a papercut.

She flips the picture to face her, you try to read her reaction, but her straight face makes it hard for you to understand her emotion.

"Good" she hands it over to you after a quick scan of the picture.

"Thank you?" You hold the picture like it's your most precious possession (it is) you can't believe that you actually impressed her, not knowing that the word 'good' is even in her vocabulary.

She moves to the next student, Hobie leans back in his chair, looking at you through his lashes "good? That's it?" He watches as you look at the picture with stars in your eyes, disbelief on your pretty face, Hobie thinks he's gonna have a lot of fun with you in this project, before you inevitably leave him for greener pastures.

He sighs, trying to dampen his thoughts, he's not ready for you to leave his side yet. You've been through thick and thin with him for more than ten years, it's hard for Hobie to think of you not by his side. He's proud of you, truly, but he can't help feeling that you're gonna leave him behind for someone better. He wants to savor every last second with you.

Hobie flicks your cheek, trying to get your attention.

"Ow, what?" You whisper-shout.

"What're you gonna do after this?"

"I don't have other classes today, I guess just go back to the dorms and design?"

"That's loser talk" he pokes your cheeks, what is up with him and your cheeks these days? "Come with me after this snooze fest"

"Where to?" You swat at his hand.

"Somewhere" Hobie shrugs, leather jacket squeaking when he moves.

"Last time you said that, I had to haul your band's equipment, while you lot were blacked out drunk"

"I wasn't blackout drunk" he mimics your voice on the last two words, "I wasn't even drinking that much"

"You introduced me to Ned, I've known him for five years, Hobs"

"So? A reintroduction doesn't hurt?" He tries to play it off, fixing the collar of your shirt.

"Just promise me it's not a pub, I don't want to take care of drunk you again"

He grabs his chest, feigning hurt "I thought you liked taking care of me?"

"I do" his heart sings, you slap your palm over his chest, Hobie's hoping you don't feel the thudding of his chest. "I just don't like getting your sick all over my new trainers"

He winces at the memory, but he bounces back immediately "yeah, but I can't help getting sick over you" Hobie casually flirts, hoping you finally get the hint, ten years isn't too late, right?

You roll your eyes, used to his flirting "stop, my classmates could hear"

"Let 'em" He leans back in his chair, mission failed, he'll get you next time.

Mrs. Williams clasps her hands, one look from her gets the entire room quiet, Hobie doesn't seem fazed though, staring directly in her eyes.

"We'll reconvene next week with your sketches and fabric samples, your partners included. Is that understood?"

A collective "yes ma'am" can be heard from her students, even some of the non-students say it. Hobie mockingly salutes in her direction, you're horrified, good thing she missed it though.

"Hobie!" You say through gritted teeth, grabbing his half raised arm.

"What? She didn't even see" he stands up, heavy boots thudding on the linoleum floors. "C'mon then" Hobie beats you to your backpack, waiting hand stretched towards you.

You hear shuffled feet, your classmates and their partners slowly file out of the room.

"Where are we going?" You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, he's being too nice.

"Told you, somewhere nice"

"Not a pub?"

"Not a bloody pub, it's too early anyway" he flexes his fingers, beckoning you over, "don't make me exercise my rights"

You chuckle "what?"

"The bloody card"

"You want to use one, for this?" You wave the rewards card after grabbing it from your pocket "must be some place important" you tease him.

"Yes, now give me the bloody thing" Hobie snatches it from your fingers, punching out the logo, you see it float down on the table. He hands it back to you, tucking it safely inside your pocket.

"Ooohh one down nine to go" you finally stand up.

"Let's go before they close" He slings his arm over your shoulders.

"Are we taking your bike?"

"Of course, I'm not letting you ride the tube, don't worry I brought your helmet"

"You're such a softie, y'know"

"Yeah, yeah" only for you, he wanted to add, maybe next time he gets to finally say it to you.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed it, as always likes and reblogs are appreciated ❤️

*pictures above are from pinterest*

#thread the needle #thread the needle chapter 1 #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #spider punk #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #spider man across the spider verse #x reader #atsv fanfiction #atsv x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv hobie #hobie brown x fem!reader #spider punk x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #fanfic

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peakyblinders1919 · 2 years

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Collision of Worlds

modern!Tommy Shelby and amish!reader

He barely registered the horn honking, much less that the shrill sound was directed at him. He prematurely stepped off the sidewalk, more concerned with the iPhone in his hand, the meeting coming through his headphones, the hot coffee in his other hand, to notice the crosswalk sign flashing red.

The white BMW screeched to a halt a few feet from him, the driver laying on the horn and waving his hands sporadically in frustration. Without missing a beat, he stopped, turned, and looked at the driver through his shades before taking a sip and continuing on as if nothing had happened.

It wasn’t the first time Thomas Shelby looked death in the eye.

He was mildly perturbed he’d nearly spilled his coffee and had to ask his buisness associate on the other end to repeat his question.

“No, no, we’ve stopped all trade with our supposed partners in Camden Town until the political upheaval is settled. We don’t want to make ourselves a vulnerable target by extending our hand or being found to associate with them at this time.” A brief pause as he took a sip of his coffee, suede shoes scuffing the pebbles on the sidewalk as he sandwiched himself onto the train. It wasn’t his preferred mode of transportation, but his car was in the shop and his brother, John, had dropped the ball on solidifying a rental car. It was the last time he trusted John with something important.

He was the only one deep in conversation as he held onto the railing overhead, nose tucked into the endless stream of emails he was replying to and the ranting in his ears from the treasurer of his company.

“No, No, Pol, you're not listening. Look at the numbers. We can stand to lose 3% for a week or two max… yes, yes I have it on good authority that whatever this is, it won’t last longer than that before the strike is broken.” He sighed, glaring at the people around him whose noses were upturned by his disruption. Who expected a train ride to or from work to be the most peaceful part of their day?

“I have it on good authority from Ada!”

The train pulled into his stop. Signals that the doors were opening rang out. Still heated, he moved to leave. She moved in a blur of color, in a hurry to get somewhere. It was that urgency which sent her out barreling into his chest, piping hot coffee staining his white shirt.

“Fuck.”

“Oh my, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

“Pol, I’ll call you back.”

If he put weight on the superstitions his aunt believed, he’d think it was going to be a day full of bad luck, karma.

Hanging up the phone, he put it in his jacket pocket, a sneer on his face as he looked down at his stained shirt, the coffee seeping through the fabric and leaving his abdomen warm to the touch. It was amazing that he had enough time to stop, to stop and look at his assailant. She was pretty in a natural way, not like the other city girls with their fake tans and fake eyelashes and fake tits. Her hair was shiny, her eyes aglow, her cheeks blazing red with embarrassment.

She was like a little mouse, grabbing for some napkins from her big purse on her shoulder, cautiously trying to wipe up the coffee on his shirt. Normally he’d tell her who he was, some big businessman who didn’t have time for these games, but it was almost more fascinating to watch her act, so unsure as she touched his shirt with the napkins, pressing lighting against his abdomen, his chest. Her touches were light, whether she was afraid to break him further or nervous to be touching him in the first place, he wasn’t sure.

“I… I am really sorry,” she finally said again, tossing the coffee-soaked napkins in the bin. “I… I don’t have anymore. I… I really should’ve watched where I was going.” “It’s alright. The damage’s done. I’ll send it off to the dry cleaner and it’ll be good as new.” He tried to smile at her, to let her know he didn’t care about his shirt, he had a closet full of them, but something kept him from doing so. Maybe the fact that he hadn’t smiled in years. He tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault, he knew it was his because he hadn’t been looking around him, but he wasn’t used to public transportation and he wasn’t used to people not stepping out of the way for him when he walked by. So instead, he kept his mouth shut, pink lips in a tight line, lost in her eyes, before he felt his phone buzzing to life.

How peaceful those few moments had been.

“I’m late. And I’ll be even later having to stop, I… hope your not late either. Here, have a coffee on me. For the trouble.”

After handing her a few pounds, he answered the phone with a gruff greeting and disappeared.

It’d be much easier if you had a phone. Easier to find out who the mystery man from the other day was. You spent all night telling your sister about him, voices dropping extra low when you told her about helping wipe his shirt clean.

“It was hard, tight, like muscles. And I tried not to concentrate on it, really, but it was easier to concentrate on that than his eyes. A blue like the sky. Like I’ve never seen, hair dark as midnight.”

Although she hadn’t met him, your sister swooned with you over the whole thing, wondering how, if there was any, way for you two to find out his name, what he did for a living, where you could “accidentally” run into him again.

But that night was all “what-ifs” and little girl fantasies. Yesterday was a moment you could hold onto while you were busy at work, sifting the flour in the kitchen, elbow-deep in it as you rolled out the dough.

You didn’t need a phone, it wasn't necessary, nor was electricity when you had a fire to cook on and light your way with. It was a lifestyle you’d grown up with, you were used to, you had chosen to live, and you hadn’t once thought differently until now.

That night, you dreamt about your encounter with tall, dark, and handsome, as he was therefore known as in your mind. As much as you wanted to see him again, as easy as it was to remember his eyes and his hair, it was impossible to ignore how he lacked a smile, head bent and far too enraptured and controlled by the little device in his hand, or was it his ear? Thinking back on it clearly, the buzz of everything around him was what caused him to be so careless around you in the first place. And just like that, you drifted off to sleep with memories that turned into nightmares confirming that it was not only too good to be true, running into him that day but it wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t ever meant to be.

“I can’t find her!” He brought his fist down onto his desktop with hammer-like force. Such an outbreak wasn’t uncommon for Thomas Shelby, but the matter in which it was about was shocking to those around him. His family.

“Tom, we’ve had the best internet hackers on call, working twenty-four hours at a time. We even got some secret service agents from the police tracking what you’ve told them through their database. Nothing.”

“It’s not enough. There’s got to be something else. They want more money? Give them whatever they’re asking for, I want her found.”

His men simply nodded and left, his Aunt Pol crossing her legs and making her disapproval known with her tsking.

“It doesn't take someone like me to know you in love. But I thought Mr. Thomas Shelby didn’t believe in love at first sight?”

“There was something about her Polly. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, but I do Tommy. I do. Love is magnetic, I’ve told you that since you were little. You just chose never to listen. And now that you have, the world has rewarded you with a challenge. A girl who can’t be found.”

“Don’t mock me.” He had risen from his leather-backed chair to pace. His office was spacious, on the tallest floor of the most well-known building in London, towering over the others, the wall nothing but windows that allowed him an endless view of the city, even to the fields beyond. The whole city under his watch and he couldn’t find the one person he wanted to see. He’d paced to get his mind straight but it didn’t work. Quickly, he was sitting back down behind four computer screens that lined his desk, projecting his work onto the flat screens on the wall. The wall to his left was lined with clocks synced up to represent all the timezones of the world, multiple tv screens muted to show the horseraces around the world and the stock market live. The office was always lit in a dim glow from the screens, a soft buzz from the electricity, and somehow it never bothered him. It kept his mind busy, sure, constantly busy, his eyes switching frantically from screen to screen trying to focus on only one thing.

Since meeting her, finding her was the only thing he could focus on. And Polly was right, she didn’t seem to want to be found.

With the best people he could hire already on it, he figured some fresh air could do him good. When he informed Polly he was going out for coffee, and she reminded him they had people for that, she didn’t prod any further.

Down on the ground floor, he nodded towards the security behind the desk, and the doormen, and headed onto the street in one direction, any direction the wind seemed to take him (there was a coffee shop on every block), but he seemed to end up at the one he went to that day he was taking the train. Something about their fresh ground beans. Tapping his feet anxiously while standing in line, it made sense why he employed someone to do this for him. He passed the time by catching up on emails, shoving his AirPods in to listen to the live race at Cheltenham to avoid the elevator-esque music playing from the shop’s speakers.

He wasn’t really paying attention then, taking a second to realize the line had moved. He ordered the usual; coffee, black, and waited where one picked it up. It was all a series of routine things that came next, listening for his name, taking that first sip to make sure it was right, shuffling around other waiting customers to get back outside. His nose still buried in the phone, he would have missed her completely had he not learned from his mistake the other day and looked up before crossing the street.

She seemed to be leaving the coffee shop from the back, heading in the direction that led out of the city. He had work to do, he knew that, but the business would run without him. If that little glimpse he’d caught of her held up to be real, he’d save himself a lot of money.

“Hey,” he called, taking a bit of a jog to catch up to her.

Not sure if that hey was directed at you, you stopped, and looked around you, before continuing on your journey home. You must have been going a little crazy, no one this far out from the country knew you, were even less likely to recognize you.

The coffee cup worked to warm your hands. You smiled, pleased to hear the city’s symphony as you headed home. It was all part of the reason why you agreed to deliver the beans to your best customer; while it came with an excruciatingly long walk, you were awarded the sights and sounds of the city, the excitement of it all, and a fresh cup.

“Hey!”

It was the same voice as before, and you would have continued to ignore it had you not felt a strong arm grasp your elbow, making you stop in your tracks. Your heartbeat quickened. This was why your father always warned against you doing the delivery on your own, but you’d fought with him more than once that you could handle yourself in the city for an hour or two.

Now was time to show him the truth.

In a quick maneuver, you dodged the stranger, turning quickly and shoving him back with your shoulder, hearing the familiar sound of coffee sippling as it was dropped to the floor. Ready to run, you caught a glimpse of your attacker before running. What were the odds it would be your Mr. tall, dark, and handsome?

He didn’t look amused, but he didn’t look as displeased as yesterday. He almost looked pleased.

You smirked. “You’ve got to stop wearing your coffee. You're supposed to drink it.”

“I’d be able to if you stopped spilling it on me. I think you have something against me.”

You both shared a smile, a true smile, before your eyes both scanned down to his torso, today’s blue shirt now dark with coffee on it.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll send this one to the cleaners just like the others. I should be scared of you though, that was some quick thinking.”

You blushed, suddenly feeling so small and so seen in the city, a place you certainly didn’t belong but tried to.

“What can I say? My dad taught me right.”

“That he did.” Tommy used the napkins in his jacket pocket to wipe up his shirt enough to keep from burning his skin underneath, and it provided just enough time to figure out how to get you to stay longer.

“Why don’t I treat you to another?”

“No, I couldn’t. I… I wish I could treat you to one but…” Well how were you supposed to tell someone like him you didn’t have any money on you?

“Come on, my treat…”

Knowing your family would be wondering where you were, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get to know him a little more. You agreed, and he told you he’d be ready to go as soon as he changed his newly ruined shirt, assuring you he had an extra in his office and it was only one block away.

What were you doing following this man to his office? Everything in the building was shiny and new, reluctantly following him into the elevator. It never seemed to stop, crawling higher and higher until the final ding signaling you were at your destination caused you to jump a bit.

What you stepped into was too much for you to comprehend. It overwhelmed you, so much stimulus in his office with the screens and whatnot. He promised he’d be quick, and you barely noticed his lack of presence as you absorbed the sound and light of everything. The tapping of your foot, the pacing, it was all you could do to try and stay comfortable. You both wanted to know more about how it worked and, more importantly, why, why all this, but you refrained. You couldn’t comprehend a life where one person needed so many screens.

Everything was coming to fruition. It wasn’t meant to be. You were both from two different worlds.

When he emerged in a white collared shirt, pulling at the cuffs and rolling them up, you felt a strong wave of nausea hit you. He must have noticed the unfamiliar look on your face; it was amazing that a complete stranger noticed it almost immediately.

“Is everything alright?”

“Uh..” Opening your mouth to respond, you were suddenly made aware of just how dry it was. “Uh.. what do you need all those for?” You hoped it didn’t sound as rude coming out as it did in your head, but you couldn’t resist finding the answer, knowing more about him, more about a life you weren’t sure you would ever be ready for.

“Oh, those?” He chucked. “Sometimes I forget they’re even there. I need them for business, I can’t be in multiple places at once, though it would be easier.”

Silence lingered as you tried to compose a response, a silence that was anything but silent. You shook your head.

“I’m sorry. I… I hadn’t noticed the time and I forgot I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Oh, are you sure? Well, how about another night?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe,” you swallowed, stepping away from the harsh glow of the screen.

“Wait. Your name. Please tell me your name.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Though you left not a mystery but a mission, a challenge for Tommy Shelby, should he choose to accept, to you he remained a mystery. A mystery behind a screen, something for you to ponder as you took approximately 45 flights of stairs down to the ground floor.

-------

“She’s Amish.”

“She’s fucking what?”

“Amish, sir. They’re members of a church that believes electricity is not necessary for leading a fulfilling life, hence why we couldn’t find her online presence.”

“Ok,” he sighed, taking a hit from his vape and blowing the smoke out to the side. “What did you find on her?”

“We have a home location, family profile, and her background records. That’s it.”

“I want it all on my desk. Now. And a car, one that’s not going to shit the bed in the country. Have it parked outside, keys in the ignition to go.”

With a nod, Charlie was out of the office, but Tommy didn’t get much time alone to consider the grandiosity of the plan already forming in his mind.

“A car? Where are you off to?”

“The country Pol. I’ll be in a few hours. Might not have cell service. Don’t contact me… what?” He asked in response to her chuckle, almost a mocking one.

“Tommy Shelby never puts down his phone, nor does he ever stop business. Unless it’s a girl.”

He saw no reason to lie so, sighing, he told the truth and braced for impact. “It is a girl Pol. The one I’ve been looking for. I know where she lives and I’m going to her. I’m going. I barely know her name and I… I know I did something to scare her off but I… I’ve got to find out why, you know? I’ve got to do something to get her out of my head. For good. Whatever it takes.”

He found you outside the address he was given, his black BMW oddly out of place among the wheat and the fields and the barn and the expanse that was known as your house. You were tending to the horses, taking the pony to graze on the taller grass in the side yard, senses on high alert as the unknown vehicle pulled closer and slowed to a stop. Your dad and your brother, everyone in a 3 mile radius became aware of the unwanted visitor, trying to figure out why someone in a car was on their land. It was surprising how unfazed Tommy seemed to be with a few shotguns pointed his direction. His hands flew up in surrendor and if you weren’t sure it was him, the hair, the eyes, the commanding yet comfortable voice reassured you.

“Y/N, do you know this man? He says he knows you.”

“Yes, yes, this is Tommy. He’s a… a friend.” Pulling him away, into the shadows of the maples where the horses were cooling, you asked why he was here and how he had found you. It was a quick explanation from his end that both left you speechless and wanted to know more.

“I want to talk to you. Why you didn’t agree to going out yesterday?”

“We… we can’t talk here. Do you know how to ride a horse?”

It would have been comical seeing a man like Tommy ride a horse, but really he was a natural. He looked like the main character off a romance novel with his dark hair, dress shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his posture perfect and hands tight on the reigns, in control of the horse. Stopping by a stream, you both dismounted and began talking.

“We would never work Tommy. I.. I barely even know you, you know nothing about me, and yet you show up in my yard. I can only imagine how you found all this out.” You shuddered at the thought alone, holding a hand up signaling you didn’t want to know the intimate details.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I feel this pull. This nagging in my stomach thats saying ‘go after her’. I had to come try. What was it? The office?”

“Well, it was all a bit overwhelming. We’re from different worlds. You live by the screen and I… well we’d never come to a compromise.”

“What if we could.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if we could come to a compromise. Would you give it, would you give us a chance?”

“What kine of compromise?” You asked intrigued.

He shrugged. “Less screen time. Weekend away from work, from the city?”

You shrugged, suddenly feeling shy under his eye. The space between you disappeared as he entered it, toeing a line he wasn’t sure he should cross. He knew your name, where you lived, and a little bit of the lifestyle you lived, that was it, and so he wanted to know more; your favorite color, the taste of your lips, the softness of your curves. And though you were less sure of what you wanted, you wanted the same thing. You wanted it to work out like a fairytale.

“Could this really work?”

“Are we insane?”

“Do I live without electricity?” The question, although rhetorical, gave him the answer he needed. Leaning in, he took all the air from your lungs. His lips found yours, the kiss chaste and soft, strong and loving.

“I’d give up everything for you.”

And there it was. The collision of two worlds, two people in a world of billions, two stars in the galaxy a little too close to each other's orbit, two atoms beginning their journey together headed towards the big bang.

#tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelb #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders imagine

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creepling · 8 months

Note

OKAY SO this isn't a request but i had a scenario i started thinking about last night when i tried to sleep that i wanted your opinion on (johnny on the brain always, unfortunately) and it's just... can you imagine being like, an honorary family friend of the sawyers (your grandparents were close with their grandparents back before times got hard and they had to resort to doing what they had to do, and now, while your folks are gone now and it's just you, drayton considers you off-limits out of respect for old grandpa) and you live a little bit far off from their farmland on your own dingy little farm. it's inherited from your parents, and it's... fucked up. you've got a lot of seeds, but nothing grows, and the house needs worked on and you just *don't* know the first thing about fixing any of it. you're, admittedly, pretty oblivious to what the sawyers do---you never come around without being invited and it's usually just a quick chat with drayton at the end of the road, and on the off chance you're driving your dad's beat up old truck close to their farm and hear any screaming you just think they have some really weird goats---but your visits are always short-lived and you haven't gotten to meet the new additions to the family yet. maybe you drive by to see drayton, drop off some seeds as a gift 'cause right now nothing's growing for you and they're just being wasted, and you mention something offhand about a rusty shed door that won't open or a leaky roof and drayton, after pulling him aside and giving him a very thorough talking to (you don't want to upset grandpa, after all, and your old folks WERE really good to them when they were living) about how he better not try anything, drayton sends johnny back with you to fix something as thanks for the seeds (because let's be honest, drayton doesn't have it in him anymore and johnny is arguably the most.. casual. able to act normal, if you will). so now you've got a sweaty, attractive greaser here to fix your roof that you've never met before. you feel bad about him having to do all the work because you're just so darn *clueless*, so you might as well make some lemonade and cut some watermelon so he can get a quick break from the heat! you keep sneaking glances and admittedly he's real charming, so it's not just the texas heat getting to you. maybe he thinks you're real sweet, if maybe a little oblivious. airheaded? whatever the word for it, you're certainly pretty amusing, and you're already pretty clearly off-limits for *killing*, but drayton never said anything about testing OTHER boundaries, now did he?

omg i love this sm. the fact that reader is normal because they never got brought up in some cannibal patriarch like the sawyers. but who knows, maybe the crops aint growing bc there’s family secrets buried in the soil?👀

also yard work johnny goes through my mind constant because he reminds me of the hot pool cleaners in movies or greaser mechanics. like i just know outside of killing this man is passed about made to do yard work and fix things up. drayton paps him off to fix cars and cut grass for extra cash or southern hospitality and johnny has to begrudgingly do it. but this time his client is hot and naive and fine to look at, so maybe he wants to stick around for a while. point out a leaked pipe so he can fix it and stay for longer, hnng

if you write you should defos make it into a fic, i’d read it in a heartbeat!!

#lambofjudgement

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bitchycatwizard · 2 years

Text

SPECTRE AU- The Reach of a Thousand Arms.

Warnings:

Implied/mentioned dissection

Main character snaps.

Language.

Warning Gore.

Warning Gore level: Hellsing Ultimate.

Warning Gore level: Elfen Lied.

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

Everything had gone to shit.

Danny swears to himself when they throw him into the specially build cell via two agents in white holding ghost handling equipment that looks like snake handling gear.

Both around his neck.

His back hit the steel cell wall.

The energy cell door closes before he is able to do anything,

He can see Dani being transported on a wheeled stretcher, strapted down like she was Hannibal Lecter.

They are wheeling her away as he gets up to the cell door, the door does not shoch hm but it does not allow him to even touch it.

Repelling him somehow.

Looking out into th corridor he sees dirrection arrows that points to places in the GiW base.

To the left there is things like garage, food hall, toilets, cleaners, bleachers, exit and command center.

To the right there is only one thing, Operation Center.

He knew what that euphemism meant when it came to the GiW.

And that is where they had taken Dani.

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

There was nothing in the cell he could phase through.

He did not really understand what they had done to the none energy parts of the cell but there seemed to be something on the other side projecting inwards.

He did not need to look at the other inmates in the block, they were forever burned into hs mind after only one look.

Ghosts, missing pieces.

Ghosts, missing arms.

Missing flesh.

Missing parts of thier heads.

Eyes and teeth, their jaw, ears.

And some, the ones with the big dissection scar on their chest seemed to be missing an important part of themselves.

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

He can hear her screams.

The ghost next to Danny said that they can all hear the screaming when they start to cut up one of them.

The broadcast it to us he says, because they believe that it will “get the Ectoplasm Flowing” and give them better results.

Danny, is so close to having a panic attack, his wind pipe feels like it is 5 sizes to small.

His brain is cloudy and feels like it’s shutting down, hard to think, only a few words come through.

“dandanidanidanidanidanidanidanidanidanidda....”

“protectptotectprotectprotectprotectpr..”

“savechildsavechildsavesavesavechldchildchildsave”

“theyhurtherhurtherhurther....hurtdanihurtdani...savedanidanidani”

DANI!!!

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

(Inside Danny’s Metaphorical Brain)

Danny Fenton was on a mission he was walking through an Amity Park that was constantly shifting, current time, future and Apocalyptic, cycling through them forwards, backwards and to the side.

Shades of battles that Phantom had fought happened all around him.

Explosions, and lasers happening in silence allround him.

Ghosts and humans trying to hurt his other half.

Plasmius and the Fentons shooting at him....

But he walks past as the scenes fade behind him.

He arrives at Fentonworks, to his.....home.

He goes through a not solid door.

Through the corner of his eyes the shades of his family is sitting at the dining table, he can’t have been more that 13 there, everything was so simple back then.

Through the door to the basement lab.

He walks down the stairs towards a portal that has not ever been turned on.

But in the Portal stands a man.

With Flaming hair, a cape and a goate.

He steps out of the portal as if to greet him, he has passed half the lab when they pass each other.

Danny walks towards the portal and does not even acknowledge Dan.

He has stepped into the portal.

Dan tilts his head, looking at him bemused.

One beat, two beats, two silent feet approches.

Danny is not surprised when he feels the hug from behind when Phantom gets his arms around him.

-I’m sorry that I took so long, to get back here. DF says.

-It’s ok, fear can do weird things to anyone DP responds.

-Step into the Shadows with me as one?

-Step into the Dark together as one?

-Yes

Neither look back, but Dan is no longer there or maybe he was never there.

As one fist they slam the ON button to the portal, they stop pretending that there was ever a differnce between them, they stop pretending that they are different people.

HE stops pretending that there is a line between them and shoves his entire being into one.

His fears, his hopes, his mask, his dark thoughts, all the the things he does not like about himself and all of his Humanity.

All is shoved into one thing.

Protect the child.

Protect Dani.

And if Blood needs to be spilled to do this.

So be it.

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

Danny Phantom’s eyes snap open.

A Brighter deeper green than ever before.

He has gone from hysterical to calm into bright white hot cold rage.

His fist slam into the door to the cell, it barely budge, but his fist make contact.

You can see it on the burns that are rapidly healing on his fingers.

His Lichtenberg Lightning Scar is glowing and pumping like it’s veins pumping glowing blood.

He rears back his fist for another punch, the scar pumping in more and more power, the second time he hits the door the ectoplasm powered muscled has quadrupled in size, the sound that comes from him hitting the door is shooting a canonball at a fifty foot high gong.

The hit brakes every bone up to his elbow, he grits his teeth when he pulls back a third time, it all rapidly healing, the muscles continue to grow.

The reared back arm is now fully healed thrice the lenght of his whole body and has the entire musclemass of 10 superhumans.

The third hit goes through.

The sound is deafening.

He is bleeding ectoplasm from his rapidly healing and returning to size arm and from his ears from the deafening sound.

When he steps out of the cell and it’s dampening effects are going away, every step calls to more and more shadows to come foreward.

He reaches foreward with his senses to find Dani.

“danidanidanisavedanisavesavedani”

To find the other members of the GiW.

“protectprotectprotectdanidanidanipro...”

To protect Dani save the other inmates and al the ones that had been hurt by them so far.

“riptearriptearKILLriptearMAIMriptearSQUASHript.....”

He allowed his senses outwards and all over the base, eyes was looking from the shadown all around the bas was seeing it all, from the dark.

And then.

He reached for them.

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

Agent Y had stopped and his fellow agents almost walk into him, agents R34 and C4 wondered why he stopped.

Agent Y points towards a corner, -did you see.....something there?

R34 looks and see nothing, and is about to ask C4 when C4 just collapse right next to them.

He falls in a very odd angle, an impossible angle.

R34 is about to rush to him when Y stop him by grabbing him.

R34 is about the shout at his superior when he sees where Y is looking a meter and a half above C4′s body there is dripping blood from something invisible.

The thing is slowly revealing itself to be a clawed hand, an arm attached to something even longer, impossibly long and invisble.

The long thing it is holding seems to be, seems to be...

A Spinal cord.

With no blood on C4 it has to have been phased out, something neither of them knew a ghost could do.

They reach for their weapons, when R34 starts coughing up a huge amount of blood.

A second hand becomes visible behind him, holding a pair of lungs.

R34 collapses with drowning sounds coming from him, Y backs of horrified, as dodens and dozens of clawed arms starts to phase through the wall and become visible.

And for a breif moment he sees what first made him stop.

In the shadows, eyes upon eyes are staring back at him.

Y takes several steps back, before he just runs.

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

On other places at the base.

An agent falls forward as both his lower legs are just ripped of.

An agent screams when he sees this and gets his lower jaw ripped of.

The remaining 10 agents in the room fire their energy weapon roughly in the correct dirrection and manage to hit several of the arms.

The arms seem to retreat.

They stop firing and the leading agent at the spot starts to guide them forewards.

The arms slowly invisibly moving forewards, joining, becoming bigger.

Agent PK lowers his weapon to give orders, when from below a hand larger than him with 7 fingers and 2 opossable thumbs wraps around him, and start to squeez.

The blood from is popped body reach the furthest wall and the remaining agents in the room.

They try a fightning retreat.

Agents are being phased into walls and left there to suffocate.

Arms holding weapons are being ripped of by sharpened claws.

Bones being phased out.

Giant hands ram them flatley nto steel wall at splatter velocity.

Panic.

Now they panic.

Firing Randomly hitting mostly walls or each other.

But in the end the base slowley goes more and more quite as less and less people are were still alive.

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

Operation Room

General Agent A was watching the ongoing dissection, they had not gone far yet, but they had to go a bit slower with such an unusual specimen.

A few minutes in an odd sound was heard and one of the turtur, eh doctors was lifted up by something invissible then another then another.

All of the doctors was up against the wall not touching the ground being strangled by something invissible.

General Agent A was reaching for his side arm and comradio when something hit him, deep in his chest.

Pain, pain like never before.

Sinking to his knees, holding his chest an a clawed hand slowley became vissible.

Holding a still beating heart as it phased through the wall.

The last thing General Agent A ever saw.

The so called doctors lifeless bodies was still being hold up in the air when Danny phased through the wall.

Dani did not look good.

Trying ro reign in his powers after the base had gone silent and the prisoner had been released.

He tried to heal her, but it was hard, something he had never had to do before.

And it worked, a bit.

She was out of danger for a few hours but she would need real help after that.

The base was to closed of to get any kind of signal out of, technological or magical.

So, brute force it was.

The shadows would have to find the way.

To find the magic source of John Constantine or just any ally ghost in this world.

So he took his power and was everwhere, all at once.

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

Morgaine Le Fay snapped up from where she had been playing with her son and looked into the shadows of a far of corner in her castle.

Something touched by death was here, energy formed in her hands as she stood in front of Mordred ready to defend.

Eyes, she saw eyes opening untill the covered a good bit of that corner.

Green eyes starring at her, at the room.

-No, it whispered in the wind. You are not the one.

The eyes closing and retreating.

She was still for several seconds after dissapperence, then quicker then any other she gathered what little she cared about and left the place to never return in case that thing did.

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

Similar scenes would take place in the home of Jason Blood.

On Themyscyria, Titans Tower, The Lux, the apartment of Felix Faust and many others Magical hero and villain.

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

Main Base of SPECTRE Amity Park

John was worried, they all were.

Danny and Dani had been sent on a simple mission, training mission for Dani really.

Give this the contact wait for his answer, yes you have to do it like that, he has no phone. And will only do work when you talk to hm face to face.

But Constantine had gone there himself when he had not heard from them after a reasonoble time and a half.

Only to find the contact dead, signs of a fight, then signs of a socond fight that seemed to have been what captured them (he hoped).

But that was still hours ago, no magic or tech had so far located them.

He snapped his head to a corner of the warehouse they had comendered and magiced up at the same time as the ghosts did.

The humans reacted to us not it.

It felt like Danny? but more, just more...

Eyes started opening then more and more as it seemed to recognize us.

A whisper. -John, help.

Constantine walked foreward in a brisk walk everybody else closely behind.

A thin shadow reached foreward and touches him, giving him information, alowing him to see what Danny sees, allowing him to find them.

And with that info he gives his first orders.

Jazz, Tucker and Sam prepare the medical bay with everything we have incomming 10+, go.

A stern glare makes sure that they follow through with it. It is to important for them to argue back.

He gives Wulf the cordinates to get them there, and then give a special mission to Technus, Ember and Skulker, Download all info they have, then delete everything, then destroy everthing. Scorched Earth Protocol is now in effect.

They nod and goes around to gather what they need.

two minutes later they are ready to leave.

-Hey, skulker pipes up. How gruesome can we expect it to be in there?

-Yes, is all Constantine answer.

The others look at each other and as one they go through Wulfs portal.

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

Danny looks up as the rest of the heavy hitters of SPECTRE walks through the portal. Still holding a healing hand over Dani.

John gives him a quick hug, as the other walks past for their respective tasks.

Wulf rolls the bed that Dani is lying on but is no longer strapped to, through the portal, as Ember leads the Ghosts that they believe they can still save.

Skulkers weapons are heard further down the corridor after he is being thanked for putting them out of their misery.

In time Technus and Skulker return carrying the 3 giant computers that the downloaded everything into.

Explosions can be heard in the distance as they all go through the portal fo the last time from that place.

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

-Dani will heal just fine. says John to Danny some hours later.

Between you, me and Freeze she will be ok.

-That is good, Danny says. Looking at the sunrise from the the roof of the headquarters. Today was Sunday. Tomorrow another week, another day in school.

John also looks at the sunrise for a bit.

Then he looks at Danny.

-Do you think you are ready to tell me everything that happened.

Danny is quite for a few moments.

-Depends on how metaphysical you whant me to be.

Constantine head tilts a bit.

-You had my attention, now you have my attention.

Danny looks a bit bemused at him, then he starts to tell him.

Alot of what he has to tell, Constantine would never be able to guess.

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

Refernce Videos.

If you had a hard time visualising what I meant.

Here is som help.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YopQW6bwsSo

01:40

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7nhPqNQSd3A

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EEUGcVGNbXA

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xoteajays · 10 months

Note

Ufff I know Niragi was such a big asshole in the series (idk I just would have liked to know more about his time before boderland, why he became like that, more about his bullying time) but every time I see the scene where the boys beat him, my heart bleeds. My poor baby. Where is Karube bringing him a blanket and hot chocolate??? 😭

I just have so many ideas now about what to write about the two of them, but I'm about as talented at writing as a seal is at flying so maybe I'll just send you some more ideas in the near future. Maybe you can implement some of them. 🥹🩷

niragi is. my guy. but he’s also just awful in the series. i love him but im also biased because there’s a developed version in my brain who is just my stringbean, made-out-of-pipe-cleaners guy. he’s babyboy, i’m looking at the atrocities but i’m also not.

the bullying scene also kills me, like he’s just a lil guy! in glasses! he’s crying! leave him alone! (also i wish we’d got to see the scene where the bullies force him to pierce his tongue because apparently that’s implied in the manga and i’m? excuse me??!? fucked up but i also want to see it)

my requests are always open for new ideas, so feel free!! ✨ but if you do decide on giving writing a try, i’d love to see it!

#anon #tj answers

0 notes

reidsnose · 3 years

Text

hair tie

overview: spencer and the reader start carpooling to work together

genre: fluff!!

a/n: i really dont know if this one is any good i just thought the idea was cute but let me know what yall think :)

masterlist

spencer was startled by the sudden knock, guests were rare in his little apartment, let alone this early in the morning. a bit paranoid he put his hand over the gun attached to his hip, just in case.

what surprised him even more than the unexpected knock was seeing you through the peep hole when he got to the door.

"y/n? are you ok?" he worried, scanning you up and down quickly to make sure you weren't hurt.

"no um i'm ok," you nervously chewed on your lip, "i was going to call you but i don't have your cell yet. oh my gosh this is going to sound so weird."

you were relatively new to the BAU and they were all very welcoming. the only person who seemed a little bit more closed off was Spencer.

it was true, he was avoiding you a little bit, but only because you were the most beautiful human being he had ever seen; which only made you that much more intimidating. he was afraid. what if he said something stupid? what if the second he opened his mouth you started thinking he was just his IQ. but you were fully a part of the team now. he would have to at least be aquatinted with you.

"its ok, you can say it." he encouraged kindly, causing you to visibly relax.

"ok. oh before i ask i want to preface this by saying you could totally say no i completely understand its a super weird thing especially because we barely know each other." you took a breath as he nodded, a slightly amused smile toyed with his lips.

"i understand the implications. proceed." he mentally slapped himself for wording his thoughts like that.

"do you maybe.. wanna drive to work together? i heard you talking about how you take the train and i also heard that you have an aversion to germs and i drive by your apartment to get to work anyway so i-" you cut yourself off, looking up and seeing him staring at you wide eyed. "i'm sorry this is too weird i over stepped my boundaries and now you dislike me even more. i'm sorry for interrupting your morning. um, you're going to be late for work if i don't leave you alone so ill just- sorry. i'm sorry."

truthfully, this was one of the kindest things anyone has ever offered to do for him. and you offered it with genuine kindness, no ulterior motives to try and get something from him. he stood stunned. how were you so beautiful AND kind. and still somehow a little intimidating.

"we're gonna be late" he called out.

"what?" you turned, having already walked a couple steps from his apartment, your heart beating a bit faster at the sound of his voice.

"you said i'm going to be late. but were carpooling. so we'll both be late," he said matter-a-factly, grabbing his coat and satchel.

"YES!" you laughed, a cracking a wide smile and punching the air triumphantly.

you leaned against the railing of the stairs as you watched him lock up. he was tall and slender and very handsome. so handsome. not handsome like morgan, handsome in a way you were sure you'd never seen before. an incredibly unique and scarce handsomeness that only Spencer Reid had. you tried to forget those thoughts as he began walking towards you.

"i don't dislike you, by the way." he blurted as the two of you walked down the stairs. he felt bad that he made you think he isn't fond of you; the problem was he was too fond of you.

"oh! thats good i've been trying to think of every interaction we've ever had because i was afraid i might have said or done something."

"truth be told," he huffed out a breath, "i was kind of intimidated by you."

you laughed a real, genuine laugh from deep in your belly as you reached your car. the sheer coincidence of the situation as well as your entirely non intimidating nature was seriously laughable.

"you cant be serious! did Garcia tell you?" you asked, completely dumbfounded.

"tell me what?" he asked back, confusion lacing his voice.

"that i was intimidated by you!" you confessed.

"what? this guy in Texas called me a pipe cleaner with eyes! how could i have possibly intimidated you?"

he looked around your car trying to subtly profile you. thats when he noticed you had put hand sanitizer in the passenger side door. and you had pushed the seat back to accommodate for his long legs. it was just two little things, two ways you put a little extra effort in to make him feel welcome, but he was 100% positive if he thought about it too much he would cry. he felt the need to do something like this for you. not to get even or anything, but simply because he wanted to make you feel the way he felt right now.

"i don't know! you're so tall and smart and you seemed quiet but i guess thats only because you were avoiding me. are you sure garcia didnt tell you?" you laughed, watching the road.

now it was his turn to laugh, "no i swear, Garcia didn't say anything about that to me!"

The two of you continued driving, either talking or sitting in a comfortable silence. and this little carpool became a tradition. the two of you arriving and leaving work together every single day, causing the two of you to become closer.

you had to admit, every morning and evening you spent with Spencer made him just seem more and more perfect. unbeknownst to you, the exact same thing was happening with him.

he noticed, one day, as you were pulling your hair up to tie in a ponytail, your hands alternated searching your wrists for a hair tie but there wasn't one there. once he noticed it once, he started noticing it constantly. on a case, in the office, in the car, at a bar. you always seemed to forget your hair ties.

so he went to the store after you drive him home one day, and got a few packs of hair ties. after paying for them, he put one on each wrist and the rest in his satchel, so next time, when you needed one, he'd have it.

he felt like such a creep, constantly watching you to see when you would try to put your hair up. of course the rest of the team took notice, though they had noticed your obvious incline towards each other, Spencer was clearly acting a little weird.

and then it happened.

the two of you were partnered to go to the crime scene on a case, and you went to tie up your hair before you entered the scene. he could hardly contain his excitement, his mind moving a mile a minute trying to decide how he wanted to give you the hair tie. he watched one of your hands search your wrist, but this time it pulled off a little black band and started looping it around your hair.

he couldn't believe it. he finally had a chance to make you feel a portion of the way he felt when he saw your effort in making his car Spencer-friendly, and new he had to think of a new way to do it.

snap.

he looked over and saw you holding what used to be your hair tie, now no longer a band, but a completely useless elastic line.

"you've gotta be-" you muttered to yourself, but your sentence was interrupted as Spencer nonchalantly jutted his wrist towards you. "what are you doing?"

"take my hair tie." he stated simply, trying so hard not to blush. this became even harder as your fingers graced the skin of his wrist while you pulled the hair tie off.

"oh! thank you! you're a life saver!" you breathed, cracking a wide smile as you used it to tie your hair up.

you couldn't help the butterflies going absolutely insane in your stomach. why did he have a hair tie? does he tie his hair up sometimes? why have you never seen it up? you tried to suppress a smile, that would be completely inappropriate for a crime scene.

but you couldn't suppress the warm feeling in your chest. because that was always there when Spencer was around.

ultra mega super cool taglist:

@mac99martin @imhreid @spencersmagic @hollydaisy23 @raelady1184 @a-broken-pact @padfootswife

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #reid #garcia #penelope garcia #morgan #derek morgan #hotch #aaron hotchner #prentiss #emily prentiss #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff #fluff

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megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms · 3 years

Text

Crumbled Kingdom

Based on this request: Oooh, how about Labyrinth where the reader comes to the crumbled Labyrinth after Sarah rejected Jarath and reader helps his broken heart? I just need a little flangst, if that’s okay.

Here you are! *Familiar Characters are NOT mine!*

Fandom: Labyrinth

Warnings: Angst with a semi-happy ending, a little bit of tension.

Pairings/Characters: Jareth x reader, Hoggle

"I wish the Goblin King would come and take us away right now," you whispered. You felt slightly foolish saying the words from the book you'd grown up reading and had been reading to your young sibling when things got bad at home. While you were technically old enough to move out on your own, you couldn't leave your sibling alone. That night was particularly bad, prompting you to utter the words that part of you hoped would send you away where those people who neglected you would never find you.

Your hopes were answered when you woke up to a slight crying of your name. You opened your eyes to find your sibling looking down at you with wide, teary eyes. You were immediately on alert, shooting up to make sure they were okay. You looked around in surprise. "What the-" you began but stopped yourself. Little ears hear everything after all.

"I'm scared, Y/N." You hugged your sibling close and attempted to smile. You didn't want to frighten them more. You let yourself take in your surroundings. Something looked familiar and yet, not. Everything around you was in a state of ruin and chaos. Crumbled and moss covered stone stood alongside dead hedges like those that lined the walls of a maze. You knew you'd heard about a place like this before but it wasn't until you heard the trickling of water that you made any sort of connection.

You followed the sound of the water, holding your sibling close to you. It didn't take long before you stumbled upon a broken and algae-ridden fountain. But that wasn't what caught your attention. It was the creature that stood around the same height as your sibling. "Excuse me?" The creature jumped and turned to you.

"Oh, excuse me." You cocked your head to the side, your memory trying so hard to catch up with what you were seeing. "Who are you? C-Can you show us the way out?" The creature looked between you in confusion. "Two? There's never two. Name's Hoggle."

"Hoggle? Like from the book?" your sibling piped up. You glanced down at them and then back at Hoggle. "No fuc-freaking way. There's no way. It's just a story." Hoggle chuckled humorlessly. "A story. Tell that to the Goblin King. Ever since…since her, thing's been different."

"Her? Sar-" Hoggle shushed you. "Don't say her name. Jareth's magic may have lessened but he sends the Cleaners if anyone mentions her name. Broken, he is." You exchanged a glance with your sibling. You remembered your mother's stories about her "crazy" friend Sarah who told her all about the Labyrinth. Without a word, you knew that you and your sibling agreed that it was time to get out of there. You wouldn't go home, but you couldn't stay here. "How do we get out?"

"Same way as always. You have to beat the Labyrinth. Thirteen hours. But the Labyrinth is even more unpredictable than before." You nodded and sighed. "I know, but I have to try. I have to protect them," you said, gesturing to your sibling. Hoggle let out a groan and showed you the entrance to the Labyrinth. "Come on," you told your sibling, "And stay close to me."

*Several hours later*

Hoggle was right. The Labyrinth had been more unpredictable, but thanks to reading the book so often as a child, you knew which landmarks to look for. You learned from the mistakes of the book's heroine. It wasn't easy by any means, but it wasn't as difficult as you were expecting, although you did nearly get stuck in the Bog of Stench. Not that you'd say that out loud. While you hadn't seen hide or hair of the Goblin King, you didn't want to risk his wrath after what had happened with Sarah. Clearly it was bad if the kingdom was in such a state of ruin.

To your surprise, the drawbridge of the castle was lowered when you finally approached. You were exhausted and your legs felt like they were going to give out. The only reason you kept going was for your sibling. "We're almost there. Do you think we made it?" You have them a smile. "I hope so. Come on. We have to get through the castle. We have to see the Goblin King." Your sibling looked more scared than they had since the moment you woke up in the Labyrinth. You hugged them close. "It'll be alright. I'll protect you."

Your footsteps echoed on the stone floor of the crumbling castle. The sound was a mixture of ominous and comforting. It grounded you since you had absolutely no idea what to expect from the king when you finally encountered him. At the same time, the sound sent a shudder down your spine. It was far too quiet for such a large castle.

It took you a while and several mistakenly opened doors to find what you were looking for. The throne room. You pushed open the doors, expecting to be greeted by goblins or guards or traps. Instead, you came face-to-face with an almost empty room. The only person in the room was lounging across the odd throne. He didn't even look up at your entrance.

"It's him," your sibling whispered, "It's Jareth." You nodded, but kept your eyes on the Goblin King. You took a step closer, but froze when Jareth finally spoke. "Stop. Don't move." His voice sent shivers down your spine. He looked to you, swinging his legs off the arm of his throne and standing much more gracefully than you expected. "You've beaten the Labyrinth." You nodded. "Yes. We'd like to leave now."

"Then you know what you should say. Say it! Bring the rest of my kingdom crumbling to nothing! Just like her!" You jumped a little. "Y/N, I'm scared." That caused you to straighten yourself up and glare at the Goblin King. "This wasn't Sarah's doing," you stated, "This was all you. What kind of king are you?! It's a king's duty to care for his kingdom and his people! So what? Sarah left and you let all this happen! She was fifteen! A child! You're not a king. You're a spineless coward! A little kid playing at being a king."

Jareth's face twisted into a mask a pure rage before he schooled his features again. Before you could even react, he was in your face. You fought against your instinct to run away. For some reason, you didn't think he would actually hurt you. His nose touched yours and he hiss, "You know nothing."

"I know she hurt you. I get that. But you hurt your kingdom. Your people," you whispered to him. You knew about pain. You knew how it could cut you so deeply it seemed like you would never recover. It softened your heart toward him a bit. Your sibling called your name, prompting both you and Jareth to look at them. They were now surrounded by curious looking creatures. The goblins, you assumed. They were examining your sibling as if he had been hundreds of years since they last saw a human. Since you had no idea how time passed in the Labyrinth, it's possible it had been. They reminded you of children that needed care and love.

"Look at them, Jareth. They need you. They need their king. I think that's why they brought me, an adult, here instead of just (Y/S/N). They wanted to help you so that you can help them." Jareth scoffed, but didn't look away from the goblins. "You cannot help." You smiled a bit. "Maybe I can. If you let me. What harm could it do? Let me help you, Jareth. I swear I won't leave until I've at least tried."

Jareth backed away slowly, his eyes turning back to you. "Do not make promises you cannot keep. The magic of the Labyrinth will hold you until your promise his fulfilled or until you fade away." You met his gaze. There was a storm brewing in his eyes. You could feel the gazes of the goblins on the two of you as Jareth sized you up.

"I swear it," you repeated. Jareth continued staring at you, the tension in the room thickening. You heard giggles from all around you, but you ignored them. You were on edge as you waited for Jareth to say anything. "Do you really think you're strong enough for this?" You snorted out a laugh. "I think the better question is are you prepared to handle me? I've been told I'm quite the handful."

"Well you are!" your sibling interrupted with a laugh. The small goblins joined in the laughter. You rolled your eyes before turning back to Jareth. "Well?" Jareth took another step back and gave a small nod of his head. The next thing you knew, someone grabbed your hand and pulled you over to the growing throng of goblins. You couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm and your sibling seemed to be enjoying themselves.

As you were being passed between the goblins, you missed the miniscule smile that made its way to Jareth's lips. You didn't know it, but a small spark of hope ignited in his chest and he could feel the Labyrinth's magic seeping back out toward the kingdom. Maybe you were the key to rebuilding his crumbled king and, perhaps eventually, healing his heart.

(a/n: I hope you like it!)

#labyrinth #jareth #jareth the goblin king #jareth the goblin king x reader #jareth x reader

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chasingpj · 3 years

Text

𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

summary: five ways he says i love you through his actions

warnings: implied nudity and s*x, discusses food and eating and nothing else, i think. oh, and maybe some typos

category: headcanons

love letters/notes

leo is a busy boy

he's always picking up new projects so he can spend all day in his workshop or the forges with his siblings

when you guys live together, he leaves small notes on the refrigerator for you

they're always short, saying simple things like "i love you" and "i miss you already"

for the love letters, he'll leave them in random places for you to find

if you're a big reader, i can see him hiding it between the pages of your book

one day, you pick up your book to read, and the note falls on your lap

it's a love letter written on a piece of blueprint paper; there’s a little bit of oil smudged on the side of it

he got distracted while he was working on something because you were the only thing he could think about

his love letters never fail to make your heart flutter

sometimes they make you cry

he's quite sentimental

leo always tells you he does better writing down his feelings than he is saying it out loud because he can organize his thoughts better

you know that leo has a hard time with that because of how he grew up

when you guys have an argument, which isn't very often, he writes his feelings down on paper

he's always quick to apologize if he did something wrong, and the notes help him form the apology that you deserve, and you're quick to forgive him

once, you were super angry after an argument, so you locked yourself in your shared bedroom

you needed to calm yourself down

the both of you much too angry and stubborn to make a compromise

as your recollecting yourself, 40 minutes in, a folded piece of paper slips from under the door

the letter has teardrop stains, and the ink is slightly smudged

on the paper, it's all his thoughts written out in the best way he can explain them

after reading what he wrote, you quickly deemed that whatever you were fighting about was silly, and you guys made up

you love his spontaneous notes so much that you do them back

you guys have a game of who can find the most creative hiding spot for your notes

one time you found one tapped to the inside of the toilet cover

you found it hilarious

you throw folded post-its with messages in his tool belt

he finds them during the day while he's working on something

after you joined in on the fun, he scatters notes in random places, and every few days, you find a new message hidden somewhere randomly

they're just so sweet; there’s never a time where they don't make you smile

gifts

this is a given

it's not a leo headcanon if gift-giving isn't included

he would make you things like roses from scrap metal to literal furniture

if you have a lot of jewelry, he will make you a cute jewelry box

if you're a big book reader, he'll make you bookcases to support your book collection

he's always giving you little trinkets that he made with leftover materials from projects

he loves making things for you and gets upset when you decide to buy something from ikea instead of asking him

"babe, why would you buy that? I could have just made it for you!"

when he's on his way from returning on his quest, sometimes he'll find something that reminds him of you in a store, and he'll buy it

when he has the money for it, he'd buy you a star :(

says that he spent even more money to buy an extra bright star

because "you're the sun in my universe"

brb gonna cry

also, he'd gift you a bond bracelet

you know, those bracelets where every time you tap on it, it makes the other person's bracelet vibrate

the both of you get anxious when one of you goes on quests, so the bracelets bring the other person who's at home comfort

because when you tap back, at least he knows you're alive and vice versa

one of the best gifts you've ever received from him was your engagement ring

he made it himself

he took so much care and effort into making it

imagine leo forging your wedding ring himself??? i'm in spain with no s

he was so nervous that you wouldn't like the style, so he had piper casually bring it up to you

piper was so nonchalant about it that you didn't even think twice about the question

the ring has the prettiest gemstone or diamond (whatever you prefer)

you cried so hard when he told you he made it himself that you couldn't even say yes to his proposal clearly

he makes both of your wedding bands too

he carves a saying that's dear to the both of you on the inside

this is nothing to do with anything but imagine when you guys have kids, he makes animals out of pipe cleaners for them i'm gonna cry, brb pt 2

overall, whether he makes the present himself or not, he puts a lot of effort and care into it

every gift has a meaning and a place dear to your heart

cooking for you

leo is canoningly a good cook

he loves cooking for you

and you love eating what he makes

he's usually busy on the weekdays, so he cooks on the weekends

you guys always joke that he'd be the cutest househusband

you got him an apron for Christmas as a joke gift one year, and he wears it all the time

there's something so charming about him wearing an apron with a funny saying like "Mr. Good Lookin is Cookin" or with like a ripped out shirtless guy in front of it

you giggle every time you see him wearing it

oh, no matter how many times you've seen it, it's still so bizarre when he takes out hot trays from the oven with his BARE hands

everything he makes tastes amazing

he makes all kinds of food and is always trying something new

if you tell him what you’re craving, he’ll cook it for you

once he woke you up to ask if you wanted ribs… it was 3 am but like, of course, you wanted some

unless you're vegetarian or vegan, sorry, HAHA

often though, he does make Mexican food

it reminds him of when his mom was alive

he always has some story to share

every time he makes caldo de pollo (chicken soup), he always talks about how his mother would make it in the summer and that when he was little, he would always complain about eating hot soup in hot weather

you know he doesn't notice his constant telling of this story, but you don't mind

it's so bittersweet when he talks about his mom

through the cooking of his traditional food, you feel closer to him and his late mother

the memories he shares with you makes your eyes sting with tears

especially when leo says how much he wishes that esperanza could have met you

sorry, that was a little emo

also, leo usually wakes up earlier than you

he knows you're a sleepyhead, so he'll cook breakfast for you

so that when you're running around in the morning trying to get dressed and your things together

you never leave the house hungry because there's always a tupperware filled with breakfast, and if he has enough time, he'll fix you something to take for lunch too

if you come home late from work or school, he'll make dinner even if he's tired to surprise you

so many times you've come home from a shitty day at work or school, and the small table where you guys eat your meals is all set up with your favorite food

leo greets you by peeking his head into the hallway from the kitchen, tossed curls, cheerful brown eyes, and a bright grin

"I hope you're hungry," he says, despite knowing that you are hungry

and then you guys talk and laugh together over a delicious meal

compliments

leo's really observant

he notices when you’re in a bad mood, even if you try not to show it

he also notices when you change little things about your appearance

if you get a haircut or you get your nails done, he'll comment on it right away

especially outfits

if you buy something new, he'll complement it

imagine standing in front of the mirror, looking at yourself in your new outfit

leo comes behind you, his hands coming around your waist

he'll pepper kisses on your neck, a soft hum leaving his lips as he meets your eyes in the mirror

"is this new, mi amor?" he asks, hands running up your sides

once you affirm that it is a new dress or shirt, he'll smile and tell you how beautiful you look in it

maybe says he'd rather see it off of you wink wink

there's never a day where he doesn't compliment you

he thinks you're the prettiest person in the world

you've caught him staring at you lovingly plenty of times

he's just asking himself how did he manage to get someone as beautiful and amazing as you

you always squirm under his gaze and playfully ask what is he looking at

"you're so pretty, mi amor. I can't help it."

AHHH!!!!

alongside the endearment of mi amor, he'd always call you bonita and hermosa

you're so sweet to him, and he can't help but tell you how much you mean to him every chance he gets

surprises

leo is an acts of service kind of guy

i think he'll spontaneously do things to make you happy

if you've been busy studying for finals or just beat up from a day at work

he'll draw you a bath

or he'll cut up some fruit for you and leave it at your desk

he randomly buys you flowers

he never needs an occasion to buy your flowers

it'll be a regular tuesday, leo just happened to walk past a store with flowers displayed in the front, and he thought about how bright your smile would be if he showed up with a bouquet

I feel like he's pretty introverted, enjoys being at home with you

the both of you are pretty broke for a while, so a lot of dates were at home

leo made the most of it

you guys will have nice dinners at home

he'll set the table nicely, set the mood with candles

he'll redecorate the space so well you feel like you're at an actual restaurant

and of course, his food is amazing

breakfast in bed is another thing he'd do for you unsolicited

especially if you guys had a looong night wink wink

you're woken up by his still groggy voice, fluttering kisses on your cheeks

you open your eyes to see he's set a tray with your favorite breakfast on top of the bed

the two of you will eat breakfast together, which usually leads to you staying in bed for the rest of the day

just enjoying the warm cocoon your sheets create around the both of you

overall, he's super observant and caring, and he goes the extra mile to make sure you're happy because he knows you do the same

anyways, does anyone know where I can get a leo?

masterlists taglist: @nct127bee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @cartocns @Slytherclaw-kitten @idk-bye-no @percysbluehairbrush @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @drayshadow @ashookykooky

#my writing #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus fanfic #heroes of olympus fanfiction #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez fluff #leo valdez drabble #leo valdez headcanon

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thepartyresponsible · 3 years

Text

this soundtrack fill is for kittenlzlz, who i cannot tag because it’s all sabotage all the time over here. also, i'm sorry, i didn’t realize you’d changed your prompt until after i wrote this one, so this is for the first thing you sent in.

anyway, here’s some dystopian sci-fi angst for sam and bucky with a hopeful ending. the song for this one is “achilles come down” by gang of youth.

—

When he was young, Sam spent thirty-seven weeks in New Mexico, learning how to keep people alive until evac. That others may live was a motto they preferred to operationalize rather than idealize, and, without the EMT training, pararescue tended to turn into high-risk body retrieval. So he spent the better part of a year learning how to keep a body breathing, and he learned, also, how to recognize when any effort was likely to be wasted.

Which is how he knows that what he’s looking at isn’t fully human. Because a human would already be dead.

It’s the blood that tells him, more than anything else. The Chitauri bleed a thick, dark blue substance that goes black if their cybernetics are leaking. And there’s plenty of blue and black puddled on the asphalt, but that red is a hemoglobin gift, and that means it’s all human.

“Shit, man,” Sam says, crouching next to the only human at this massacre. “You could keep a blood bank in business all by yourself.”

The man lifts his head and blinks at him, slow and a little dazed. Not dazed enough, though. He can almost focus on Sam’s face. “Not anymore,” he says, after a beat.

More blood bubbles up at the corners of his mouth. Sam can see it between his teeth.

“Yeah,” Sam says. And he laughs, because he might as well. Because he came out here with a team of ten to clean out the aliens, and it looks like one guy did their work for them. “Guess not.”

He’s a pathetic sight, really. Ragged body armor, hair clumped together, skin sticky with blood and ichor. He’s belly down on the cracked parking lot, and there’s a smear of blood behind him, showing exactly how far he’s managed to drag himself.

Sam’s not excited about what he’s going to see, when he rolls this guy over on his back.

“You gonna fight me if I help you?” he asks.

Most of them, these Enhanced, the surviving Super Soldiers, they can’t help it. Sam’s had to put a few down himself, although not for a while now. It’s been almost a year since he had to kill anything with a human face.

The man sighs. He rests his forehead against the asphalt, closes his eyes. His fingers flex and then go still. “I don’t know,” he says.

That others may live, Sam thinks. But the problem has always been that lives are balanced on both sides of the scales, and, sometimes, saving one means sacrificing another.

This man killed fifteen Chitauri, and he did it alone. There are kids back at the base. Vulnerable people.

The safest choice would be to leave him here. Let him save himself, if he can. But Sam’s never really been the safe choice type.

“Okay,” he says, hands curling around his shoulders, carefully rolling the man over on his back, “let’s see the damage.”

It’s enough to kill a human. But that’s not really what he’s dealing with.

—

The Super Soldiers were a desperation play. Sam was supposed to be one of them. The best of Earth’s fighters, dosed with serum, patched up with cybernetics based on Chitauri tech, sent out to face the enemies that had invaded the planet.

Sam’s still not sure exactly how it happened, what level of their defenses failed. He only knows failure by its consequences.

The neural implants were hacked. The soldiers turned against their people. Sam, who’d been four days out from his own procedure, was shifted to a team tasked with hunting them down and eliminating them.

These days, there aren’t many left. There’s not much of anyone left. The Chitauri fundamentally misunderstood their target. Sam could’ve warned them. The species of mutually assured destruction was never going to die quiet.

He thinks about that while the Soldier sleeps, chained to a bed in a locked basement in an abandoned building two miles from the base. Sam keeps watch. He has a radio in case anything goes wrong, but he doesn’t intend to use it for anything other than warning them what’s coming.

“I could’ve been you,” Sam tells him. And then, smiling at nothing, shaking his head, “Hell, you could’ve been me.”

He wonders where he’s from. He wonders what his name is.

He wonders, when he can’t help it, what he did. If he ever killed anyone Sam used to know.

—

The Soldier sleeps for forty hours and then sits straight up in bed, rips the chains off his wrists like they’re pipe cleaners, and then turns to face Sam. “What the hell,” he says.

“Oh, well,” Sam says, too startled to be afraid. “Didn’t want anyone stealing you.”

The Soldiers makes a face at him, an incredulous sneer that twists up his mouth and pulls his dark eyebrows together, and he looks so human, so perfectly skeptical, that Sam starts laughing.

“Well,” he says, with a shrug, “you killed fifteen aliens with a tire iron. You’re a treasure.”

“And I want it back.” he says, immediately. “Where’s my tire iron?”

“Confiscated,” Sam says.

He glares, and Sam‘s probably meant to be intimidated, but he knows – they both know – that, if this guy wanted to scare Sam, he could just start breaking bones. Or walls. “I want it back when I leave.”

“Leave,” Sam repeats. He kicks back in his chair, balances on the back legs as he swings his feet up onto the Soldier’s bed. “Why’re you leaving?”

The Soldier stares at Sam’s booted feet near his knees. “Usually it’s the fact that I’m a timebomb that chases me off,” he says, “but it looks like your manners are the real horrorshow around here.”

Sam grins at him. He’s merciless about it, uses the most charming smile in his arsenal. He expects the guy to soften a bit, but he’s not expecting the doubletake he gets, the there-and-away bounce of his stare, like Sam’s suddenly something he wants to look at but doesn’t want to get caught looking at.

Huh, he thinks.

“When’s the last time you hurt someone?” Sam asks.

The Soldier’s face crumples up and then flattens out. “What is this? Some kinda trial? An interrogation?”

“If this were an interrogation, I wouldn’t’ve given you the soft pillows,” Sam tells him.

The Soldier doesn’t look like he buys it. But, after a moment, he tips his head to the side. “Probably wouldn’t want to get blood on these white sheets,” he acknowledges.

“Christ,” Sam says, because that more or less seems to be the only thing he could possibly say to something like that.

The Soldier shrugs. He brushes his hair away from his face, blinks, and gives Sam a skeptical sideways stare. “Did you wash my hair?”

“With a firehose,” Sam confirms. “Damn near shaved the whole thing off. You were a mess, man.”

He shrugs. “It’s messy work.”

And, sure, it is. Sam knows. His base is the first resettlement outpost in this region. They’ve been clearing Chitauri out of the area for months.

But he still takes a damn shower whenever possible.

“Who were you?” Sam asks. “Before the program?”

The Soldier looks away. Looks at nothing. After a long pause, he recites, careful and rote, “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. 107th.”

“Okay,” Sam says. “James. When’s the last time you hurt a human being?”

He worries at his lower lip, teeth pressing into the skin. He’s quiet for a very long time. “Thirteen months, ten days,” he says, finally.

Sam considers the timeline. “You think it’s over?”

“I think the implant’s in my fucking brain,” he says. “It’ll be over at brain death.”

“It’s just a chip,” Sam says. “It’s not sentient. Someone’s gotta send the message, right?”

The Soldier’s jaw works. “Even if the aliens stay out, there’s gonna be plenty of people who want to use someone like me, as soon as they rebuild enough to manage.”

It’s a hell of thing, and it could’ve been Sam.

He nudges the Soldier’s knee with his boot, and the Soldier stares at the point of contact. He doesn’t look angry anymore. If Sam had to use a word to describe the expression on the Soldier’s face, he thinks he’d use something bittersweet and barbed, something like lonely or longing.

“Gonna be a long damn time before anyone’s rebuilt,” he says.

“Aliens could have reinforcements here at any time,” the Soldier says.

“Maybe,” Sam says, although he thinks they might’ve learned some kind of lesson. At the very least, they’ve probably learned that it’s just not worth the effort.

“Look,” Sam says. “I think you should come back to the base.��

“No,” he says. Immediate and definite, louder then he’s been so far.

Sam expected it. Maybe part of him hoped for it. “Okay,” he says. “Then we’ll stay here. And, when you’re better, I want you to take a radio. And I want you to check in with us. All right? Every day.”

The Soldier stares at him. “Why the hell would you want that?”

Sam smiles, studies the hollows of the Soldier’s face, the scars, the freckles he must’ve earned when he was young, used to play too long in the sun. He has, Sam thinks, beautiful eyes. “There’s not a lot of us left,” he says.

“‘Us,’” the Soldier repeats, scoffing audibly.

“Us,” Sam repeats. He nudges the Soldier’s knee again, and the Soldier cuts his eyes away, glares at the wall. But, a moment later, he shifts, leans his knee into Sam.

—

His name is Bucky Barnes. He’s fussy as hell, stubborn beyond belief, helpful every chance he can get, and fond of cats and songbirds. He doesn’t cheat at cards, and he doesn’t accuse Sam of it either, even when Sam beats him damn near every hand.

He’s a good man. Even now.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Sam says. Because it’s been two weeks, and Bucky’s decided he’s well enough to go.

Bucky ducks his head. “Shut up,” he says.

Sam wonders if he was always this head shy about affection.

“C’mere,” he says. “I’ll give you a goodbye kiss.”

“Shut up,” Bucky says, practically scuttling away, head still ducked. When he raises it, he’s grinning one of his ghost grins, the ones that almost show who he used to be, like a faint echo of a louder, happier man.

“Okay,” Sam says. “But if I don’t get a goodbye kiss, I’m definitely not gonna talk dirty to you on that radio. You gotta put in the work, Bucky.”

“I hate you,” Bucky tells him, and his crush couldn’t be more obvious. Sam would be embarrassed for him, if he weren’t busy being charmed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says. “Check in every day, or I’m gonna track you down.”

“Hm,” Bucky says. He adjusts his pack on his shoulders. He’s got that tire iron, an alarming number of knives, and two guns. He’s setting off to kill more aliens. He’s going alone. “That supposed to be a threat?”

He was a Barnes in the Army and Sam was a Wilson in the Air Force, and so Bucky is a Super Soldier and Sam is not. It’s unpredictable, sometimes, the way mercy falls.

“Be careful out there,” Sam says, and he knocks his elbow against Bucky’s.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He rolls his eyes and then catches Sam watching, and he blinks, falters. “Yeah,” he says, again. Softer, steadier. A promise, not a joke.

Sam considers him, lets the moment hang. Waits. Sometimes, all Bucky needs is the space and time to make up his own mind.

“I’m gonna miss you, too,” Bucky says.

“There it is,” Sam says, grinning, almost crowing in triumphant. “There--”

“Oh, Jesus,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes again, getting theatrical about it. “I already regret saying it.”

“Can’t take it back,” Sam taunts, grinning wide and smug.

“I’m going,” Bucky says, and he starts off, doesn’t look back.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam calls, when Bucky’s just about to break through the treeline, disappear into the woods. “I hate to see you go, but I love----”

“Fuck off, Sam!” Bucky says, but he’s laughing, and Sam can still hear it – surprised and happy, fully human – even after Bucky disappears.

#writing #soundtrack fills

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spacedikut · 4 years

Text

how to ask a girl out ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x reader

summary: elle sees an opportunity to teach spencer about asking a girl out. 3275 words

a/n: based on this scene. this is the longest fic ive ever written so sorry if it’s a painful read

Spencer feels creepy staring at you like this.

There’s no other way to put it. He feels like he’s twelve again, the youngest in his Las Vegas high school, staring at all the pretty girls that get his heart racing just by existing. But you’re more enchanting than those girls. He could watch you do anything, he thinks, because no matter what you’re doing you look picture perfect, like you don’t have a single bad angle.

Spencer still has the social skills of twelve year old him, though. Especially when dealing with cute people.

“You know,” The voice makes Spencer jump, “If you stare long enough, she just might notice.”

Elle is smirking with her arms crossed, shooting Spencer an incriminating look. He tenses.

Seeing his discomfort, Elle relents, “I’m teasing, Reid.” He visibly relaxes against the door frame he’s half hiding behind, half leaning against.

“I’m not trying to be weird.” He mumbles. Elle thinks he sounds like a kid that was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I know you’re not. Have you… spoken to her?”

You’re somewhat new to the unit. Some kind of assistant to JJ who joined several months ago (three months and three days, if Spencer counted correctly) (he did), which means the team don’t see you that much, just enough that you’ve been the topic of discussion a few times. It doesn’t help that JJ sings your praise, and Hotch recently revealed you made yourself available for babysitting his new-born if he ever needs it. Every time someone mentions you, it’s followed by some kind of compliment. Everyone loves you. Spencer has said all of five words to you, and he’s smitten.

“Hi. I’m Spencer. A doctor.”

When you were introduced you didn’t pay him much attention. He can’t blame you, it was overwhelming for you – being introduced to a whole bunch of FBI agents and then thrown head-first into sorting cases for them. But Spencer paid attention. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Derek’s caught him staring one too many times, but it isn’t Spencer’s fault he can’t stop thinking about you. You enter the room and Spencer’s attention is pulled to you, like a magnet.

Derek thinks it’s time he made a move. Spencer agreed and maintained that confidence for all of fifteen minutes, until he heard your joyful laugh dance down the hallway and his tongue felt too heavy to form words.

That’s when Elle noticed.

Across the room, you’re laughing at something Derek said with JJ. Seeing you smile makes Spencer smile, and Elle nudges him.

“Have you considered approaching her? Rather than, you know, watching her from afar like she’s prey?”

Spencer huffs, “You think I haven’t tried?”

Every time he’s moved to start a conversation, he finds himself unable to complete a single sentence. After he says hello, then what? He dies?

Elle breathes through her nose in frustration. “She’s a nice girl. I’ve spoken to her a couple of times. She mentioned the other day she wants to visit the local museum, since she just moved and hasn’t really explored yet. Shame no one is available to accompany her, right?”

“Are you implying something?”

“Yes.”

“I-I don’t. I can’t-“

“You can’t or you won’t?”

Spencer’s always admired Elle’s ability to be blunt and fearless. But he isn’t Elle, Elle isn’t him, so to him it doesn’t feel like he simply chooses to pussy out of talking to you – it feels like he’s physically constrained. Like he’s fighting against the tide of the ocean to reach you, and he keeps getting pushed back, further and further away from you.

Elle’s eyes shift between you and Spencer, like she’s watching a tennis match. “Just go up and ask her. It’s that simple. If she says no, she says no. No big deal!”

Spencer shakes his head, “I can’t do that. It’s Y/N! She’s-she’s-“

“A normal human being. You know, like you and me? The second you start putting people on pedestals is when things start falling apart.” She pats him on the shoulder as encouragement, “Have some confidence, Reid.”

And she walks away, as if just telling him to have some confidence will make him suddenly have the courage to whisk you off your feet.

He wishes he could whisk you off your feet.

+++

The paperwork is never ending. Times like this, Spencer considers recanting his stance on technology – maybe having everything on an online database would be a good idea. The stacks upon stacks around him would agree.

A paper ball hits the back of Spencer’s head.

He turns, slowly, and Elle gives a wave from her desk. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Can I… help you?”

“Yes, you can.” She nods to the paper on the floor, “Read it.”

He leans and grabs the ball from the floor, opening it with furrowed brows.

Step 1: Actually talk to her.

Suddenly, Elle is standing right next to him, looking all-too-pleased with herself. She leans over him.

“What does this mean?”

“You wanna date Y/N? Talk to her. That means marching right up to her pretty little face and saying more than, like, a few words to her. You need to have a conversation with her to let her know you’re interested.”

Elle’s clearly confident in her plan, but it seems she’s forgetting an important detail – this is Spencer that she’s dealing with. Not Derek, who can charm anyone out of anything (or into anything), not Hotch who, when he wants to be, is the smoothest criminal ever. Not even Gideon, with his soft eyes that make anyone that stares into them feel safe. He’s Spencer Reid who, according to one guy, looks like a pipe cleaner with eyes.

Spencer’s hesitant to take any of Elle’s advice.

“What would I… say to her?” He asks. If he does talk to you, what does he even say? Do you even want to talk to him? What if you immediately hate him and JJ beats him up? She could do it. He’s seen her guns.

Elle looks at him incredulously, “Reid! C’mon! Anything! Ask how her day has been, if she had a good weekend, are there plans for this weekend… Literally anything.” Spencer gives a look of distrust, “You’ll know if she’s interested, trust me. She’ll reciprocate. If she doesn’t, she’s not up for it, and there’s your answer without even asking her out.”

At that moment, you and JJ appear from thin air, whispering to one another with your arms full of files. Both Spencer and Elle’s watchful gazes follow you right up until JJ’s office door is clicked shut and when you can only slightly be seen through the blinds, Spencer still stares. Elle hits him over the head.

“Pay attention!”

“She’s distracting!”

“She walked by you, not gave you a lap dance! Focus on the plan!”

With a sigh, he looks back to the crumpled paper in his hands. “What’s step two?”

The paper’s yanked out of his hands and Elle furiously scribbles something before handing it back to him.

Step 2: Make her laugh.

“I can’t do that.”

She scoffs, “Reid.”

“People laugh at me, Elle, not with me. The only way she’ll laugh is if I make a complete fool of myself and when I do that, I’m running away and never looking back. You’ll never see me again.”

Sick of the self-deprecation, Elle leans close to Spencer’s face and begins to whisper menacingly.

“Listen, bud,” She threatens, “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You’re young, you’re inexperienced – that’s why approaching Y/N is so terrifying. Not because she’s out of your league, or you’re not good enough, it’s because you’ve never done this before. It’s simply a fear of stepping out of your comfort zone, so stop being so hard on yourself.”

Spencer isn’t sure how to respond, silently wishing something could get him out of this situation. He’s not used to being complimented so ferociously.

God answers his prayers. In the worst way possible.

“Incoming. Make her laugh, Reid.” Elle says, slinking off back to her desk.

Spencer quickly realises you’re approaching and his hands grip the armrests of his chair. He’s not ready for this. He wishes he had time to prepare, maybe google how to woo a woman, but you’re in front of him, all precious smiles with a manila folder in your hand.

“Hi, Doctor Reid.”

Your voices sounds like heaven. He can’t help but think, despite only listening to classical music, he could listen to your voice and only your voice if given the option. It’s like honey, sweet and smooth, and something inside him stirs. Everything about you is lovely.

He clears his throat and nervously wipes at his nose, “Hey. What can I do for you?”

“I was told to bring this to you,” You hand him the folder, “And JJ wanted me to check up on you. She said you’ve been working non-stop and that you probably consumed your bodyweight in coffee with enough sugar to give a small army diabetes. My guess is she wants to check your heart is still beating.”

Spencer laughs at that, which encourages you to giggle along. He freezes when he sees the way your eyes scrunch and smile widens when you laugh – he’d only seen it from a distance, up close it feels intimate and causes his throat to tighten. When your laughter dies, you’re left with an awkward silence as he stares. You shuffle your feet.

Elle is trying to look like she isn’t paying attention, but in her head she’s screaming at Spencer to say something!!!

“Sorry for disturbing you if you’re – um – if you’re busy.” You gesture to the mess on Spencer’s desk, and it’s then that he realises how his silence could’ve looked – to him, you quite literally took his breath away, but to you? He’s a weirdo that is still holding the file mid-air and hasn’t said a thing for far too long.

“No! No,” Spencer brushes his hair back, “Thank you for the file. JJ’s right, I should probably take a break-“

He looks up then. This is his chance, right?

“Are you busy right now?”

You glance around and your eyes find JJ’s office, where she’s signalling for you to come over, “Yeah. Sorry.”

It feels like a punch in the gut – is this rejection? – but there’s a look of sadness that crosses your face. Your mouth falls at the edges and your brows slightly crease – do you wish you weren’t busy?

If Spencer didn’t feel like he’s seconds away from vomiting, he’d ask. Maybe. That sounds a whole lot like flirting and he isn’t sure he can handle that.

You quickly leave, not before you tell him to look after himself (his heart swells), and the second you’re far enough away Elle is marching right over and throwing the paper at him, again, even though she’s standing right in front of him.

“She rejected me.”

“Yea- wait, what?” Elle starts to celebrate, but stops at her words, “No she didn’t. Did we see different things?”

“It sure felt like rejection. Felt weird.”

“That was the perfect chance to ask her to go out after work or maybe on the weekend, but, in your defence, that’s a Derek-level response and we’re not quite there yet. Step three, go.”

Spencer unfolds the paper ball begrudgingly, wondering if any of this is actually worth it.

Step 3: Get JJ to back the fuck up.

Spencer laughs.

“Either you tell JJ you like her assistant and ask for her help, or you tell JJ you like her assistant and that she needs to stop using her so much.” Elle sounds matter-of-fact and confident.

“You want me to tell JJ to stop giving her assistant work?” Spencer asks, face scrunched.

With a shrug, Elle says, “Or you could ask her to help you. She knows the most about Y/N.”

Looking up to JJ’s office, he realises how true Elle’s statement is. JJ knows you better than anyone else here, you’ve quickly become good friends, and JJ wouldn’t lie to Spencer about you if it involved his feelings. He trusts JJ like that.

But then you throw your head back in laughter, a hearty laugh that JJ follows with her own tinkling chuckle, and Spencer is reminded of the sinking feeling he’s had when he’s been rejected before. The emotional slap in the face that causes you to lose all confidence. In his head, he rationalises that attempting to ask you out is pointless. You won’t like him, scrawny profiler who follows his team members like a lost puppy, the guy unable to maintain eye contact for more than four seconds. The logical side, however, the side that runs the show when Spencer is on a case and hides his feelings, tells him he has nothing to lose. Morgan would be proud of him, not ashamed, because Spencer had the guts to ask someone out – Spencer! Elle would understand and tell him something about learning for next time, and the rest of the team wouldn’t really care.

He has nothing to lose and everything to gain. A date with you? A relationship with you? That’d feel like winning the lottery. It feels more likely than winning the lottery, too.

Then Morgan walks past him, more like swaggers, all good looks and charm and everything Spencer doesn’t have.

Spencer decides he’ll save himself the rejection.

+++

JJ gets involved without Spencer realising. He connects the dots on the way back to Virginia, after a case in which you were brought along instead of JJ.

There was a “family emergency”, apparently, after the debrief and right before take-off. Although it wasn’t your first case, it was your first time travelling with the team. When you pad in, sparkling eyes gliding all around the jet, Spencer zeroes in on the gruesome scene photos to avoid being caught staring.

You fit into the role flawlessly. It’s like you were born for the part, effortlessly slipping into the job of communicator between the team and the police force, standing fearlessly in front of the press as they piled on the pressure.

In the conference room where the team set up, he noticed you actively try to stay out of the way whilst simultaneously help in any way you could. You offered coffee every two hours (Spencer counted), cleaned up any and all rubbish the team left around – burger wrappers, useless post-it notes – and mothered the team by reminding them they need breaks, too.

At the hotel, you jokingly poked Spencer in the shoulder and said, “No more coffee for you. You’ll get a sugar rush and won’t be able to sleep.”

“Like a toddler?”

“Exactly like a toddler. Straight to bed for you.”

You grinned at eachother before you separated to go to your rooms. Around three am, Spencer instinctively went to make himself a drink but stopped and thought of you. He decided for that night, just that night, he could get a somewhat decent amount of sleep.

Now, on the flight home, Gideon pauses before his move in their third game of chess to stare at something behind Spencer’s shoulder. When he notices, Spencer turns to see what has his mentor’s attention and stutters when it’s you. You, looking like you’re straight out of a cheesy romance movie when you push your hair back while reading your book.

Gideon switches from staring at you to staring at Spencer.

“She’s a pretty girl, huh?”

Spencer knows where this is going.

“Elle told me you’re sweet on her.”

“Elle shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Elle has been watching you two the entire case.”

“Elle-“

Gideon clears his throat, making Spencer finally make eye contact, “You scared? Worried?”

“About what?” Spencer asks.

“Rejection. If she’ll laugh in your face, say something about never wanting anyone like you.”

Sometimes, Spencer is terrified of Gideon’s ability to read people. He swears he has this inhuman ability to take a peek into people’s minds, read their most intrusive and negative thoughts, and confront them about them. Like he’s doing to Spencer now.

“Something like that, yeah,” Spencer murmurs. He shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, “It’s your move.”

“I know.” Gideon nods to you, making Spencer look again, “Don’t you think, in twenty years’ time, you’d want to look back at this moment and be glad you asked? No matter the outcome? Rather than wondering if she’d said yes, asking all kinds of what-ifs…”

“You’re telling me to ask her out?”

Gideon gives Spencer a smile that fills him with confidence. He doesn’t know what it is, but he trusts Gideon with his whole life. If he tells him to go for it, then he should go for it, right?

“I happen to know the Virginia museum is having a deal on tickets if you order them online. Might be something to look into.” He sounds borderline smug now.

With one last look to Gideon, he stands and slowly waddles to the chair opposite you.

“Mind if I sit?” He asks, a hand gently resting on the back of the empty seat. You startle slightly at the unexpected voice, but gesture for him to sit with a smile.

“How are you feeling?” You wonder, squinting slightly as the sun shines in your eyes. It makes them sparkle, and Spencer has never understood wanting to drown in someone’s eyes until that moment.

“Just glad the case is over. You did a great job, by the way, filling in for JJ last minute.” Spencer is surprised that his voice doesn’t crack or stop completely.

You beam at the praise, “Thank you. JJ’s got some big boots to fill, even if it’s for one case.”

He shrugs and pulls a face as if you’ve said something ridiculous, “Don’t sell yourself short. When she realises how good you are, she’ll start taking all kinds of holidays.” He jokes.

He can’t help but grin when you laugh.

Elle passes. In the very brief eye contact they make, Elle’s eyes are wide and jumping from you to Spencer, Spencer to you. She’s sending him a message, and he bets Gideon is watching, too.

“Hey,” He starts, leaning on the table between you. You instinctively lean closer, too, which Spencer takes as a positive sign, “How would you.. like…”

He has to take a second to inhale a shaky breath and nervously push his hair behind his ears. You wait, all patient and divine, and his eyes dash around your face.

“To go to the museum with me?”

It comes out rushed and you look confused. “Huh?”

Spencer tries again, after clearing his throat, “How would you like to go to the museum with me? When we get back. As a date.”

“You’re asking me on a date?”

“…Yes?”

If you weren’t staring directly at him, he’d think you were making fun of him and about to unleash a nice bout of rejection.

You move one hand to lean your face against, moving in a little closer, “I would love that.”

Spencer is speechless. You would love that?

“Oh- wow. Yeah, thanks. Good.”

Who says thanks when someone agrees to go on a date with them?

You giggle.

“We’ll plan when we get back?” You ask.

“Yes. Definitely.” He nods three times.

You can’t help but bite your lip, he’s too cute, and it immediately draws Spencer’s attention.

Behind you both, Gideon turns to Elle. “Success.”

Elle rolls her head against the back of her seat and stares out the window, “Step four: Get Gideon to get the job done.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #this is incredibly self indulgent because i would give anything to go on a museum date with spencer or mgg #also this was longer before editing and originally included a whole thing with a male police officer being interested in reader but it was #already SO LONG

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

breathing cleaner air (2)

warnings: miscommunication, slight body horror, arguing

Roman woke up, which was a surprise in itself.

He was sprawled over a wooden floor, covered in what seemed to be a significant amount of unbound hay. His body ached severely, and he spent a moment waiting for his brain to register how horrifically itchy he must be under all this straw.

A beat later, he recalled that his sense of touch had grown muted and strange as soon as his skin vanished behind a layer of bone and keratin. Not itchy after all, then.

Whatever he was laying on, it was moving, slowly but steadily, and he couldn’t seem to make his body move more than an inch. He couldn’t even lift his head to see over the short back barrier of the space.

A twinge of pain, and then he was blinking rapidly as a new source of vision opened up, creating a dizzying overlay effect. He closed his eyes, and found that the new sightline was all that remained, showing him sprawling fields and a dirt road slowly inching past.

It was an eye, popping up on his shoulder armor as though that was a reasonable place for an eye to appear. He shuddered, revulsed, and it sunk away into nothing with a sharp spike of pain, leaving him with only the pair of eyes on his face.

Roman took a deep breath, trying to remain composed. His body had been malformed, and his best friend had attacked him, and now he was here, unharmed but for his immobility and the strange quirks of this new form. Surely Logan wouldn’t dispose of a corpse without first checking that it was actually deceased?

He had to be sprawled in the back of a covered wagon of some sort, the slow rhythmic motion of the vehicle thankfully not enough to jar any of his newly-obtained wings. If he’d been an actual seraph, he would have plenty of motivation to murder the farmer hired to move its ‘corpse’. Logan would never be so sloppy as to risk civilians like that.

So then, how had he gotten to this point?

He chewed on the question as time passed, mentally going around in circles until the wagon ground to a stop.

Footsteps circled the body of the vehicle, and stopped. Roman resisted the urge to try and make another eye to look through.

A surge of magic later, his body felt suddenly lighter, and he jolted upright into a sitting position, head turning to the back of the wagon.

Logan stood there, his staff held in a defensive block position. “Hello there.”

Roman made to indignantly ask what he was playing at, but all that came from him was a fierce shrieking whistle, not from his mouth but from his throat, where there were irregular gaps in the armor covering.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re confused,” Logan continued, still on guard. “I’m pleased to inform you that though I don’t yet have a solution to your ailment, I have no plans to kill you.”

A wave of relief washed over Roman, and he preened slightly, so immensely grateful that his best friend was a genius. How he’d figured it out, Roman had no idea, but clearly, he’d known from the moment Roman had stumbled past the treeline.

He leaned forward, intending on some kind of friendly contact, and Logan took a step back, his staff smoothly moving to point out in threat.

“No closer, please,” he instructed firmly. “I can’t understand you or your intentions at the moment. You’ll have to wait until we reach the others so they can translate.”

Roman drooped, wings drawing in around him as though he’d received a physical blow. The guarded look in those eyes, the stiff lines of his body-- Logan hadn’t looked so wary around Roman since he’d still thought him a snobby prince with a hatred of all things magical.

“It’s nothing personal, I assure you,” Logan offered, awkward the way he only way around strangers.

Roman sat back heavily, the shifted weight of his new form making the wagon shake slightly. Logan had secreted him away without knowing his true identity. He was taking a ‘defeated’ seraph somewhere in secret. He’d mentioned others. Other seraphim.

Logan had been on the field much longer than him, but they’d fought side-by-side together whenever Roman could shake his duties. How many monsters had Logan been preserving right under his nose?

Logan scythed his weapon through the air without hesitation, easily settling another heavy sedation spell on him. Belatedly, he realized that a low, threatening growl-- a sound like the deepest timbre on a pipe organ-- had bubbled up from his chest.

Good, he thought furiously as he settled back into a hazy unconsciousness. Why shouldn’t he be angry? In every sense of the word, he’d been betrayed.

When he next woke, the wagon had once again stopped and his body ached a little less. Soon, there were warm hands carefully supporting him from either side, lifting him from the pile of hay and settling him on soft fabric.

Voices spoke in soft murmurs. Roman struggled to tune in, focus wavering under the lingering exhaustion of the spell.

“--round, could I speak with him?”

“No, not today. He’s been awake for a while, you know how he gets about missions like this. I could pass along your message?”

“... It was a long shot anyways. I’ll be back in a week’s time, hopefully with better news.”

“You’ll find him, Logan, I just know it. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Won’t you stay, just for---”

A blink, and the light had changed, from the dimness of dusk to early morning sun.

Finally free of magical interference, he pushed himself to his feet with only the slightest of swaying, intent on figuring out what was going on and giving Logan a piece of his mind. Possibly in that order.

He was in a spacious but mostly-empty room, a soft arrangement of thick blankets and half-shredded pillows strewn about where he’d formerly slept. The single door was unlocked and opened into a hallway that was too short for him to walk through without crouching.

Feeling slightly foolish and mostly determined, he shuffled along the hall, searching for answers but finding none that made any sense. He didn’t recognize anything about the interior of the building, other than how it looked, for all intents and purposes, like a cozy, lived-in home.

There were framed photos lining the walls, candid pictures of many or just a few people smiling and talking together. Before Roman could inspect them too closely, a clatter from nearby caught his attention.

He turned into a small kitchen, where a short man with brown skin and dark curls appeared to be cleaning up a spill as something on the stove began to smolder. He didn’t seem to have any wings.

Befuddled by the mundane sight, a confused, croaky chirrup made its way from his throat, drawing the attention of the stranger. He braced himself automatically, his wings bristling slightly on automatic, but the stranger only smiled sympathetically.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Placing the washcloth he’d been mopping with aside, he dusted his hands off on his battered apron. “Good to see you awake! Did Logan-- that’s the guy who brought you here, did he tell you anything on the way?”

Roman stared at him blankly. The stranger-who-apparently-knew-Logan shook his head in amused resignation. “Well then, I suppose introductions are in order! You can call me Patton, this is my home! You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want, and you can come talk to me if you need help with anything!”

"You’re taking in monsters like stray cats?" Roman attempted and completely failed to ask, the words coming out as hollow but incredulous discordant notes.

“Yeah, I suppose I can’t really talk to you just yet,” Patton replied, proving his own point by misinterpreting Roman’s noises entirely. “But no worries, we’ve got other seraphs who can translate! My friend is waiting out in the barn to answer any questions you’ve got, and then once I finish up breakfast, you’re welcome to join us!”

Even without the charcoal mess that had used to resemble eggs currently smoking on the stove, there was no way he was just going to sit down and eat breakfast with monsters and monster sympathizers. He huffed, an airy whistling sound, and ignored Patton’s friendly smile as the man gestured helpfully to the open back door.

He would find Patton’s ‘friend’, question them to find out where this place was relative to his kingdom, and then leave promptly. From there, he’d… he’d figure something out. Hunt down the one who did this to him, maybe, and get some answers.

Decided, he stalked out the door, and managed to get three steps into the yard before pulling up short.

The acres of farmland stretched out to freshly-plowed fields, and more than a few chickens wandered about, but most notably, the main yard seemed to be dotted with winged children.

A variety of different shapes and ages, he could spot them in little groups, playing games or chattering or even roughhousing like weaned puppies. He spotted a pair wrestling, and nearly stepped forward in alarm at the sight of sudden shifting limbs and feathers.

To his surprise, even with one in a more inhuman state, they continued to playfully tumble without a single scratch, no sign of the sharpness that lined Roman’s entire form.

He could feel curious eyes on him as he beelined for the barn, trying to keep a level head. He shouldn’t have been so shocked by the sight. If there were seraphim adults, of course there would be seraphim children. He just hadn’t expected them to look so… human. He’d had no idea that they could even develop human guises so early in life.

The barn was a humble thing, the red paint worn, but the door hinges barely whispered when he pushed the door open. Inside, there weren’t any animals, but rather, tightly-packed cots and scattered piles of stored supplies. A few kids scurried past, while a deeper voice slowly counted down. An adult figure was sprawled over one of the ceiling rafters, face pressed into the crook of their arm, a pair of wings hanging down loosely around them. The early morning light cast them in silhouette.

Roman attempted to clear his throat, which didn’t work even a little bit and in fact produced a horrific squelching sound. The adult’s wings jerked slightly, but they didn’t look up.

“Seventeen. Sixteen. Hey, newcomer. Welcome to Sanctuary. Patton gave you the spiel? Twelve. Eleven. Ten.”

With an array of hushed giggles, the kids secreted themselves away, some abandoning the barn entirely. They were… playing hide-and-seek?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. More importantly, why did this stranger’s voice seem familiar? Roman stepped forward, drawing his wings in to avoid clipping any nearby hiding spots.

“Two. One. Better have hid well,” they finished, pushing themself up and then swinging over the edge of the rafter. They dropped to the floor soundlessly, looking him over with mismatched eyes. “I’m Virgil.”

Roman felt his whole body bristle up with shock, and then fury.

‘You!’ he screeched, pointing aggressively at the guy who had single-handedly ruined his life.

‘Virgil’ eyed him speculatively for a moment, and then recognition lit his gaze.

“Oh. It’s you. Thought you died.”

In the corner of his vision, Roman could see the way his wings had fluffed up to twice their previous size, sharp-edged and rattling. A low, resonant hum filled the air around him, a poor placeholder for the accusations he’d like to hurl at the seraph.

Virgil only raised an eyebrow, looking much less harried than he had during their last encounter. Roman sorely missed having a sword to point threateningly, and also fingers that weren’t half-fused together.

“Might as well sort this out now.” He raised his voice, an edge of something other slipping into it as he projected. “Olly olly oxen free, you little menaces. It’s time for the adults to talk.”

There was rustling as those hiding in the barn crawled and hopped out of hiding spaces, a murmur of complaint that died as soon as they looked at Roman. He wanted to call the gazes invasive, the silence eerie, but it was hard to be truly suspicious of children who looked so hunted.

“Scram, fledgelings,” Virgil instructed dryly, shaking his core wings out.

As though breaking a spell, the kids scattered, some slipping past him to the front doors, others vanishing out of sight in hidden corners. Backdoors, secret exits. It seemed these people were well-prepared for an invasion.

An older kid lingered, dark hair and light grey wings ruffled up as they glanced between the two of them. The kid didn’t say anything, but the concern on their face was plain to see.

“Relax, Ellie,” Virgil said, bumping their wings together gently. “I can handle myself. Go make sure Patton isn’t burning the kitchen down?”

The kid-- Ellie?-- nodded slowly, casting one last unreadable look at Roman before departing and leaving them be.

Virgil stretched, arms over his head, and then between one motion and the next, his body spilled, stretching out into feathers and bone like it was nothing.

His outer wings were narrower, longer, and they stabbed into the ground where Roman’s curled around himself. He had no mask of bone covering his words, but the lower half of his face seemed to be solely composed of jagged, interlocking teeth, and pedipalps like those of a spider rested on the underside of his jaw. Roman couldn’t seem to count just how many eyes he had without his head beginning to ache.

“So,” a mental voice spoke, overlaying his own thoughts. “You survived after all.”

The resulting startled chirp that burst from Roman was nothing short of humiliating, but honestly, how often did one suddenly have to interact with telepathy! After a moment of scrambling, he gamely shot back a vitriolic assortment of unkind names.

“All I’m getting is static, buddy. Ease up on the mental clutter.” The seraph tilted his head, the small pair of wings atop his head fluttering mockingly. “Try not being so bad at this.”

Roman scowled with what little facial muscles he could still move, and took a rattling breath before ‘speaking’ again, forming the thought as clearly as possible. “Change me back.”

“Can’t.”

“What?!” Roman projected, trilling in alarm for emphasis.

Virgil yawned widely, displaying a throat that was, perhaps unsurprisingly, also full of teeth. “You heard me. Can’t do it.”

“You can turn people into monsters, but not change them back?”

“Oh, you had ‘monstrous’ down fine already.” Virgil was staring at him with several of those uncanny eyes, a challenge in his gaze. “This is an improvement, really.”

Roman stepped forward and loomed over the seraph, burning with anger. His wings began to flare fully open, feeling sharper than ever. “If you won’t tell me how to fix this, I’ll figure out a way to convince someone here to.”

All of Virgil’s eyes abruptly narrowed.

“Oh yeah?” Virgil’s wings dug deeper into the dirt floor as he lifted himself right off the ground to be just slightly taller than Roman, their faces only inches apart. “And just who do you think is around for you to extract info from? You gonna interrogate a bunch of 10 year olds? Pick a fight with a toddler, maybe?”

“No! I mean-- Well,” Roman faltered, thinking about the number of children he’d seen just in the past half-hour. “You can’t be the only one-- how are there only kids here?”

Virgil’s head tilted slightly, as though Roman’s answer wasn’t quite what he’d expected. “Patton’s here too.”

“But he’s just a guy!” Roman gestured widely for emphasis. “Even if these kids didn’t have the ability to shapeshift into prickly pint-sized poltergeists, there’s way too many of them for one person to look after properly!”

“Two people,” Virgil corrected, leaning back. “And these kids are more self-sufficient than you think.”

He stared at Roman for a moment longer before smirking in a way that made Roman immediately and irrevocably suspicious. “Listen, Knight, since you’re so eager to get in a brawl, I’ll make you a deal. If you can beat me in a fight, I’ll tell you all about what I did to you.”

“Deal,” Roman agreed, as quickly as possible. He shifted into his starting hand-to-hand stance, though his changed form made it feel sort of unbalanced. “Let’s go, you and me.”

Virgil stepped forward, sliding back into his false human form as he strode right towards Roman. Roman hesitated, his arms still up in a guard position, and between one moment and the next, Virgil had slipped right past him. He made an indignant sound that came out grating, like metal-on-metal.

Virgil turned to glance at him as he reached the barn door. His lips twitched as though barely concealing laughter. “What, you thought I meant right now? No, we’ll fight on my time. And right now, it’s time for dinner. I can tell you all about the rest of the terms that you didn’t wait to hear before agreeing to our deal.”

Roman stared in disbelief as the seraph turned and strolled out, leading the way back to the main house.

Just what exactly had he gotten himself into?

#sanders sides #breathing clearer air #bca #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #ts patton #writing #my writing

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spencessmile · 4 years

Text

This Isn’t Who You Are

Pairing - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary - Spencer gets involved when some not so friendly touches are made from a stranger.

Warnings - Swearing & Angst

Word Count - 1,698 words

And all imagines/fanfics/blurbs are written solely by me so please don’t steal my work and post it without my consent.

Feedback and Comments are welcome. Happy reading!

Requests are CLOSED!

“She bolted for the door and I never saw her again,” The whole team laughs at your story.

“This is my favorite story you’ve told so far,” JJ said. “How do you find yourself in these situations?”

“Honestly I have no idea.”

“Alright, I need more tequila! Anyone else?” Emily said, getting up.

“Yeah, sure,” You smile. “You want anything, Spence?”

“Sure,” He replies as Emily walks off.

“Hey,” You reach for Spencer’s cheek. “Try to let loose tonight, alright?”

“Yeah,”

Emily comes back in no time with shot glasses, Garcia hands them out as everyone downs them in seconds.

“Let’s get the party started!” Garcia cheered, squeezing lime into her mouth.

After another hour, six rounds of playing darts you noticed Spencer starting to get clingy. You pulled him away and sat him down.

“Spencer, you okay?” You ask, as his eyes were looking around the bar.

“Yeah, yeah, totally fine,” He mumbles. He tried to reach for a glass on the table but you immediately stopped him.

“Maybe we should get you some water, how does that sound?” You ask, but Spencer shook his head.

“I don’t want water, I want more Vodka! I totally understand why Emily likes to get drunk! This stuff is amazing!” He yells over the loud music playing.

You laugh at his response. “Babe, you’ve had enough to drink. Maybe drink some water then we can ge-”

“Can I drink more vodka after?” Spencer’s eyes were wide.

“Sure,” You lied.

You wanted Spencer to let loose and have fun tonight but in all the years you’ve been with Spencer you’ve never seen Spencer drink so much. It sort of worried you.

“Sit tight for a minute and I’ll be right back,” Spencer pulled at your arm.

“Don’t leave me all alone,” He pouted.

“The team is right here babe, I’ll be back,” You pointed to them as Emily and Derek were fighting over the dartboard.

“You have 60 seconds to come back and your time starts now,” He holds up his watch. “I’m counting.”

“Okay.”

You made your way around people dancing and the gaming section. You got the bar and asked for a glass of water. Once you got the glass of water you started to make your way back to the table as someone got pushed into you with force, letting the glass slip from your hand and break.

“Watch the hell out!” The guy raised his voice at you.

“Maybe you should watch your surroundings,” You mutter, slightly annoyed. You start to make your way through the crowd when you feel someone grab your arm; harshly.

You turned around to see the same guy from seconds ago, you tried to pull your arm back but his grip was tight.

“What the hell did you say to me?” He said with clenched teeth.

“Let go of my arm,” You tugged at your arm but he pulled you close enough to where you could smell nothing but alcohol on him.

“Not a chance honey, you have to apologize!”

“You bumped into me not the other way around so therefore you should be apologizing to me.” You try to step back but he wouldn’t let you. “I’m not kidding, let go of me.”

“I’m pretty sure she said to let go,” You hear someone say from behind you.

Spencer.

“Back off, will you?” The guy pushes Spencer as he tumbles back a bit.

“Did you touch me?” You don’t know what you saw in Spencer but something flipped the switch as you saw him get angry.

“Spencer it’s okay,” You place a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not okay! He grabbed you,” Spencer yells.

“It’s not my damn fault that your clumsy ass girlfriend can’t see for shit!” This guy was trying to piss Spencer off and as far as you could see, it was working.

“Spencer please don’t, it’s not worth it,” Spencer wasn’t even looking at you. “Come on.”

“Better listen to your girl.”

“Spencer turns around, please,” You continue to say as Spencer turns around with you.

“That’s right walk away! Your skinny ass looking like a pipe cleaner wouldn’t have the guts to fight me anyway!” As you walk past the guy, he sticks out his foot causing you to stumble and fall.

As you fell, you felt your head hit something, hard.

“Did you not hear me when I said not to touch her!” You hear Spencer yell as everything is blurry to you. Before you could even process what was happening, Spencer’s fist was in the guys’ face.

“Spencer!”

But it was too late. The guy swung back, hitting Spencer in the cheek.

“Morgan! Morgan! Hotch!” You yelled, still on the ground. You felt something seeping down the side of your forehead; blood.

Spencer and the guy continued to yell at each other, no matter how loudly you screamed, neither of them stopped. You have never seen Spencer like this and you didn’t like what you were seeing. Spencer isn’t a violent person. He’s soft and caring.

You’re trying to get up as you start to feel light-headed until you see blurry figures running towards you.

“Reid, knock it off!” You hear Morgan’s voice.

“That’s enough!” You hear Hotch.

“Y/n, are you okay?” You hear Emily’s voice. “Y/n, look at me,” You’re finding it hard to concentrate as you feel someone wrap their arms around your shoulder. “I’m right here. You’re okay.”

“Reid, that’s enough!” Hotch shouts, gripping his arm. You blink a couple of times until Morgan comes into vision as he pushes the other guy away from Spencer. “Stop it!” Spencer is heavily panting as Hotch stands in front of him, keeping him away.

You see Rossi rush over to the bar and tell the bartender something.

Spencer pushes Hotch away as he walks towards you but Emily stands in front of you.

“Go,” She points to the door. “Get some air, now.”

Spencer sighs, leaving the room.

Garcia rushes to your side. “Y/n, your bleeding.”

You sat on the back of the ambulance, letting the EMT patch your forehead. You watched Spencer as he sat on the curb with his head in his head.

What on earth was going on with him?

You thanked the EMT as you got off the ambulance, the team was all gathered by the door, just watching Spencer as well.

“Hey, you doing okay?” JJ speaks up softly, rubbing your shoulder as you nod.

You all stood there for a couple of minutes, not saying anything. Morgan starts to move towards him but you stop him.

You walk up to Spencer and sit down beside him. You both didn’t say anything but now Spencer was rubbing his knuckles. You softly grabbed his hand and ran your thumb over his knuckles as Spencer winced in pain.

“Sorry.”

Spencer looked at your wrist and grabbed it, pushing up your sleeve. “He felt marks on you,” It was like Spencer was telling himself more than you.

You looked down and noticed a small blue and purple bruise starting to form.

“You shouldn’t have hit him.”

“But he hurt you.”

“But that doesn’t mean you hurt people,” You slightly raise your voice as Spencer looks into your eyes.

“I know.”

“I don’t know who that was inside,” You whisper honestly. “I don’t know the person who was beating up that guy. You don’t do this type of stuff.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Spencer’s words seemed so sincere.

You ran your thumb over his cheek and he slightly pushed away from your touch.

“Is it bad?”

Spencer shrugs “I’ll live.” It was just then Spencer realized you had a bandage on your forehead and you could tell he instantly got tense.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“Does it hurt?”

“I’ll live.”

“Babe, I’m sorry I never wanted things to get so bad. I just don’t know what came over me.”

“I know, but you did let your temper get the best of you tonight.”

“I’m aware and I’m sorry.”

“I know you were just trying to protect me. I love that you stand up for me and that you don’t let people treat me that way. But you could have really got hurt.”

“We hunt serial killers every day and you think a bar fight would have killed me?” Spencer raised his eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” He nods. “What happened tonight? I’ve never seen you this angry, ever. You’re good at sharing your problems with me instead of going around and punching random people in the face,” Spencer laughs.

“I guess I’ve just been a little stressed with this job,” You know there was more than that to it. You nod as you encourage him to continue “and my mom.”

You rested your head against his shoulder as Spencer grabbed your hand, lacing it with his.

“Then please talk to me. I’m always here.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” You look at him.

“For always being there,” You smile.

“So, does this mean your planning on getting into more bar fights, or was this your first and last?”

“I think I’m done.”

“Good,” You reply.

“For now,” He said as you rolled your eyes at him. “Are we okay?” Spencer asked, kissing your hand.

“Do I have to worry about you?” You ask honestly.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Then we’re good.” Spencer leans in and you lightly kiss him. “Does this mean that you’ll leave the fighting to the professional actors then?”

Spencer laughs at your question. “You really think your funny, don’t you?”

“I do but trust me when I say you’re going to hear about this for years to come,” You reply.

“I’m okay with that,” He said leaning in to kiss you again.

I think I love you a little bit more every day - Unknown

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x fluff #BAU #bau x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds masterlist

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junghelioseok · 3 years

Text

absolution. | preview

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | angst | secret agent!au ◇ 0.9k [preview]

⇢ happy hobi day!!! here is a preview of my upcoming hobific, aka the one hobific i write a year because anything beyond that overwhelms me a little bit 😅 as always, i strive to get this out on hobi day, but i have a tendency to miss the mark and this year is no different. either way, please look forward to this fic and let me know what you think of this snippet!

Third time’s the charm, Hoseok thinks to himself.

It’s been exactly one week since he first noticed the person following him like a shadow, melting away into thin air as soon as he tries to catch them in the act. No doubt it’s an enemy agent—an assassin, even—but Hoseok isn’t too worried. Bangtan is one of the most elite, dangerous spy organizations in the world, and enemies accompany the job as consistently as a good paycheck.

And Hoseok—he can handle his enemies. He’s been handling them for years, now.

The street ends in a dead end up ahead, and Hoseok allows himself a quick smirk of triumph as his stalker is forced to flee down a smaller, narrower street. Rounding the corner, he slows to a walk, unholstering the gun at his side as he treads carefully past a line of dumpsters and a rusty old bike leaning against the grimy brick wall. Pulling out his gun, he tries one of several doors into the buildings on either side, but to no avail.

There’s no sign of his stalker now, and Hoseok grits out a curse when he spots the broken lock on the metal gate at the very end of the narrow street. Just beyond it, he can make out the main road—bustling with midday traffic and pedestrians. Guess the third time wasn’t the charm after all, he muses, just as a faint rustling sounds on his right.

Hoseok whirls, gun at the ready, and spots an even narrower alleyway that he hadn’t noticed before, half-blocked by a dumpster and shadowed by the tall buildings on either side. Apartments, if his memory serves, both of which have several small businesses occupying the first floor. Dry cleaners, barber shops, restaurants. There’s a liquor store on the corner, too, if he’s not mistaken.

“Hold it!” he barks, rounding the corner with his gun raised—

—only to stop dead in his tracks when he’s greeted by the sight of you, shrinking back in terror with a bulging black garbage bag clutched in both hands.

“P-please don’t shoot me!” you gasp, your knuckles paling as your grip on the bag tightens. “Please, I just—”

You trail off, quivering, and Hoseok slowly takes you in. There’s a logo on the plain black t-shirt you’re wearing—a crescent moon accompanied by a familiar font that he recognizes from all the times Jimin and Jungkook have dragged him out for a drink or three. And now that he’s thinking about it, he’s pretty sure he recognizes your face, too.

“Sorry about that.” Hoseok lowers his gun back down to his side and rakes a hand through his mussed hair. “You caught me off guard.”

You manage a weak smile, finally managing to heft your trash bag up and over the edge of the dumpster where it lands with a muffled thwump. “Really? You don’t say.”

Hoseok chuckles at that, his lips curling at the edges. “I’m really sorry,” he repeats, much more genuinely this time. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

A nervous laugh escapes your lips as you glance down at the gun still loosely gripped in his hand. “So you didn’t mean to point a gun at me? That’s a relief.” Then you hesitate, glancing from the firearm up to Hoseok’s face, before returning to the firearm. “Why are you even running around with a gun, anyway? Are you a cop or something?”

Hoseok blinks, and decides to run with the lie you’ve so readily provided. “Yeah,” he replies, racking his brain for further detail, lest you decide to press the issue. “Chasing a perp. Guy tried to steal my wallet a few blocks back.”

Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth as you glance up and down the narrow alleyway. “I didn’t see anyone. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

There’s a brief beat of silence, before you clear your throat and pipe up again, peering up at him from beneath your lashes. “Hey, could you, uh, maybe put your gun away now? It’s kind of freaking me out.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “Right!” he exclaims, the residual adrenaline pumping through his veins raising the volume of his voice. Awkwardly, he reins it in before tucking his gun back into the holster on his belt, flashing you a sheepish grin. “Right, sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him again. Another pause, as you take him in a little more closely—the straight angle of his nose, the auburn hair parted across his forehead in waves, the sharp structure of his jaw a stark contrast to the soft swell of his cheeks. He’s handsome—you’d have to be blind not to see that. But you have a job to get back to, so you raise your hand in a tentative farewell gesture, clearing your throat again. “I, uh, I still have ten minutes left in my shift. I should probably get back inside.”

Hoseok glances at the heavy steel door behind you, emblazoned with the same logo as your shirt and a single line of text that reads, Bar Luna. “Right, of course. You’re a bartender, right?”

You nod. “Yeah. My name’s {Name}.”

“Hoseok.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Hoseok grins again, but this time there’s an edge of hesitation in it—something tentative in the curve of his lips. “Sorry again for scaring you, seriously. I feel terrible. I don’t suppose you’d let me buy you a drink as an apology?”

You blink at him—once, twice—before your mouth slowly begins to curl at the edges. “As long as it’s not from here.”

#hoseok #hoseok x reader #hoseok scenarios #bts scenarios #jung hoseok #jhope #hobi #hoseok x you #bts #preview #lia writes

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darkheart-brightsmile · 3 years

Text

The Eye of The Storm

This was meant to be a drabble and y'know, I got carried away so I introduce part one of my Barson mini-series. Using a prompt from my beautiful Barson Babes on Twitter where Olivia ends up wearing Rafael's clothes.

WC: 2927

Warnings: Mentions of the William Lewis story arc but nothing explicit. Hurt/comfort, mild angst.

Happy reading peeps.

***

He looked up suddenly at the sound of his office door slamming open violently.

“’Liv?”

“There’s a thunderstorm going on outside if you didn’t already know.” she snapped.

Rafael took a second to take in her appearance, she was soaked through to the skin. Her hair was wild and untamed around her shoulders, wisps clinging to her face. Her suit pants were stuck to her legs (he tried not to notice their pleasing shape but failed), her blouse was clinging to her breasts and stomach and her jacket was hanging over her arm, dripping all over his office floor. Despite the fact she looked uncomfortable, cold, and bewildered she still looked as beautiful as she ever did.

“And you decided to take a stroll in it?”

“Not initially.” she smirked, “I was halfway over here when the heavens opened, and I decided to run for it.”

“And the rain clearly beat you.”

“Indeed.” she laughed.

“Well first, you need coffee. Secondly you need to change out of those clothes. You’re not going to get warm and dry if you stay in those.” he gave her a pointed look, spinning on his heel to retrieve a fresh jug of coffee from the machine he kept in his office and pouring them both a cup.

“Oh yes, let me just pull my emergency change of clothes from my bag.” she replied grumpily, taking her cup from him, and gripping it tightly to warm her numb hands.

“I have something you can wear if you want.” he replied, moving behind his desk to the cabinet in the corner and opening the door. He crouched down, obviously looking for something. She watched him curiously wondering what an earth he was going to whip out when she heard an ‘aha’ and a split-second later noticed his grinning face and what looked to be a gym bag held out in one hand.

“I doubt you’d treat your suits like that so what’s in the bag, Counsellor?”

“Gym kit, there’s sweatpants, a t-shirt, I think a hoody and maybe some clean socks?” he replied, looking pleased with himself at being able to save the day.

“I can’t wear your clothes, Rafael.” she replied, frowning, and shaking her head.

“Why on earth not?” he asked aghast, surely, she just wanted to be dry and warm was his first thought.

“You seriously don’t mind?” she replied quietly, looking up to watch his face carefully, knowing immediately if his offer was truly sincere.

“I really don’t. You’re soaking wet and starting to ruin my carpet.” he replied with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood and noted her slight smile at his remark. “At least change into these for now, we can dry your stuff the best we can until the rain stops and you can get home.”

She nodded slowly. “I think that’s a half decent idea. What I mean is, thank you. Where can I, uh, you know?”

“Oh. Yeah, in here. I’ll step out and guard the door.” he cleared his throat and avoided looking at her again, that blouse really was rather transparent when wet, he noted.

Olivia blushed as Rafael moved to hand her the bag, now acutely aware how her wet clothes were clinging to her curves and how, bizarre, it would feel to be wearing his clothes instead. They were friends, close friends, but wearing Rafael’s clothes? She shook that thought off as the door closed behind him and she set about changing.

She knew he wouldn’t barge in; she knew she was in relative privacy, but it didn’t stop her constantly glancing to the door and window (he had closed the blinds before he left) expecting someone to come bursting in or peeking through the glass.

Moving behind his desk felt like the safest option so tugging her boots and socks off first, she unzipped his bag to find sweatpants with a tie waist and breathed a sigh of relief that at least she could make them fit decently.

She stripped off her pants, wincing as the damp fabric now freezing cold, slithered down her legs, her underwear was wet too but that was staying firmly put – one step too far she thought.

Sweatpants on and adjusted at the waist she started unbuttoning her blouse, struggling to peel it from her arms, the rain having saturated the entire garment. She hung it carefully over his desk chair, before yanking off her tank top and placing that over the top. She rummaged around in the bag, finding a plain white t-shirt, and pulled that on quickly, if only to avoid standing in his office in only her bra any longer.

The t-shirt was faded and well-loved and even though she knew it was freshly laundered, it still smelled of him.She breathed it in for a second before pulling the Harvard hoody over her head. She fell back into his desk chair with the socks in hand, when she heard a knock on the door, her head shooting up.

“’Liv? You decent?”

“Yeah! Yeah, come in!” she called out, watching as the door opened and his head hesitantly peeking around, as if he was still worried, she was half naked.

“There you go! You look much better.”

“God, I feel better already.” she sighed, tugging one sock on then the other, “you really are a lifesaver, Rafael.”

“My pleasure.” he replied smoothly, shutting the door, and coming further into the room. “Even if I don’t get to the gym often enough, the clothes have served their purpose today.” he laughed.

She picked up her mug of coffee, waving it in his direction. “Cheers to your clothes saving my ass.”

He laughed whole heartedly at that, picking up his own coffee and taking a sip, trying to steady himself at the sight of her in his clothes – of course she made them look good. The woman could wear a trash bag and look sexy. He smiled gently coming around to perch on the corner of her desk.

“We should hang those up to dry.” he pointed at her things flung across the back of his chair and swallowed deeply at the thought that only moments ago she had been stripping them off.

She stood up to gather her things and he moved past her to retrieve a coat hanger from the same cabinet.

“Really?” she laughed seeing him holding it out to her.

“Like you said, my suits need tender love and care, I keep spares here just in case and always have a spare hanger if I have to send something out to the dry cleaners before I go home.”

“If you send your suit out what do you wear home?” she asked innocently.

His eyes raked over her body, and he gave her a pointed look.

“Oh right.” she laughed, suddenly feeling rather self-conscious.

“That’s when I go to the gym.” he laughed, “if I’m already dressed for it, I’m more likely to actually go.”

“Very savvy.” she laughed in response, manoeuvring her tank top and blouse onto the hanger.

He took it from her, before holding out his other hand for the pants which she frowned out but passed over. She watched him as he crossed the room and opened a small cupboard, she had assumed was storage. He leant forward hanging the hanger up on a rail in the top and laying the pants over what looked like a pipe running through and upwards into the ceiling.

“Dare I ask?” she chuckled.

“The heating pipes for the floor above cut through here, so I basically have a drying cupboard at my disposal. An hour or so and your clothes will be toasty and dry. Very handy for when I’ve been caught in the occasional downpour coming from court too.” he chuckled, shutting the door and refilling his coffee mug.

“I always thought that was just storage.” she replied incredulously.

“The best kept secret about this office.” he smiled, taking a seat on his couch, “Don’t tell anyone else otherwise I’ll be forced to share.”

“You shared the secret with me, not to mention your clothes – I won’t tell anyone, cross my heart.” she replied gently, still grateful that he had come to her rescue.

“You’re not just anyone, ‘Liv.” he said smoothly, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” she smiled, blushing again under his intense gaze, something about the look he was giving her turning her insides to jelly.

“It was intended as one.” he murmured softly, patting the space on the couch next to him, hoping that she would join him for a little while. His office always feeling that much brighter when she was in it.

She sighed when she sank into the couch, resting her head back and closing her eyes for a second, and he watched her closely, relishing in the tranquillity of them sitting side by side, not a word uttered between them, just savouring the company.

“Feel better?” he whispered, almost fearful of disturbing her meditative state.

“Mmmm.” she hummed, “not quite dry but much better, thank you.”

“How are you still wet?” he asked, not having thought his question through properly.

She blushed heavily before replying. “Well, I wasn’t taking my underwear off too, Rafael.”

He choked on his coffee, and she covered her mouth to stifle her laughter as he spluttered and used a handkerchief to dab at his shirt and face.

“Sorry.” she said, tilting her head to watch him as he settled back into the couch and started sipping what was left of his now lukewarm beverage.

“No, it’s my fault, shouldn’t have asked. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything suitable for you to wear instead.” he smirked.

“I would hope not.” she laughed. “If I had found a bra and women’s underwear in your gym bag there would be some serious questions.”

“I can safely say, in my office and my apartment, there’s not a single item fitting that description.” he knew he didn’t need to add that in about his apartment, but something made him want to tell her, albeit, indirectly, that he wasn’t seeing anyone.

“Really?” she asked, blushing again, and looking down at her feet curled up underneath her knees.

“Yep.” he nodded.

“Okay.” she flashed him the most brilliant smile, before sipping her coffee, her eyes fixed on anything except his face, and he was secretly thrilled that she was so happy he was obviously single. It made his heart leap ever so slightly, just enough to be hopeful.

“Okay then.” he grinned back. Well, that was something.

The rain was still pounding against the windows, the noise echoing through his office as they sat comfortably together on the couch, sipping the last dregs of their coffee. Rafael knew he should be getting back to his work but somehow, he couldn’t find it in him to move away from her.

Olivia for the most part was content thinking her own thoughts, the swell of the storm was ironically relaxing, she actually loved the rain, the smell of the air afterwards, the hypnotic noise as the drops pelted the windows at a steady pace – getting caught in it, not so much, but warm and dry she found herself almost ready to drift off to sleep.

“Hey, you still with me?” he asked quietly, his voice floating across her consciousness. God, she loved his voice.

“Just about.” she groaned, tucking her head further into the cushions of his couch, keeping her eyes closed.

“This couch is surprisingly comfortable to sleep on.” he replied.

“You mean to say the great Rafael Barba occasionally naps whilst at work?” she teased, opening one eye to peer at him and seeing him smirk at her question.

“More like collapsed in exhaustion and woken up the next morning.” he chuckled.

“You really are committed to your work aren’t you!” she laughed.

“I can count on one hand the number of times it’s happened, but it’s only been when your squad has been in crisis.”

“That’s strangely comforting. When was the last time?” she asked quietly, now curious what would constitute him needing to kip in his office rather than trudge home.

He cleared his throat and glanced at her quickly before he spoke. “Uh, William Lewis.”

“Oh.” She replied quietly, desperately pushing those memories back down to the dark depths they were surfacing from, the gun, Russian roulette, having to hold the trigger to her temple, his eyes burning into hers, then the blood after he pulled the trigger – no. She gritted her teeth and swallowed back the tears. She would not let him ruin her day. She spent too much time focussing on staying calm and rational, he would not be allowed to ruin this evening for her.

“I’m sorry, ‘Liv, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. It happened, there’s nothing either of us can do about that. And he’s dead. Living with the memories is the hardest part but that’s why I have a good therapist.” she finished with a small smile and shrug, but he could feel the mixed emotions and tension radiating from her body.

He tentatively stretched out his hand to hold hers that was tugging at the knees of his sweatpants, clasping his fingers in his warm palm. She sighed again, looking up him slowly from under her eyelashes and he was heartbroken to see tears prickling in the corner of hers.

“You amaze me sometimes, Olivia.”

She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “How?” she chuckled.

“Because despite the horrors you’ve seen and experienced, the pure terror you’ve seen in your life, you keep going, you’ve never given up. And I don’t know how many people that would be able to do that in your position. They would lock themselves away and let it tear them apart from the inside, and you never have done. And that is incredible, Olivia. You are incredible.”

It was the most heartfelt thing he had ever said to her, and her heart thumped wildly in her chest as he smiled gently at her and squeezed her hand tighter.

“I thought you didn’t want me to cry.” she choked out, the tears now falling down her face at his passionate speech and he shrugged and looked sheepish.

“Depends on whether they’re happy tears or sad tears.” he smiled, handing her his handkerchief.

“They’re ‘that was a lovely thing to say’ tears.” she laughed through her sobs as she dabbed at her eyes and wiped her nose. She thought she looked awful now, her mascara was probably running down her face and her eyes were sure to be puffy and red. He still thought she looked as beautiful as ever.

She moved onto her knees and suddenly without warning threw herself around his neck and squeezed him into a huge hug. He was shocked for a second before he realised, she was obviously okay with him touching her, so his arms came around her waist and he tucked her closer into his body, her face curled into his neck.

“Thank you.” she whispered into his skin, and he felt another tingle run down his back. He breathed in deeply, surrounding himself with her scent, something flowery, and subtle but so alluring.

“You’re welcome.” he murmured into her neck, pulling back to press a delicate kiss to her temple as she slid to curl into his side for a few more moments.

“The rain’s stopped.” he murmured into her hair as she tucked herself closer, her arms wrapped around herself, and his one arm around her shoulders, holding her into his body.

Later, once she had changed clothes again, he was struck but just how special she really was. She never let anyone see her like that, he knew that well enough – she projected calm, certainty and control. So, the fact she had broken down in tears and thrown herself into his arms was a sign that their friendship was one that she valued, that she embraced, that really meant something to her. He was touched by that.

He had stepped out for her to change and returned when she had said it was safe to do so. She had put her own pants and shoes back on but had kept his socks on, his t-shirt and hoody on at his insistence that it was warmer, and she could return them whenever she liked. She folded up her own things carefully and tucked them into his gym bag which she had decided she was going to take with her. Gathering up her bag and phone.

“Well, thank you for my coffee, and the loan of your clothes, and the pep talk.” she smiled, as she reached his door and he grabbed the handle, to keep it open for her.

“I would never leave a damsel in distress.” he smirked.

“So, what does that make you? Prince Charming?”

“Charming is one thing I can definitely be.” he murmured quietly, as if he was letting her in on a secret. He tilted his head slightly just enough to kiss her cheek and let his lips graze her skin as he pulled away. “Goodnight, ‘Liv.”

She squeezed his hand one last time. “Night, Rafa.”

She could feel his eyes on her back all the way to the elevator, but she refused to turn around. If she turned around, she wasn’t sure what would have happened, what she would have done, and that thought stayed with her all night and trailed into her dreams.

***

@igreg04 @mhargitay64 @tinyboxxtink @lauchasstuff @nippow @chasingeverybreakingwave @i-run-with-scissors39 @barsonlover2021 @michael-rooker @alwaysachorusgirl @storiesofsvu @chunex @klk1618 @simpforbarba @dubuforeveralone @zizzlekwum @tinyboxxtink@human––tragedy @a-queen-of-chaos @raulesparza4eva @thatesqcrush

#barson fanfic #barson fanfiction #Rafael Barba fanfiction #Olivia Benson fanfiction #svu fanfic #svu fanfiction #barson drabble #barson fic #svu drabble #svu mini series #Rafael barba #Olivia benson

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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

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Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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