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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 years

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Blind Spot

Spencer Reid x (Gender Neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2640

Warnings: Hair pulling kink! Bucketloads of sexual tension but no actual sex. Gratuitous facts about bird nests. Dorks being oblivious. Lots of fluffy heart-eyed banter. Accusations of intercourse with fictional tree-beasts.

A/N: I saw a gif that made me want to pull Spencer’s hair. That’s it. I have zero shame.

For the “friends to lovers” square on my @cmbingo card! Proofread by @fangirlxwritesx67 because she’s the best.

“You look like you fucked an Ent,” you commented cheerfully, stealing sideways glances at Spencer while you waited for the light to change.

“Thanks, that’s helpful.” He grimaced, trying to tug another burr out of a snarled curl.

“Oh my god, you’re just making it worse! I’ll help you when we get back to your place. Leave it, you goober.”

“Did you just call me a goober?” Spencer asked, trying not to laugh.

“You’re like the dictionary definition of a goober,” you said fondly.

“I have three PhDs!”

“I really wish I’d gotten a video of that tumble, Doctor Goober.”

Spencer was blushing, grinning down at his lap as he shredded a piece of leaf. It was hard not to stare at him when he smiled like that.

He’d essentially face-planted into a burr bush earlier, somewhere in the Virginia woods — he’d been so excited about explaining some wonky bit of Star Trek physics theory to you that he just forgot to pay attention to his feet — and he’d floundered out with half a hedge stuck in his hair before picking up exactly where he’d left off.

In other words, Doctor Spencer Reid was a ridiculous human being. You knew that, objectively. It didn’t stop you from having a massive crush on him.

Either he was pretending not to notice, to spare your feelings, or he was socially oblivious; you tended to believe the former, considering how well you’d seen him read other people, but you appreciated it. There was a chance you’d make it out of this — if you could just get over it already — with your friendship intact.

You cleared your throat and told him, “You look like the bastard child of Grandmother Willow and the Wizard of Oz scarecrow.”

“Even if they were real, the anatomical —”

“You didn’t mention that when I brought up the Ents. Something you want to tell me about you and Treebeard?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he huffed, trying to sound exasperated, but he could barely keep a straight face for a second before he was laughing, that scratchy sunny childish giggle that only came out when he was really relaxed and carefree.

“Close the window before a bird sees you and decides to take up residence.”

“How about you watch the road?”

“What, no facts about bird nests?”

“Is that a rhetorical question?”

“Nope.”

“Well in that case… gyrfalcon nests are frequently re-used and passed along for generations. The oldest one that’s been discovered was in Greenland, and it was actually estimated to be approximately 2,500 years old.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! In fact…”

You had to remind yourself, yet again, to stop staring.

Maybe someday you’d get sick of hearing Spencer talk, but you couldn’t really understand the way most of your teammates reacted to his rambling. Even if you didn’t care about what he was saying, there was something amazing about the way his eyes lit up and his hands fluttered around to illustrate his point.

You parked in front of his building and followed him upstairs. His apartment had become comfortingly familiar — ever since you and Spencer bonded over a shared love of sci-fi, you’d taken to driving him home and, if it wasn’t too late, sticking around for an episode or two of Doctor Who.

He got his ancient little DVD player up and running, and you settled on the couch, fluffing pillows and shoving aside his nest of colorful crocheted blankets, getting cozy. There was something about Spencer’s space that always felt like home; maybe it was the smell of books, or just the general Spencer-ness of the whole place.

Just being around him had always kinda felt like home, too. Sometimes you forgot you’d only known him for six months.

He disappeared into his room for a second and came back with a comb. It was cheap plastic, missing a couple teeth, and looked like it hadn’t been used in a while. You looked from him to the comb and back again.

“That actually explains a lot,” you said, grinning. Spencer rolled his eyes and sat down on the floor in front of you, leaning back against your shins, and after a dismayed glance at his curls, you commented, “We could always just shave it all off.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” he said primly.

You started with a couple of the less tangled pieces, finger-combing carefully through one soft lock at a time. You half-expected some comment about primates and social grooming, or at least a few facts about the quantum theory behind the TARDIS, but Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet and still, his eyes fixed on the TV.

You separated out one of the worst knots, and he tilted his head to the side to give you better access. You were being as gentle as possible, but you knew you were hurting him at the first tug — he sucked in a breath, knuckles going white as his fingers clenched on his knees.

“Sorry, I’m trying,” you sighed.

With his head tilted like this, you could see the muscle clenching in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“S’okay,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s not — not your fault.”

He sat there stiffly as you worked. His hair was silky, where it wasn’t hopelessly knotted, and you were close enough that you could smell whatever clean, sweet shampoo he used. Something about it made you want to hold your breath; it felt like you were too close. Spencer rarely let you inside his little bubble of personal space.

Maybe that was why he seemed uncomfortable. He was usually so fidgety, tapping out a rhythm or twirling a pen between his long fingers, and it was strange to see him motionless like this.

You ran your fingers through a de-tangled section, slow and careful, and Spencer shivered, his shoulders trembling for a moment before he went unnaturally still again.

Spencer blurted out, “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

At the same time, you asked, “Are you cold?”

You paused for a moment, surprised by the reaction, but after hesitating, Spencer just muttered, “Yeah. Cold.”

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something. It was too warm, if anything; Spencer had a patchy flush crawling up his neck and over the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones.

“Here you go, goober,” you said, awkwardly cheerful in an attempt to cover your uncertainty as you grabbed an afghan from the couch and draped it around his shoulders.

“Thanks.” He pulled the blanket down onto his lap without looking at you. “But maybe I should just do this myself.”

“You’re never gonna get this loose on your own, not without scissors,” you warned, plucking at the knot around the last burr in his hair. “I’ll just, um — I’ll try to be more gentle.”

“Maybe just go for it,” he said. “Get it over with.” His voice had gone all high-pitched and strained, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. If this was how much he disliked physical contact, no wonder he always avoided hugging you.

You tried to go quickly, figuring that one quick moment of pain was better than another ten minutes of making Spencer uncomfortable. In your nervousness, you ended up tugging the burr out much more abruptly than you’d intended, and Spencer let out this rough, low, choked-off sound. Before you could apologize, he was jerking away from you, curled in on himself with his shoulders up around his ears like he was worried you were going to hit him, and —

“Sorry,” he said, voice cracking.

— what?

“Spence?” you said tentatively. “What—”

He was still just curled up on the floor in a ball of gangly limbs, but he half-turned to you, twisting around. He wouldn’t make eye contact, though; he was staring intently at the pillow that was on the couch next to you. It felt weird, looking down at him like this, so you slid down onto the floor, hoping it wouldn’t spook him. He shifted back slightly, but at least he didn’t flinch away.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t — this was a bad idea.”

The profiler in you couldn’t help but notice a few details. He was blushing, for starters. His lower lip was red where he’d been biting it, and — this was the part that surprised you most — his pupils were huge.

You knew what Spencer looked like when he was panicking, and this wasn’t it.

“Oh,” you breathed. “Oh.”

He looked down at his lap, frowning as he played with the loose thread in the cuff of his sweater.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “I know you don’t feel the same way, I wasn’t trying to — I didn’t realize it would be like that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and—”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable! I shouldn’t have asked—”

“I don’t feel the same way about what?”

“I know you’re not attracted to me,” Spencer said, barely audible.

“You’re… you…what?”

He looked up, at that, genuinely startled. There was something sweet and vulnerable shining in his eyes, and your heart was racing. You slid a little bit closer, so that your knees were almost touching Spencer’s as you faced each other, cross-legged.

“I thought you knew.” His hushed, croaky voice broke on the last word. “I thought I was being obvious.”

You gaped at him for a second before letting out a sharp, hysterical giggle.

He ducked his head again, hiding behind a curtain of hair, but not before you saw the hurt expression that flashed across his features.

“No, that’s not—” you blurted out. “Spence. Spencer.”

“Forget it,” he said sharply, his body going tense like he was about to bolt. “Can we just forget this happened?”

Before you could think better of it, you reached out and pushed a few curls back behind his ear, and then you grabbed, twisting your fingers in his hair to tug him forward. You cut off the startled noise he made with a clumsy, eager kiss.

The angle was all wrong, both of you leaning forward awkwardly, but it felt like sparks all down your spine.

You pulled away just far enough to get the words out: “I thought I was being obvious.”

Then Spencer was surging closer on his hands and knees, crowding into your space, until you had a lapful of rumpled doctor pressing you back against the couch. He cupped your jaw with gentle spidery fingers, gaze locked on your mouth, and leaned in slowly like he was still waiting for you to push him away.

There was nothing awkward about it this time. If the first kiss was sparks, this was fireworks — it was such a goddamn cliche you wanted to kick yourself for thinking it, but it was true. Your head was spinning. Every pillowy press of his lips and soft slide of his tongue seemed to steal the breath from your lungs.

By the time you broke apart you were panting, but at least you weren’t the only one. Spencer’s chest heaved as he pulled away. He was still staring at your mouth like he couldn’t help himself. Part of you wanted to kiss him again and maybe never stop, but another part of you was paralyzed, trying to process the fact that this was actually happening.

You just wanted to put the world on pause so that you could memorize everything: the way he licked his lips, the smell of his laundry detergent, the barely-perceptible movement of his pulse — you’d never seen that before because you’d never been this close to him before. You wanted to hold onto it, even the less-than-perfect details — the soundtrack of buzzy Dalek screeching in the background — the way you were folded together on the floor, all too-long legs and bony elbows, which was going to get uncomfortable fast.

Spencer seemed to feel the same way. He grazed the pad of his thumb over your lower lip, then followed the curve of your smile out to your temple and traced the shell of your ear with careful fingertips. When he brushed his curled-up fingers along the ridge of your cheekbone, you turned your head and kissed his knuckles.

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, and you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, holding it in place, feeling the blood and bones shifting under the skin.

“You really didn’t know?” you whispered.

He shook his head shyly and gave you one of those incandescent smiles that always made your heart race. “No idea.”

“I thought you were just ignoring it to spare my feelings,” you confessed.

“I thought you were doing that.”

“I thought you were good at your job!” you laughed. “Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something?”

“I think I have a blind spot, where you’re concerned.” He was blushing again. “But I was so distracted by you that I walked into a bush! How did you not —”

“I’m the one who stares at you all the time like a creep.”

“You thought you were being creepy?” he said sheepishly. “As soon as you started touching my hair — oh my god that’s embarrassing.”

“That’s not the word I would’ve used.”

You tangled your fingers in his curls, tugging experimentally. His breath hitched.

Both of you were utterly still for a moment, watching each other, and the tension between you seemed to fill the air like a living thing. You were excruciatingly aware of all the places your bodies were touching.

You considered all the places you could touch. It would be so easy. You could tug him in, kiss him, melt into each other… there were so many possibilities, suddenly, and there was something incredible about that: the electricity, the excitement, the moment of pure potential in the pause between certainty and action.

Spencer sighed, long and shaky, and you were so close that you could feel the current of exhaled air.

“I couldn’t think straight,” he murmured, with a twitch of a smile. “That doesn’t happen to me often.”

“So you didn’t know…”

You scritched your fingernails down his scalp, marveling at the way he shivered and swayed closer like he was hypnotized. He curled his hand around the side of your neck, thumb slowly stroking the hinge of your jaw.

“I knew I liked it,” he confessed. “But — within a certain context? Not out of nowhere like that. I didn’t think it would be... like that.”

“Like what?”

“Intense.”

“Yeah?”

“But I think maybe it’s just you.” His eyes had gone all glassy and heavy-lidded, and you could barely breathe. “Maybe you drive me crazy no matter where you’re touching me.”

“I can think of a few ways to test that hypothesis.”

You caught a glimpse of his grin, but then he pressed his forehead to yours and his features went blurry, too close for you to focus.

“Never really thought I’d be into dirty talk, but if you’re going to start quoting the scientific method…”

“Funny, most of the time you never shut up,” you said, giddy and overwhelmed.

The tip of his nose brushed yours. There was maybe an inch of space between your mouths, and you wanted to close that gap so badly it felt like a physical ache.

“I mean, if you want me to start rattling off statistics—”

“Spencer.” You fisted both hands in his hair, tugging sharply, and he shuddered. “Take a hint.”

“Blind spot, remember?” he whispered, lips brushing yours as they shaped the words, feather-light and maddening.

“You know, for a genius—” you started, but he kissed you, hungry and sweet like he was making up for lost time, until you’d completely forgotten what you were going to say.

There is now a sexy follow-up here!

If you enjoyed this, please reblog or leave a message!

#cmbingo21 #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader fic

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rhyrhy462 · 4 years

Text

Sleepover (G.D.)

Pairing: grayson dolan x best friend!reader

Warnings: bad writing, pining, one swear word, semi-sappines, self-indulgent because of the big mouth thing and the snacks

gif by @pinof

Everyone knew that Grayson Dolan went to bed early. It never failed that he was turning his phone off and putting it on his nightstand at midnight.

His best friend, Y/N, was a night owl. She went to bed at 3 in the morning most of the time.

Grayson and Y/N tried to squeeze in sleepovers whenever they could. These usually happened on Friday nights and consisted of, in no particular order, eating dinner, watching a movie, begging Grayson to take you to a grocery store to buy snacks, listening to music, begging Grayson to get you ice cream, and sleeping.

So just like all the other Friday nights, Y/N knocked on Grayson and Ethan’s door at exactly 6:53pm. She knows it’s a very specific time, but Grayson always has dinner ready by 7:05. So if she gets there at the perfect time, dinner will be ready and Grayson can’t yell at her for getting there too early when she complains about being hungry.

“It’s open, Y/N” Grayson yelled through the door, right as she was turning the knob and pushing the door in.

“I don’t even get a hello? I brought you homemade almond butter and everything!” If there was one thing Grayson loved in this world, it was Y/N’s homemade almond butter. He knew she just got the recipe online, but every time he tried to make it, it just didn’t turn out the right way.

“I’m sorry babe. Come give me a hug” Y/N felt her heart flutter when he called her ‘babe.’ Yeah, they called each other pet names all the time, but he said it so casually, almost as if she was his girl-

“Come gimme a hug.” Grayson pressed again, just as she started walking towards him.

She wrapped her arms around him, just as he wrapped one arm around her, still pushing around vegetables in a pan. “I missed you.”

Y/N and Grayson hadn’t had a sleepover in about a month and a half. They had both been busy. Whenever they did get to see each other, it’d be for an hour or so, but they never got to have fun with each other. “Missed you more.” Grayson replied, right as he was dumping the vegan stir-fry onto their plates.

“Looks good.” She said, as she started putting dishes in the dishwasher. If Y/N hated anything, it was having to do the dishes after she’s gotten comfortable. Lucky for her, Grayson had listened to her and started putting dishes in the dishwasher as he went along instead of having 30 dishes in the sink. She put the five dishes that had been left in the dishwasher, picked up her plate, and looked at Grayson questioningly. She was silently asking him if he was ready to go eat in his room.

“Let’s go.” Was all Grayson had to say to have her following him to his room.

Once they made it to Grayson’s room, Y/N plopped down onto his bed as he picked up the remote from his desk and tossed it to her. Every sleepover they alternated who got to choose what they watched. This time, it was Y/N’s turn. She turned his tv on and went straight to Netflix. Grayson had a feeling he knew what she was gonna pick. She threatened him with it all the time, but she did actually want to rewatch the show.

Grayson groaned as soon as he saw that she was hovering on Big Mouth. “What’s wrong with Big Mouth?” She genuinely wanted to know his answer.

“You’ve seen it at least ten times and you quote the whole show.” Grayson complained. He wasn’t wrong though. Y/N knew Big Mouth like the back of her hand. The reason why she watched it so many times was so she could directly quote the show. She already knew most of the iconic lines, but there were some she was still trying to learn.

“It’s my night to choose, babes. I hate to break it to ya, but I choose Big Mouth.” She said, just as she clicked on Season 1, Episode 2 ‘Everybody Bleeds.’ It was one of her favorite episodes because it was funny, but also because she knew the quotes. It was also the first episode Ladybug appeared in. If Y/N was honest, Ladybug was probably her favorite character. Ladybug was also the only character that she could completely quote.

With food in hand, she got as close to Grayson as humanly possible, just as he was draping a blanket over both of their legs. They ate while they exchanged jokes and talked about how’d they’d been, all while Y/N still managed to quote the best lines from Big Mouth.

They had finished eating a while ago. Now it was 9pm and Y/N wanted snacks. From their cuddled up position, she looked up at him, to see him looking at the screen. She smiled to herself because as much as he hated to admit it, Grayson thought Big Mouth was hilarious. “Gray?” She questioned, because yes, they had had dinner two hours ago, but she was ready for snacks.

He didn’t even have to look at her to know what she wanted. The first thing he did was look at his watch to confirm what time it was. It never failed. Around 9 o’clock, Y/N always wanted snacks. So he untangled himself from her and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. His eyes darting around the room trying to find something that Y/N is completely unaware of. “Grayson? What are you looking for? Where are you going?” She asked, rubbing her eyes.

“I’m looking for two hoodies. You want to go get snacks don’t you?” Grayson said, realizing that none of his hoodies were anywhere in his room and he’d have to go into his closet.

“You know me so well.” She said, grinning when Grayson came out of his closet, two hoodies in hand, and tossed one to her.

Right after she slipped it on, on top of her shirt, Grayson was asking her, “Ready?”

He didn’t even wait for her response, just started walking towards his bedroom door, to which she followed right behind him, all the way to the Porsche. After they got in the car, he turned to look at her and asked, “Where we goin’?”

“Target.” She responded, as he started backing out of the driveway. Y/N always, always, let Grayson choose the music. Grayson always said the driver got to choose the music, but she never put up a fight with anything he chose. Which is why when Grayson asked her to shuffle his Young Thug playlist, she did it. No questions asked, bobbing her head to the music, even rapping some of it, on their way to Target.

When they got there, Grayson parked in the closest parking space he could find. There were a few cars in the parking lot, but not too many. Even if Grayson hadn’t seen Y/N in a while, he always kept three masks in his car. One for himself, one for Ethan, and one for Y/N. They both put their masks on and started walking toward the entrance.

When they got inside, Y/N was grabbing Grayson’s hand and dragging him all the way to the snacks section. The first thing she grabbed was pretzels, one of her all time favorite snacks, but sometimes she forgets how much she likes them. She went on a search to find Nutella, which in the process, Grayson made a smart comment about it not being vegan. Then she grabbed two bags of Doritos, cool ranch and nacho cheese.

Immediately after she grabbed the Doritos, she thought about ice cream. Grayson was on this stupid health kick getting ready for this match with Logan, that doesn’t even have a date. Because of that, it had become 200 times harder to convince Grayson to get ice cream. He knew that if he was around Y/N when she was eating ice cream, he’d cave. Which is why right now, when he saw that look in Y/N’s eyes, he knew exactly what she wanted.

He didn’t even let her get it out, “No.”

“But I didn’t even-“

“Absolutely not. I’m trying to eat healthy.”

“You don’t have to have any. Just let me get some.” She pleaded.

“Y/N, no. Are you done?”

“Grayson, please?” She begged, giving him that look that she knew would make him say yes.

“Fuckin’ fine. Let’s go” Grayson said, giving in.

So they walked to the ice cream section. Y/N already knew what she was going to get. She picked up two jars of Talenti. She made sure to choose vegan flavors, so she chose Alphonso Mango and Roman Raspberry. Grayson groaned when he realized she chose vegan ice cream. “You want me to have some that bad?”

She just nodded and told him, “I’m ready to check out.”

They walked to self-checkout and put everything down. Grayson always let Y/N scan because it was one of her favorite things to do. She didn’t know why, it just made her happy. When she had scanned everything, she went to pull out her card. “Uh-uh.” This was a conversation they had all the time. Y/N could afford to buy her own snacks, but Grayson just wouldn’t allow it.

“Grayson, at most it’s 25 dollars. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“I invited you over, so I should pay for it.”

“I asked for snacks, so I should pay for it.”

“Let me pay for it this time and then you can pay me back later.” Grayson only suggested that because he knew she never carried cash and he didn’t have cash app.

“Fine, but I get to buy them next time.”

“Ok, fine.” Grayson just shrugged his shoulders.

“Promise.” Y/N said, holding out her pinky.

“I promise.” Grayson said, as he linked their pinkies together rolling his eyes.

The ride back to Grayson’s house was smooth, but it felt long. So long, that Y/N tilted her head back and closed her eyes for what felt like 2 minutes. It actually ended up being a little under 30 because when she was opening her eyes, they were pulling into his driveway.

Grayson didn’t say anything about her falling asleep. Every chance he got, he’d glance over at the sleeping girl beside him. Right now, though, he was running over to open the car door for her and help her out. Every time she fell asleep in the car she was always disoriented for a few minutes after.

When they got back to his bedroom, spoons in hand because they stopped at the kitchen to get napkins and spoons, Grayson dropped the bag in the middle of the bed while Y/N crawled right back in his bed. As Grayson was climbing into bed, Y/N realized that it was a little after 11pm. She knew once Grayson had some ice cream, he’d be out like a light and she’d be up all alone, but she just wanted to live in the moment. Turning Big Mouth back on, they snuggled, both holding ice cream and a blanket thrown over them because Grayson knew Y/N got cold when she ate ice cream, but refused to admit it.

It was closing in on 12am and she saw Grayson trying to keep his eyes open and converse with her about any and everything. “Go to sleep, babe. I can stay up on my own.” She murmured to him as she went to reach for the remote to turn the tv off, so Grayson could sleep well.

Grayson grabbed the remote before she could and sat up a little bit straighter, “Don’t be silly. I want to stay up with you.”

“Babyyyy.” She said, absolutely oblivious to the fact that he was in love with her and would stay up all night with her if it meant getting to hang out with her.

“I love you, Y/N.” And he meant it with everything he had.

“I love you more, bub.” She responded, as Grayson pulled her even further into his chest.

tagging: @blindedbythelightt @333dolans @foxglovedolan

A/N: hi! if you read it, thank you!! this had no business being 2k words, but it’s my longest fic thus far. if you have feedback let me know. if you wanna be tagged, which idk why you would, but if you do lmk. this literally took like 3 hours to write becuase writers block 😭😭😭😭 anyway, this is so self-indulgent i- anyway, love you sm. peace ✌️

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfiction #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan concept #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan x reader #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins concept #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins fanfic #dolan twins fic #grayson bailey dolan #rhyan writes

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naancypants · 3 years

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maybe this is perfect

Wrote this after 2x12 (+ updated to reflect news about 2x13 & 2x14, hehe) as a sort of speculative confession scene for the finale episode. I hope you enjoy, and I will be polishing this/publishing on Ao3 shortly 💜

2,096 words

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"Hey," Nancy says from behind, twisting both hands around the strap of her messenger bag. "Can we talk?"

At the sound of her voice, Ace straightens from in front of his locker. He lets out a close-mouthed sigh as her words sink into his stomach, and when he turns towards her, the discomfort she's feeling becomes evident in her body language.

"Yeah," he breathes out.

A beat passes where neither makes a move.

Nancy is the first to take a step. "You've been avoiding me for a while now. Ever since the whole.. life-and-death thing with Daniel West." she takes in a shuddering breath, "And I'm sorry that I was willing to let people die to save you. I thought that you would understand, that you would've done the same thing-"

"It's not about the list," Ace cuts in with a shake of his head, "That was a long time ago."

In reality it had only been a few weeks since Nancy and Grant traded a hit list to a professional killer to spare Ace's life, but time seems to move inordinately slow in Horseshoe Bay.

"I know. But that was also the same time I called in for a favor with Celia Hudson..." she allows her sentence to drift off there, urging Ace to connect the unspoken dots.

He hadn't tried to hide his feelings on the situation with Celia, especially whenever he and Nancy talked one-on-one. Yet still, her ability to pinpoint the root of behaviors she already notices in him never fails to surprise.

He clears his throat. "I just... wish you would have consulted me before you made a deal with the devil."

Nancy recalls a recent talk during which she was alone with Ace where he'd briefly confessed his dismay at Nancy's dealings with the Hudson matriarch. A string of monotone words all run together as she attempts to explain, "We already went over this, Ace. I-I-I had to figure out how to save you, there was no time to consider my options."

"Maybe it wasn't worth it."

Within a second, revulsion twists every feature on Nancy's face. "I'm sorry, what?" she demands.

Ace doesn't elaborate. Instead he lifts his raincoat from its hook and shuts the door to his locker, staring down at the garment in his hands with a shameful expression. It isn't long before Nancy has his elbow in a firm grip.

"Hey," she convinces him to whirl around and face her. "You're worth it to me."

You're always worth it to me. You're worth everything to me. A thousand times over, she wants to say. But she doesn't.

"I guess that's my problem."

"Your problem is that I care about you?"

"I don't want to be the reason you sell your soul to the Hudsons."

Nancy blinks, her ferocity weakening as she pulls away. "Aren't I allowed to make my own choices?"

"Of course. But... that doesn't mean I have to like them."

The way he says it is so casual, so lacking in venom that it makes her stomach wrench. He doesn't realize that the only approval Nancy craves is his; she is willing to stand up against even the closest of people in her life - Nick, George, her own father - but not Ace. His opinion of her serves as a compass whenever Nancy is too tired or worn down to trust her own judgment. His opinion is the one that matters most.

If there's anything Nancy can't stand, it's being clouded over with emotion, but the tightness in her throat only warns of an oncoming flood.

"Then what do you want from me? Tell me what I can do to make it better."

It's the most breakable, the most desperate she thinks she's heard herself. Nancy Drew is independent and decisive and strong. So whose voice is it that wobbles in fear, laying down her pride in the hands of another?

An exhale leaves Ace's lungs, heavy with the weight of uncertainties he can't quite place his finger on.

"Honestly? I don't know right now, Nancy. Maybe just... help me understand why before you make these kinds of decisions. I don't want you to get hurt."

Their eyes linger for what feels like an eternity, distanced by walls that neither of them know how to tear down.

When Ace moves, he turns decisively away.

Panic beginning to swell in her chest, Nancy pushes past all the other emotions running through her mind - fear, guilt, vulnerability - and takes one last step into the room before he has the chance to get away.

"I did it because I love you."

If anything could stop him cold in his tracks, it's that particular confession. His eyes meet the floor in front of him, speechless and calculating, each second ticking by in tense silence. He turns to face her once more.

There in the center of the room she stands, the bold and courageous girl detective herself, looking smaller than ever. Her voice is steady, but barely above a whisper now, "Ace... I think I might be in love with you."

Ace stands motionless in awe, save for a swallow and quick shift of his weight.

When Nancy gets nervous, she often rambles to relieve some of her tension. "I didn't know how to say it before, and I- have never actually been in love so maybe I didn't even know what I was feeling until recently, but, you were with Amanda Bobbsey and not in love with me and it's all... very confusing..."

Breath leaves her lungs as quickly as words leave her tongue, anxiety shaking her down to the core. She blinks when the self-awareness sets in, lowering her gaze to the floor for a length of awkward silence.

"Nancy."

Eventually she looks back up to find him just a few feet away now, having crossed the room sometime after she finished prattling on about nothing. His raincoat hits the bench.

"There are a lot of reasons why I can't do this right now." He indicates himself with a curved hand to his chest.

Though her heart sinks, Nancy's eyelids still flutter. "But you- you would? Hypothetically?"

His mouth flattens into something that's not quite a smile, eyes as earnest as ever. "It's just that... y'know, Amanda's only been gone for a week. And I don't want to lose what we have - what all of us have."

"You won't," Nancy states with a furrowed brow, "Why do you think you would lose us?"

He bobs his head a bit. "Things could get complicated between us. Especially considering... things."

"What do you mean? What kind of things?"

"Well, I'm not trying to point fingers, but... there is your track record. With relationships."

It doesn't escape her attention that he refuses to make eye contact when he says the last part. She tenses up and repeats, "My track record?"

Ace opens his mouth to soften the words, but the look on his face is enough to suffice as an apology. Nancy retreats on her own as three particular guys - Ned Nickerson, Owen Marvin and Gil Bobbsey - flash through her mind's eye. Guys she had used as a distraction, a rebound, and a means of empty sexual gratification, all of which Ace witnessed firsthand from the sidelines.

"Yeah I deserve that, don't I," she says quietly.

"No, you don't. That part's fine. It's about everything else."

"Everything else being the Hudsons, Amanda, and losing what we have."

He offers only a nod. Draws in a breath. "Nancy, I want to love you too. And I'm not saying that I don't, but..." his voice breaks, just a bit, but enough for Nancy to notice.

"...It's not the right time," she finishes for him with a resigned nod; "yeah," under her breath.

This time it's Nancy who won't meet Ace's eyes. She darts them all across the room in avoidance, lips pursing together. "I'm- I'm sorry. This is.. not really who I am and I probably shouldn't have said anything to begin with, but-"

"No - no, don't apologize," Ace says with the usual gentle firmness and a slight tilt of his head. "I'm glad you said something. Really glad. In fact, um, if you're not opposed... there is something I wouldn't mind trying before you go off to Columbia."

"Ha. Who says I'm getting into Columbia?" she asks sardonically, crossing her arms.

Ace gives a subtle grin of support. "You'll get into Columbia."

She stops to consider his words, but then emits a soft chuckle, smiling gratefully at her best friend as though there were no mistakes, no confession of feelings, no heartbreak to contend with.

Time drags on as his vague statement from before remains unaccounted for, though almost as if pulled by gravity, there's a mutual instinct that draws them closer together.

Along with instinct, however, is hesitation - a slowness in the way they line themselves up, a caution in the way they read each others' eyes. Gradually his hands find their way to her jawline and before she knows it, in stark contrast to their prior pace, her back is up against metal with the most satisfying warmth she's ever known on her lips.

Nancy's entire body lights on fire, so much that it takes a dazed moment before she is able to react. Her eyebrows lift as she takes full advantage of the moment and locks her hands around the space above his elbows, kissing him back with the fervor of months worth of pent-up feelings all finally coming to surface; hands crawl upwards from his arms, to his shoulders, and eventually land on either side of his neck.

For a few rapturous seconds, they allow themselves to melt entirely into each other with the realization that things won't be like this again for a while; not until they're able to overcome the doubts, the obstacles, the emotional walls that they both know would cause more harm than good if they were to pursue this now.

Maybe this is perfect. Maybe one kiss - one blissful, ravenous taste of just what it is they're missing out on is enough to satiate their appetites for the time being and prepare them for what's to come.

With one last surge forward, hands sliding down his chest, Nancy realizes that kissing Ace never even felt this good in her dreams.

Then, sooner rather than later, it's over.

Though their lips disconnect, everything else remains. A breathless minute comes and goes before either have any words to speak.

"Are you- are you sure you don't want to change your mind?" Nancy finally asks through her teeth, eyes drifting down to his mouth more than once.

A quirk tugs at his face as he steps back, hands remaining on Nancy's forearms for perhaps a touch longer than necessary. "Few more of those and I might."

Nancy gives a wistful giggle, using her shoulders to launch herself away from the lockers right when her phone buzzes.

Ace watches with curiosity as she opens her latest text notification, but waits silently to be filled in.

"It's George. She says they're waiting for us at the Claw," Nancy murmurs with her brow lowered, looking at Ace for a potential answer to her confusion.

Rarely one to disappoint, Ace nods in recognition. "Oh yeah, they took it upon themselves to reschedule game night. I was supposed to tell you."

Nancy raises her eyebrows in good spirit. "Ah. Well, I'm sure glad you told me with plenty of time to spare."

"Come to think of it, Bess pretty much insisted I be the one to tell you. The whole thing must've been a ruse."

Nancy shrugs. "Eh! You know what they say. What's done is done." she waits a beat before thumbing towards the back door over her shoulder. "Join me?"

"Yeah," Ace agrees as he grabs his raincoat and the pair start walking out. "Yeah but I have to warn you, none of what just transpired is going to have any affect on how mercilessly I demolish you in Absurd Code Word."

"Wow, Ace, I think you're underestimating my game night abilities. Have you ever seen me in Absurd Code Word?"

"Don't need to."

"I see. Is it because I'm a girl?"

"C'mon, Nancy. You know me better than that."

The ease with which they're able to shift gears serves as a delicate reminder of how intrinsically they are connected; the level of comfort and stability within their potential when the time is right.

Whenever that may be.

#hi i straight up accidentally posted this while editing on mobile LMFAO #so sorry if it ain't perfect #some things might change over time #will be reposting this later #when i actually have access to a computer again lol

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offtopicoverload · 3 years

Text

Hope Dumps Noah

I have no logical explanation for what this is, but @bubblybabynailpolish had an anon bring up Noah + Hope = Jade + Beck from Victorious a while ago, and it’s been living rent free in my head for weeks so here’s some bullshit. It’s loosely based on that one episode where Jade gets Tori to win back Beck except gayer and more litg and exists purely to appease the gremlin that is early 2010s me yelling in the back of my mind. And thanks to Anne for answering my weird asks, this is what they were for lmao

T Rating (fluff and angst, some elements of the show kinda? i tried at least)

Hope x MC (Rosie)

~10k (got super carried away but didnt wanna make multiple parts so take it as you will. on the bright side, it'd be longer if i edited properly but im tired so no)

Rosie’s front door shakes on its hinges, a pounding, thundering sound echoing from the other side, berating the wood as it quivers and quivers. Her head flies up in surprise, half expecting an army to spill into her flat, battering ram in hand as they shout orders. But no such event occurs, and she leaps up from the sofa in the corner, pocketing her phone and hurrying across the room before yanking the door open. She immediately freezes in place, meeting bewildered, watery eyes standing on the other side of the threshold.

Tears are streaming down splotchy cheeks, a throat bobbing as it fights to maintain some sort of composure, even as bones tremble beneath skin, shivering regardless of the heat of the building. “Um, uh, hey?” Rosie tries awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot in the doorway and gripping the knob with pale knuckles.

“Can I come in?” the words waver as they leave messy, tear-muddied, brightly stained lips, pouring out like broken shards, creating their own trail alongside tears. Red eyes glance down the hallway, paranoid as they search for something, even in the late night, “I don’t - I don’t want to be out here where -” a sniffle “- where people can see.”

Rosie blinks a few times, her mind still slowly working to process the situation that’s just presented itself to her. But dark eyes are glimmering with shed and unshed tears, pleading beneath lashes and shadows from poor corridor lighting, and she startles into action, “Yeah! Yeah, er, yeah,” she mumbles, moving aside and holding the door open in invitation.

The threshold’s crossed, hurrying inside the flat with arms crossed, making a beeline for the upholstered sofa backed against the wall and dropping down onto it. Rosie closes the door, locking it carefully, neurotically, slowly, just to give herself time to think, to make sense of what to do with one of the last people she ever expected inside her flat: Hope.

Hope’s sitting on her sofa, curled in on herself to take up as little space as possible, cheeks covered in the remnants of despair that Rosie can’t even explain, let alone prepare herself for. Hope’s sniffling in her living room, palms running up and down her biceps to calm herself, her throat struggling to stifle sobs she’s ashamed of. Hope’s crying in her flat, gaze pinned to the floor to avoid the world, makeup streaked and smudged on all of her features, features wracked with inexplicable pain.

Rosie turns from the door, brushing her clammy palms on her sweatpants over and over again, a distractionary stimuli to calm the nerves slowly bubbling beneath her skin. Nerves she hasn’t felt in months, and was determined to never feel again, not after weeks and weeks of the constant feeling of insects crawling beneath her skin, burrowing and biting and squirming. She glances up, finding Hope’s eyes trained on her, hesitant and terrified from across the room, the flat’s lights reflecting in them, her damp cheeks shimmering in the warm colours.

Rosie forces her lips to curl in a tiny smile as she approaches, somewhat slow and cautious, until she can fall into the cushions beside Hope, bloodshot eyes never straying from her movement. Rosie risks a hand on her back, gently skating up and down her spine, an attempt at comfort she doesn’t have a reason to provide. But she provides it anyway, praying it’ll help, it’ll keep the tears from dripping down Hope’s jaw and dampening her top.

Only it doesn’t, only Hope begins to crumble, falling against her and burying her face against Rosie’s shoulder, sobs shaking her shoulders, trembling like the door on its hinges. Rosie wraps her arms around the quaking body clinging to her, murmuring a few quiet assurances, an offer of a lifesaver in the raging sea drowning her. Her hands draw circles on Hope’s vulnerable back, shapes to distract herself with, to ground herself with.

Hope bawls and whimpers and sobs and shakes for what feels like forever to Rosie, a forever that’s odd and uncomfortable, a forever that she doesn’t know what to make of. It’s not that she’s necessarily upset with it - she’s done this for girl friends in the past, she knows how to help a heartbroken woman - it’s just who she’s helping. She hasn’t seen Hope since the finale, since she walked away with her hand clasped in Noah’s, since Rosie split the money with Arjun, just to appease the audience.

He was sweet, sure, but they just didn’t fit. She didn’t feel like he was her other half, her perfect match, a missing piece in the puzzle that constructs her life. She didn’t see herself sacrificing things for him, didn’t see herself working for her relationship with him, didn’t see herself with him, point blank. And Rosie doesn’t do things she can’t see, can’t envision, can’t rationalise.

Which is exactly why she has no idea what to make of the woman dampening and wrinkling her sweater, face pressed to her shoulder and hands fisted in her shirt. “Hey, it’s okay,” she murmurs against Hope’s head, her breath hot where it brushes skin, a shiver running through Hope at the exhale.

This is unfamiliar territory to Rosie, unknown ground as she slowly steps into no man’s land, wary of land mines sitting beneath the dirt. Land mines of glares and scoffs and dismissals, land mines that sat in every corner of the Villa. Maybe in another life this would be normal, be commonplace, but not in this one.

Not in the world where Rosie kissed Noah in the Villa’s lounge that fateful day, that day that she’s regretted ever since. It wasn’t meant to mean anything, it was only supposed to help Priya and Bobby. It wasn’t supposed to cause the end of the world or hurt Hope as much as it did. It wasn’t supposed to confuse Noah as much as it did or leave him dragging things on for ages. It wasn’t supposed to be anything at all, anything but a blatant mistake.

But it was, it was so much, and now here they are, months and months later. Hope hasn’t spoken to Rosie since the finale, and Rosie didn’t even mind. She’s barely kept in touch with anyone, the only people she speaks to being Chelsea and Priya, since they’re always first to reach out. Even in the Villa, Hope would barely speak to her, and it hurt for a while. It hurt that they had been so close and were suddenly so far, but she always forced that hurt away. It was her own fault, it was her actions that led to Hope hating her guts.

Except, maybe she doesn’t hate Rosie’s guts. Maybe she doesn’t want her dead or wish she was never born. Maybe she still thinks about when they were friends like Rosie does. Maybe there’s a reason she’s crying in Rosie’s arms in this moment, that she showed up at Rosie’s door, that she sought out something only Rosie could presumably offer.

Hope swallows thickly, her head turning until her cheek’s resting against Rosie. “We broke up,” Hope croaks, stifling another sob as she forces her voice out again, “I - I dumped Noah.”

“Oh, um…” Rosie fumbles, her hand tracing the length of Hope’s spine beneath her heavy, navy, patterned sweater, “I’m sorry,” she whispers, the words still warm as they settle on Hope’s skin.

“It’s my fault,” she whimpers, turning her face back to Rosie as another tremble courses through her, a barely suppressed noise of anguish dying in her throat.

Rosie resumes her reassurances, her small whispers into Hope’s scalp, her tight hold on Hope’s quivering body. She cycles through every calming technique or phrase she can think of what must be a hundred times over, until Hope quiets, until Rosie stops feeling tears on her neck, until steady, even breathing fills the flat.

She swallows to stabilise herself before asking the all important question, one she’s a little nervous to hear the answer to, “Can I - Can I ask why you’re here? And, uh, so upset? If it was your decision?” she trips over her words, a flower of nerves blossoming in her stomach, and she wants to stamp it out, to stop it from pulling her in once more.

Hope pulls away from, her face set in malleable stone even with tears glistening on her cheekbones, sparkling in the overhead lights Rosie had on, diamonds tumbling down her skin, soft enough not to cut. “I didn’t know who else to go to. I - I didn’t know what to do,” she confesses, her head bowing and eyes staring into her lap.

“Okay,” Rosie nods, a palm still skating up and down the length of Hope’s upper arm, “That’s okay. You don’t have to know. You can just stay here if you want?” she offers uneasily, shifting awkwardly in her spot.

Hope’s eyes flicker up to meet Rosie’s, a cautious hopefulness in them, “I can? It’s not, like, weird?” she mumbles, averting her gaze once more.

“Not if you don’t think it is,” Rosie counters as coolly as she can manage.

Hope shakes her head adamantly, “No, no, I’d… I’d rather not be on my own right now.”

Rosie smiles in what she hopes comes across as encouraging, “That’s cool. You want me to stay out here? We can watch a movie?” she proposes with pinched brows and squinted eyes.

A gentle, hesitant smile quirks Hope’s mouth, “Yeah.” She pauses, contemplative and nodding distractedly, “That’d be great, thanks.”

Rosie rises from the sofa, crossing the living room to flip off the lights and grab the remote and a pile of blankets sitting in the corner. She drops them beside Hope in a heap, crashing onto the opposite side of the sofa a second later. She flicks through streaming services until Hope points out some random romcom, Rosie turning it on as Hope relaxes into the sofa with one of the blankets.

Rosie doesn’t pay much attention to the film, playing with her box braids distractedly and only having a loose grasp on the cheesy plot, but she notices every time Hope laughs, the sound becoming more and more relaxed as time goes on. Rosie sinks into the cushions, her legs folded and arms wrapped around her torso, head lolled against the back of the sofa.

It’s hard to tell when her eyelids fall shut, or when the movie ends, or when Hope moves, but Rosie wakes up to a dark screen flickering through backgrounds and ads for streaming exclusives. She wakes up to Hope’s head resting on her shoulder and a blanket splayed across her lap, as if Hope was worried she’d be cold without it.

She blinks a few times in the dark, taking in the scene around her and slowly processing what her night has become. She only wanted to sit on her phone before going to bed early after her long day at work. She didn’t expect a crying woman to show up at her doorstep or to watch a bad movie until too early in the morning, or to fall asleep in the living room. A sigh shakes her chest, and she reaches for the remote, turning off the telly and settling back into the sofa, Hope shifting beside her with the adjustment.

---

Rosie wakes up to sunlight pouring into her flat and a deserted sofa, blankets the only remnants of Hope’s night spent in the living room. She slumps forward, head in her hands as she adjusts to the too-bright sun and the noise of London already filtering inside, honks of car horns and a hum of people on the streets providing a familiar soundtrack to her wake up.

“I want to get him back,” a voice declares, the words wavering slightly as they fall from lips set in a frown.

“Hmm?” Rosie hums groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she lifts her head, blinking to clear her vision. She finds Hope standing across the room, arms crossed and expression determined as she meets Rosie’s gaze.

“I want to get Noah back, I want to tell him I’m sorry for the breakup,” Hope repeats, her voice sturdier now.

Rosie nods, her mind still foggy but the haze slowly clearing, “Okay. That’s good,” she rationalises slowly, rising from the sofa and stretching her muscles; she’s made a point to avoid sleeping on the sofa normally. She stalks into the kitchen, falling into her usual morning routine easily.

Hope follows behind her, eyes widening, “It is?” she sounds surprised, stopping a ways away from Rosie, feet on the wood.

“Yeah, if you were happy together,” Rosie nods again, turning to her kitchen appliances. She starts with coffee, collecting beans and supplies meticulously as always, setting them out in a particular pattern beside the fridge.

Hope crashes into a barstool at the counter behind Rosie, her voice coming out softer now, “We were,” she confirms.

“Okay,” Rosie shrugs. “So go get him back,” she turns, forearms dropping to the counter beneath her to support her weight. She watches Hope curiously, expecting some explanation or excitement or something of the like, but Hope’s gone silent, her lip slipping between her teeth to worry the skin. Her gaze is trained on the pale countertop, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Hope?” Rosie asks gently.

Dark eyes fly up to meet her own, snapping up too quickly, “Yeah?”

“You okay?” Concern wells in Rosie’s gaze before she can prevent it, her upper body unconsciously leaning forward to inspect Hope and find what’s suddenly irking her.

“Yeah,” Hope nods.

Rosie isn’t quite convinced, her brows knitting together, “You sure?”

Hope’s eyes flicker around the kitchen for a minute to avoid the deep eyes watching her before her shoulders slump, defeated and exhausted, “No,” she mumbles dejectedly.

“What’s wrong?”

A heavy sigh lifts Hope’s shoulders, twitching them lightly “I don’t think he’ll talk to me, not after yesterday.”

Rosie pauses. She hadn’t really considered that, just assumed Noah would be as torn up about the breakup as Hope had been, that he’d been jumping in place if Hope said it was a mistake. Her fingernails tap at the counter as she considers, weighing her options before diving right in, “Do you want me to try?”

Hope’s eyes dart to Rosie again, still just as surprised as earlier, as if everything Rosie does is entirely unbelievable, “You’d do that?”

“I guess?” Rosie gives an awkward shrug, averting her eyes and turning around to continue making coffee. She grabs milk from the fridge before finishing the process, pouring everything into a mug, “Yeah, sure,” she mumbles when she faces Hope again, swirling the dark liquid in a whirlpool.

It’s a long, almost painful amount of time before either of them utter another word. “Thank you,” Hope whispers the words, a tiny break in the quiet of the flat, of the bubble that’s formed in the kitchen.

---

The next day, long after Hope leaves her flat, long after Rosie made eggs and coffee for the both of them, long after Hope gave Rosie a quick hug in thanks, Rosie grabs an Uber to the other side of the city, to the library Noah works at. She strides into the building with her hands knotted in the pockets of her jacket, nerves clamming her palms as she scans the open area she’s found herself in. It’s relatively empty, only a few people sitting and working or browsing shelves idly in the middle of the day.

She searches a few aisles, glancing down empty passageways and passing shelf after shelf loaded with books. A few patrons give her odd looks, some outright glaring at her for her behaviour, but she eventually finds Noah in a back corner, restocking a few shelves in practiced motions, a cart loaded with books parked beside him.

“Hey,” she greets from down the aisle, waving slightly with an uneasy smile when he glances at her in surprise.

He adds the books in his hands to the shelf before turning to face her properly, his expression slightly stunned, “Hey,” he greets back, his tone puzzled as one hand falls to the book cart to lean against.

Rosie ventures further into the aisle, her eyes darting around as she attempts to figure out how to broach the tender subject of a breakup from only two days ago. She stops before him, folding her arms and rolling up and down on her toes, “So…” she starts, looking up at him from beneath her lashes in hopes that he’ll understand what she’s getting at.

He doesn’t, only blinking as he looks at her expectantly, waiting for an explanation for her presence. She sighs, one hand fiddling with the tips of her braids nervously, rolling them between the pads of her fingers, “You and Hope broke up?” she eventually asks, meeting his gaze with as much confidence as she can muster.

His eyes go wide, his jaw falling open, “Um, yeah, but I - Look, you’re really amazing but I think I need a little time, you know, and if you’ll wait, that’s great, but I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything, but again, you’re amazing, I just…” he trails off as he takes in the confusion on her face, a blush growing on his cheeks.

Then it clicks, “Oh!” she startles. “No, no, I - mate, I didn’t come to hit on you,” she clarifies, somewhat taken aback by the conclusion he so quickly jumped to. “I’m not here to ask you out, no,” she reiterates.

He nods swiftly, muttering a few apologies under his breath before clearing his throat. “So, um, why are you here then?” he asks, careful and wary of saying something else wrong.

Rosie shifts on her feet, hands falling back to fidget in her jacket pocket’s, “Well… I kinda got the impression that Hope regrets the way things went down and wants to try again,” she forces, drawing herself to her full height, still a few inches shorter than the man before her.

Confusion flickers on his face, “How’d you get that impression?”

“I talked to her.”

The confusion grows, a crease splitting his eyebrows, “She talked to you?”

“She showed up at my flat,” Rosie answers casually.

“Why?”

She shrugs, mumbling out an “I dunno” in response.

“And you’re fine with that? And you’re helping her?” his arms cross over his chest as he asks, staring down at her intently, intimidatingly.

“Yeah,” she shrinks under his gaze, drawing her jacket tighter to block out the sudden chill coursing down her spine.

Noah’s lips twist, though in frustration or anger or upset, Rosie can’t tell. “Why?” he repeats.

Rosie sighs, shrugging again at the lack of a better answer, offering her best explanation, “She was really torn up about it.”

“She dumped me,” he states calmly, matter-of-factly, dismissively.

“I know.”

He watches Rosie carefully for a moment, taking in her appearance as she shuffles on her feet, unable to conceive of where this conversation is going next. “Do you know why?” he finally asks, Rosie stilling at the question.

“No,” she admits reluctantly.

“I got lunch with Priya, alone.”

“Well, yeah, that’s not great,” sarcasm soaks her words, coating her throat as the syllables escape.

Noah blinks at her, still stern and calm, “Because Ibrahim and Marisol had to cancel.”

“Oh,” Rosie freezes, her body tensing uncomfortably. That changes things. She swallows thickly, eyebrows raising and curving together, “Does she know that?”

“I tried to tell her.”

“Maybe she’ll listen now.”

“She never does,” Noah shrugs, his demeanor unchanged and unaffected.

She looks to him in disbelief, “That can’t be true.”

He heaves a heavy sigh, his guard finally cracking as his arms fall back to his sides, disappointment radiating from him like warmth from a fire, “For my birthday she got me The Old Man and the Sea,” he looks at Rosie as if he expects her to understand what that means.

“Okay…” she squints. She knows enough about literature to know it’s a classic, that most students have to read it at one point, herself included. “Why’s that bad? You’re a librarian.”

Noah’s lips curve in a slight frown as he straightens impossibly taller, “I hate Hemingway,” he nearly spits the name, a frown splitting Rosie’s own lips at his obvious displeasure.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

---

Hope shows up at Rosie’s flat again that night, her features fraught as she hurries in, hugging herself tight with her coat. She drops onto the sofa after she enters, Rosie following a beat behind and folding her legs on the cushions, Hope nearly vibrating in her skin as she watches Rosie expectantly.

When Rosie only meets her gaze, she sighs exasperatedly, “Well? What’d he say? He didn’t text me or anything,” she leans forward, eager to learn.

Rosie shifts under the excitement presented to her, excitement she knows is about to die, “He, uh, he wasn’t really on board with you guys getting back together,” she mumbles, avoiding shining eyes.

Hope visibly deflates in only a heartbeat, her bottom lip poking out as tears well in her eyes, every part of her depressed and hurt, “He wasn’t?” Her voice is small, painfully so to Rosie’s ears.

She forces herself not to cringe at the tone, at the way Hope’s fighting tears once more, “No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, you’ve done a lot,” Hope sniffles, wiping at her nose and blinking back tears to calm herself, to prevent another onslaught of sobs on Rosie’s sofa. “You’ve done a lot,” she repeats, eyes trained on the fabric of the cushions beneath them, staring intently just to have something to focus her energy on. “Did he say why?” she finally asks after a minute, breaking the brief silence that had settled over them.

“Er -” Rosie squirms, fidgeting nervously, “He said he didn’t think you really listened to him,” she draws out the words, not wanting to speak them.

Hope is absolutely appalled, her jaw falling open in horror, “That’s - That’s not true!” she eventually manages the words, her mouth fumbling them.

“I know, but -”

“I listen!” she insists, hands flying up to grip Rosie’s forearm desperately, in search of confirmation that she’s a good person, a good partner, “Why would he say that, Rosie?” she’s panicked as her grasp tightens, falling away only a second later, “Why would he say that?” she repeats, softer now, a whisper.

“He said for his birthday you got him a Hemingway book,” Rosie chances.

Hope’s arms fold over her chest protectively, “He didn’t have any Hemingway.”

“‘Cause he hates Hemingway,” Rosie explains as gently as she can, Hope immediately slumping again, any retorts or defences forgotten.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet, Hope staring at nothing and Rosie staring at Hope, waiting for something to change, waiting for her to get sad or angry or maybe just leave all together. But she doesn’t, meeting Rosie’s eyes with a fire inside her own, “I need something else.” She’s determined as she sinks into the cushions, thinking raptly of some solution. “What if I get him a gift?” a lightbulb seems to explode above her head as she sits up again.

Rosie blinks at the quick change in mood, taken aback at the grin sitting on Hope’s lips. “Like what?”

“He likes Greyhounds?” Hope proposes with a tilt of her head and a quirk of an eyebrow, “He always said he’d love to have one.”

“You’re gonna buy him an entire dog?” Rosie asks in shock, her tone stunted and sharp.

Hope scowls at her in irritation, “He likes them!” she defends, “He’s talked about them a lot, and it’ll show I listen, right?”

“I guess?”

“What do you mean you guess?”

Hands fly up in self-defence and attempted placation, “This is your relationship, I don’t know him or what goes,” Rosie gestures in the air separating her from Hope, working to diffuse the tension.

Hope huffs, crossing her arms and collapsing into the cushions behind her, “Fine.”

---

Hope spends the next few days looking up shelters and breeders, trying to decide on a puppy or an adult or even an elderly dog, researching proper care for a Greyhound and what they need. Rosie doesn’t see or hear from Hope until her phone’s ringing incessantly as she gets out of the shower, scrambling to answer it and silence the buzzing, “Hello?” she asks without even reading the Caller ID, fumbling to turn on speakerphone.

“Hey!” Hope’s voice crackles through the speaker, bright and energetic. “I found one!” she announces, clearly pleased with herself and her findings.

“Hmm?” Rosie questions distractedly, tightening her towel wrapped around her body and grabbing skin and hair products to set them on the bathroom sink.

“I found a dog! I went to a shelter!”

Rosie nods, only realising afterwards that Hope can’t see her, sighing as she coats her face in moisturiser. “That’s great,” she hums again.

“Can you come over tonight? And we bring him to Noah’s flat? Please?” her voice is begging as it rings through the phone, Rosie glancing to it as Hope draws out the vowels of her plea.

“Uh, yeah, I think I’m free,” she mumbles, her mouth twisting as she applies products.

She’s reaching for the end call button after a long silence when a quiet murmur surprises her, “Thank you,” Hope whispers into her phone from the other side of the line.

A small smile curves Rosie’s mouth, “No problem.”

---

“You’re the worst,” Hope groans as she tugs on a leash, glaring at Rosie and her amused smile beside her.

“Says the one that dragged me into this,” Rosie grins, popping her eyebrows for effect. She’s refused to assist with the dog the entire time, forcing Hope to try and wrangle the full grown animal.

It darts forward down the street, yanking Hope along, “Hey!” she chastises, Rosie laughing unabashedly from behind her, jogging to catch up. “You could help, you know! He listened to you earlier!”

Rosie smirks, “Oh, I know. This is much more fun, though,” she teases, falling into another fit of laughter as Hope digs her heels into the pavement, working to pull the dog back.

He doesn’t listen, carrying on in the direction of the library. Noah wasn’t at his flat, so they’ve been forced to take a short detour to find him without waiting. “At least he knows where he’s going,” Rosie comments, still grinning.

Hope shoots her a scowl, “How lucky,” she spits through gritted teeth, her jaw tight as she uses all her strength to keep the dog from running off into London’s streets.

Rosie sighs as Hope nearly trips over her own feet, crouching down and whistling sharply. The dog turns, bolting for her, nearly tackling her to the ground until she grips his fur to keep upright, cooing over him the entire time. Hope’s gaze is a mix of disappointed, annoyed, and mildly impressed as Rosie grins up at her, scratching the dog behind his ears.

She pops back to her feet, stealing the leash from Hope in one smooth motion, “You’re welcome,” she hums, setting back off on their path, the dog following obediently on her heels.

She hears Hope groaning about it behind her until she catches up, muttering a ‘thanks’ under her breath, much to Rosie’s enjoyment. The rest of the walk is relatively quiet, only a few good natured ribbings from Rosie or complaints from Hope filling the space as they work their way to the library, street lamps illuminating much of their path in the dark evening.

Noah spots them before they spot him, the pair distracted as Rosie laughs at Hope’s grumbling, Rosie nearly walking into a post as she struggles to stay upright. “Stop it!” Hope chides, slapping her shoulder, which only makes Rosie laugh even harder.

“Um, hi?” Noah calls out to them, earning their gazes simultaneously. Hope stiffens, Rosie sobers, and the dog slobbers onto the pavement beneath their feet.

Rosie passes the leash back to Hope, taking a step back and away from their reunion, much to Noah’s confusion. “Hi,” Hope greets back, his eyes settling back on her.

“What are you guys doing out here?” he asks, his tone slipping into something adjacent to wariness, maybe light caution.

A bright smile curves Hope’s mouth and she sticks her hand out, offering the leash and the dog attached to it, “I got you a dog!” she announces eagerly, “I know how much you’ve always wanted one, so…” she trails off at his expression.

His eyebrows are drawn tight, lips working to form some words, “You got me a dog?!” he balks, his expression soon slipping into anger, almost a snarl, with his eyes blazing. Hope taking a step away from him, blinking rapidly as her mind audibly whirs.

“You always said you wanted one!” she explains, a spark igniting in her own dark eyes, threatening to start a fight.

“That doesn’t - What were you thinking?!”

Hope’s jaw sets tight, but it’s not enough to hide the shimmer in her eyes, “You like them, I know you do! And you don’t think I listen, but I do, so I’m proving that to you!” she counters, her voice raising.

Noah looks baffled, his hands flying and mouth opening and closing as he searches for words, “He won’t fit in my flat, Hope! He’s big and - and has a ton of energy!” he gestures wildly to the dog that’s found his way to Rosie, sitting in front of her as she scratches behind his ear.

“I thought that’s what you liked about them!” Hope’s own arms are waving, in both exasperation and irritation. One hand rises to fidget with her braids, tugging on and fiddling with a few.

“Yeah, for when I’m in a house, not a tiny flat!” Noah shouts back, “I can’t have him! I don’t want him!”

Any fire that had been blazing in Hope’s dark eyes dies out at that, at the way Noah’s glaring at her, at the way he’s dismissed her peace offering, her attempt to fix things between them. “But -”

“You can’t just -” he huffs sharply before trying to school his expression into something calmer, “You can’t just do these things without asking, it’s like you don’t even care what I think.”

Hope looks horrified, like her world is turning to ash right before her, and maybe it is, maybe this is the end of everything for her, “That’s not - I care! This is how I care! I - I pay attention and try and do things for you!”

“I don’t want you to do things for me!” Noah counters, hands balling into angry fists at his sides.

“Why not?” Hope asks indignantly, head tilted back to meet Noah’s gaze directly, her chest puffed out in a show of confidence.

Noah flounders, his jaw snapping shut, visibly rolling with tension as he searches for a reason, exploding when he can’t find one, “I just don’t! I can do things myself, Hope, I don’t need you railroading me like you always do! I’m tired of it, it’s not worth it!” he accuses, his last words effectively severing any chance at reconciliation.

Hope slumps, her shoulders sagging and face drooping, every muscle in her body going lax, as if she’s melting from heartache. Noah exhales sharply, his own shoulders dropping, losing some of the tension keeping them upright as he drags a hand through his hair, playing with it to calm himself further.

Rosie keeps to the side, not sure of her place, not sure if she’s meant to intervene, and only watches Hope stand with her head turned to the ground, braids blocking her face from view as she remains frozen, unmoving, her feet stuck to the ground and her body tense. “I’m sorry.” The words are barely audible, fractures of the typical strength in her voice, before she turns on her heel, dropping the dog’s leash and running away with tears in her eyes.

Noah deflates as she leaves, his hands balled up tight to steady himself, his face scrunched up in thought and frustration and likely a dozen other emotions as he struggles to process them. He slumps forward, his previous fight and irritation dissipating into the air, the dog still sitting at Rosie’s feet, tongue lolling and a whine echoing from him.

All the while, Rosie struggles for words, for a reaction, for something appropriate, but all she can think about is the way Hope collapsed before him, like the sight is imprinted on her mind. “Come on, mate,” she finally breaks the quiet, “You didn’t have to be that harsh,” she comments, deep creases in her own forehead and between her brows.

“I didn’t mean to be,” Noah mumbles, head down in shame as he stares at the ground, blank and empty save for the rise of his chest with each breath.

Rosie steps closer as the silence drags on, scooping up the abandoned leash and glancing over her shoulder and finding Hope long gone as she does. Her hand rises to his shoulder, gripping it loosely, “I know,” she shrugs weakly, squeezing the muscles beneath her palm. “Sorry about the dog,” she offers.

Noah laughs a little, but it’s splintered on the edges and lacking any real joy or amusement, “It’s fine. My mum’ll love him, I’m sure.”

Rosie nods sagely, retracting her hand carefully before gesturing over her shoulder, “I’m gonna, uh, go after her,” she mutters, turning on her heel and hurrying after Hope.

She finds her slumped against a wall half a block away, staring at nothing with tears streaming down her face as her lip quivers with barely restrained sobs. Rosie skids to a stop beside her, earning Hope’s attention momentarily, before she turns back to staring at nothing. She’s hollow, her gaze empty, barely there as she drifts through her mind and the storm that must be filling it like a hurricane. Rosie doesn’t say anything, only leans against the wall beside the destitute woman, eyes trained on the glimmers coating her cheeks, lit by street lamps around them.

“I just,” Hope finally begins after a long, painstakingly silent moment, “I don’t get it.” She sniffles, “I - I know we weren’t perfect, but I just… I thought we meant more than we must have.” Her voice falls apart on the last few words, cracking and splintering into a tiny, fragile whisper.

Rosie nods in understanding, pulling Hope into her arms without uttering a single word, holding her close and letting her fall apart once more, shaking under the weight of Rosie’s arms around her, burying her face in her shoulder. Her hands fist in the fabric of Rosie’s shirt, an anchor to attach herself to as the hurricane blows and wrecks and destroys her insides.

Hope’s tired of letting go, of giving in or giving up, of letting her world dissolve in her hands because fighting’s too much of a risk, a hazard, a danger to her. She’s tired of ignoring the things that rub her the wrong way, that send a cold chill down her spine, that fill her skull with a swirling mass of dark and awful thoughts. She’s tired of all the hurt and the fighting, of the way her skin turns a sickly green every time someone gets too close, of the headaches and nausea that accompany one of his unbothered shrugs.

She’s tired of it, she’s done with it, she’s not going to fight anymore, not when he doesn’t fight for her. Not when Rosie is the one she’s been leaning on, not when Rosie is the one that’s been consoling her, not when Rosie is the one that’s been nice, and caring, and sweet, and gentle, and there.

Hope shifts, freeing her face from Rosie’s top as the tears come to a stop, but keeping her head resting against her shoulder. “Why couldn’t it have been like this?” she whispers into the air, a quiet pondering that’s directed more to herself than the woman wrapped around her.

“Hmm?” Rosie hums, pulling back to look down at Hope, finding her gaze distant as she stares into the space before her, eyes piercing into the street stretching before them. “What do you mean?” Rosie murmurs down to her, finally drawing dark eyes to her own.

They’re averted just as quickly, Hope pressing her cheek even further into Rosie’s shoulder, and Rosie swears she sees some colour rush to Hope’s face. “I dunno,” she mumbles, gaze trained on nothing in particular. “It’s just… easier. Comforting. You let me do this and you’re sweet about it.”

“Noah seems pretty sweet,” Rosie mumbles awkwardly, still unsure where the line is, how Hope feels about him, how she wants to feel about him and their relationship.

Her shoulders raise in a miniscule, half-hearted shrug, “Yeah, but he doesn’t really get it. He doesn’t get it when I’m upset or mad. He’s too calm,” her lips twist at the statement, displeased at the memories.

Rosie snorts, above her, Hope’s eyes darting upwards, “What, and I’m a raving madwoman, is that?” she grins, the tension of the moment falling away with ease.

Hope’s mouth curves at the edges as she slips from Rosie’s grasp just enough to slap her arm, a common reaction to the older woman’s antics, Rosie feigning pain and rubbing at the spot instantly. “No!” Hope chides, “But you get it,” she settles back against Rosie, “Or at least you get what to do. Noah would try and fix it or tell me to ignore it or whatever, but you just let me be.”

Rosie shrugs, some heat rising to her cheeks as she glances towards the empty street beside them, fumbling for a response. She defaults to finding somewhere that will bring Hope some sort of solace, “Okay, let’s get you home,” she sighs, ignoring the heat on the back of her neck to the best of her ability.

Hope removes herself from Rosie’s hold entirely this time, stepping back and folding her arms while shifting from foot to foot. “Can I stay at your place tonight?” she asks with a twist of her lips, looking to Rosie from beneath her lashes.

“Sure,” Rosie grins, slinging her arm over Hope’s shoulders to guide her through the streets to her car, Hope leaning into her with ease as they trade some small conversation.

---

A day later and there’s a knock on Rosie’s door from across the flat, a short, sharp knock. She sighs, grabbing a dish towel and dusting off her hands before exiting the kitchen and the mess of ingredients within it. Another knock sounds on the wood, impatient as it continues on and on, Rosie hurrying to reach the door.

She jerks it open to find Hope on the other side of the threshold, beaming with her fist still poised in the air and a bottle of wine in her other hand. “Hi!” she greets, stepping past Rosie into the flat and scanning the open area curiously.

“Hey?” Rosie tries, shutting the door behind Hope and leaning against it, arms crossed and towel in hand. “Should I have been expecting you?” she asks, cycling through her day in her mind to double-check.

“Nope!” Hope turns, still grinning, “But I brought wine!” she offers the bottle proudly, swinging it for emphasis.

Rosie nods, one brow raised, “I can see that.”

Hope’s smile dims, slowly falling away as Rosie doesn’t say anything more, evidently a sign of annoyance. “Sorry,” she bows her head. “I shouldn’t have come, should I? I’m sorry, I just didn’t know what to do tonight,” she confesses, her words rushing in a hurry to explain herself.

Rosie pushes herself upright from the door, stepping away from the threshold and closer to Hope, “I take it you usually spend evenings with Noah?”

Hope only nods in response, head still down in embarrassment and resignation. Her arms are slack at her side, the wine bottle dangling loosely in her grasp as she awaits Rosie’s harsh words telling her to leave and not come back.

“Well, I’m making dinner right now and I always make too much,” Rosie states, no edge in her voice, no malice in her words, “Take your shoes off and it’ll be done in about a half hour.” Rosie turns, striding back into the kitchen and leaving Hope to collect herself.

She joins Rosie a few minutes later in her socks, her smile repaired as she drops into a barstool across from Rosie, placing the wine bottle on the counter, a glimmer in her eyes as she presents it, pushing it across the counter. Rosie laughs in response, nicking it and pulling out wine glasses. She pours a drink for each of them, Hope draining hers rather quickly as she talks about her day, Rosie stealing a few sips as she cooks.

Rosie presents the finished dinner with a flourish to Hope, earning a laugh as she takes the plate. Rosie rounds the kitchen, dropping into the stool beside Hope and taking a swig of her wine. “So what’d you do today?” Hope prompts curiously, cutting into the chicken Rosie made and taking a bite.

“Usual stuff. Trained today, the new player’s are adjusting pretty well, and then ran a few errands. Usual stuff,” she shrugs, taking a bite of asparagus.

“That’s fun,” Hope hums encouragingly, smiling wide when Rosie glances to her. She nearly chokes on her food at the sight, coughing and laughing at the same time as Hope watches in confusion and concern, “What’s happening? Are you okay?” she turns in her seat to face Rosie directly, hands hovering, unsure of where to land.

Rosie waves her off, still working to catch her breath and stop laughing, something made infinitely more difficult by Hope hitting her on the back to presumably help her dislodge something. “I’m fine!” she croaks, working to suck in deep breaths.

“Are you sure? What happened?” Hope asks again, hand on the back of Rosie’s seat, just in case.

Rosie chuckles briefly before pressing her lips together, forcing neutrality that barely holds together, “You were just very serious in your excitement over groceries.” She bites her tongue to keep from laughing again.

“Is that really it?” Rosie nods to confirm, suppressing more giggles. Hope’s eyes roll, a groan escaping from her throat, “You’re the worst.”

Now Rosie can barely hold it back, dissolving into giggles as Hope scowls, picking at her meal as Rosie struggles to find air. “Says the one eating my food,” she grins when she finally catches her breath.

“What’s that mean?” Hope turns with a glare.

Rosie draws herself taller, even sitting down she’s got some height on Hope, “It means you showed up at my door unannounced and stole all my hard work,” she accuses coolly.

“I brought you wine!” Hope frowns, gesturing to the bottle in her defence.

Rosie raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile on her lips, “Who’s the one drinking it all?”

That shuts Hope up, Rosie earning a scowl as they turn back to their dinners, Hope staying quiet until Rosie brings up her job. Then she’s beaming and telling every detail of her workplace she can think of, every coworker that’s weird or mean or nice or funny, every aspect of career that she loves.

The conversation flows alongside the wine, until the bottle’s empty and the pair’s slouched on the sofa, facing each other on opposite ends. Hope fumbles for her phone, pulling it out and wincing at the time, “I need to go home.” She turns, standing up what must be too quickly because she drops back to the cushions.

Rosie shifts forward too, folding her legs before her, “Did you drive here?”

Braids jangle as Hope nods, her eyes falling shut as she slowly leans back into the cushions again. Rosie sighs, finding it much easier to stand than Hope, and grabs a blanket, draping it across her lap, “Just stay here.

Hope’s eyes squint open, looking up at Rosie with dilated pupils, “You sure?” she mumbles, her words slurring together from the alcohol that had coated her tongue.

“Yeah, you’re not getting in a wreck on my watch,” Rosie hums, collecting their glasses and the empty bottle before striding into the kitchen. She puts the glasses in the sink and the bottle on the counter beside it to deal with tomorrow, then retraces her steps to the living room.

Hope’s curled up on the sofa already, the blanket tucked under her chin, and Rosie smiles at the sight and absurdity of a drunk Hope asleep in her flat. She shakes her head, turning to her bedroom and stalking inside, collapsing on the bed as soon as she can, passing out as soon as her head hits the pillow.

---

Hope continues coming to Rosie’s flat a few times a week, sometimes with an offering of wine or takeaway in hand, sometimes with nothing more than herself. They watch movies and talk and laugh about stupid things from the Villa or stories from their lives until their tired from long days or it’s three in the morning and they still don’t stop talking.

Sometimes Hope sits in an armchair and responds to emails while Rosie paces the length of the flat with her phone pressed to her ear, talking down one of her players or fighting with managers. Sometimes there’s not a single word spoken between them, sometimes all they do is talk, sometimes Rosie makes dinner, sometimes it’s late enough that they’ve both already eaten, sometimes Hope shows up after Rosie has already gone to bed, sometimes Hope even beats her home in the afternoon.

There’s no pattern to any of it, there’s no rhythm, nothing concrete to Hope’s appearances, but Rosie soon finds that she doesn’t even mind. It’s actually kind of nice, to have someone around without any expectations. It’s kind of nice that Hope brings her soup when she gets a cold, or how Hope somehow always has wine on hand for when they need it, or how Hope tidies the flat when she’s especially busy.

It’s a casual night tonight, popcorn and drinks sitting on the coffee table as a movie plays across from them in the dark. Rosie picked tonight, a drama about a hockey team one of her players always recommends, since she couldn’t think of anything else but was not definitely not watching another of Hope’s romcoms twice in a row. They’d been snacking all night, splitting a pizza in the evening as Hope worked on some project and Rosie scrolled her phone, a silence seeping into the flat.

Rosie watches the film in a similar silence now, watches the flickering of light as it reflects and refracts off every available surface in the room. A contented sigh vibrates in her throat as she settles further into the sofa, pulling the blanket she’s enthralled within tighter. She sinks into the cushions, shifting her legs and letting her knees brush against Hope’s thighs.

Speaking of, she can see the other woman watching her in the dark, eyes trained on Rosie’s features, inspecting them carefully as blues and yellows and reds and dozens of other hues play in her dark irises, glinting off and mixing with them. Rosie glances over, finding a crease between Hope’s brows as she stares at something below Rosie’s eyes that she can’t quite place. She smiles softly in the dim lighting, teasingly, “What?” she asks, “Something on my face?”

Only she doesn’t get the chance to ask the second question, because suddenly there is absolutely something on her face, something that she doesn’t think should be there and was not at all anticipating, but honestly doesn’t entirely mind. Hope’s lips are on hers, soft and nice and there.

Hope’s kissing her. Hope’s kissing her, and it’s tentative and cautious and careful, like Hope’s gaze was a moment ago, and it all makes sense in an instant. She blinks, stunned and shocked, until her lashes flutter shut and she’s kissing Hope back. She melts into her, a hand rising to cup Hope’s cheek and draw her closer, a hand fisting in the front of her shirt to close the space between them.

When they finally break for air, a sigh slips past Hope’s lips as their lips separate, still brushing against each other, their breath mingling in the small gap. “Um, what…?” Rosie whispers against the lips on hers, unable to find a conclusion to the question.

“I - I don’t know,” Hope whispers, just as quiet, “Sorry,” she murmurs, pulling back.

Rosie watches her go, hurt welling inside her gut at the regret evident on Hope’s face, “Why?”

Hope shakes her head, like she’s frustrated with something, though Rosie doesn’t know what. “Didn’t ask,” is all she says, leaning away and turning back to the film still playing.

Rosie’s following her retreat without even realising, chasing after Hope unconsciously. “Didn’t mind.”

“Really?” Hope’s eyes snap to her, wide with clear surprise at the admission.

“I mean, maybe a little warning next time, but…” Rosie shrugs, unbothered.

Dark eyes glimmer, lit by the films rainbow of lighting, “Next time?”

“If you want.”

Hope shifts, facing Rosie head on, “Do you want a next time?” she asks carefully, emphasising the importance of the question with wide eyes.

A smirk lifts the corner of Rosie’s mouth, “First time was pretty good, so yeah.”

“Only ‘pretty good’?” Hope teases, leaning closer again, close enough for Rosie to see faint specks sparkling in her irises.

“Yep,” Rosie nods, resolute as her face solidifies into sharp stone. “Not about to stroke your ego.”

Hope groans, “You’re the worst.”

“Says the one that kissed me first,” Rosie teases right back, her smirk only growing at Hope’s annoyance, however played up it may be.

“Shut up,” Hope whines.

“No thanks,” Rosie grins, ready to start a spiel about everything she’s learned annoys Hope in the past few months, everything that earns a groan or a sigh or an eye roll, everything that makes her glare or scowl or slap Rosie’s arm even though it doesn’t hurt. “I think I’m -”

Hope’s kissing her again, only this time it’s deeper, filled with fire as Hope’s hands slip around to cup the back of her head, pulling Rosie ever closer and holding her there. Rosie’s own hands slide along Hope’s body, landing on her thighs and tugging her forward on the cushions, until their bodies are pressed together, with lips locked together. A groan slips from Hope’s throat, Rosie humming at the noise and sending her hands exploring in search of more sounds, palms grazing Hope’s exposed navel, muscles twitching beneath skin.

Hope splits them apart, her forehead pressing against Rosie’s gently, her panting breaths sending a shiver down Rosie’s spine. “What are we now?” her words only amplifying the effect.

“Whatever you want us to be,” Rosie answers easily, the question seeming unnecessary, “You’re kinda taking the reins here.”

Hope pauses, her hands clasped behind Rosie’s neck and thumbs brushing her skin idly. “Are we already dating?” she asks after a long moment.

“What do you mean?”

“We do a lot of coupley stuff,” Hope shrugs a bit, her lips twisting in contemplation, “We hang out all the time and I stay over and you make dinner and we watch movies,” she lists off.

Rosie pulls away, putting enough space between them to take in all of Hope, “Do you wanna carry on like this?”

Hope blinks, like she wasn’t expecting that question, “Yeah,” she answers, a little indignantly.

“Okay,” Rosie nods along, “Do you wanna call it dating?”

Hope stalls, eyes falling away as she considers, her voice coming out smaller than before when it finally does, “...Yeah.”

“Then we’re dating,” Rosie smiles sweetly at her, Hope’s expression softening at the sight.

Until it sharpens quickly, determination building in her eyes, “We have to go on a date,” she states evenly, matter-of-factly.

“Does that make it official?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Rosie shrugs, falling back against the arm of the sofa casually, a wicked grin splitting her lips, “But you’re taking me out,” she warns.

Hope’s brow furrows at the declaration, the surety of it, “What? Why?”

“You started this, now it’s your problem,” Rosie smirks as Hope frowns, her eyes narrowing into a glare in the dark of the flat.

“You’re the absolute worst.”

“Says the one taking me on a date,” Rosie wiggles in her spot, falling back further and slipping her feet into Hope’s lap, Hope harrumphing and shoving them off with a scowl, much to Rosie’s amusement.

---

Hope drags Rosie out to a cafe in the morning, grinning the entire time she avoids telling Rosie where they’re even going, laughing at all of Rosie’s off-base guesses and humming ‘warmer’ when she gets something right.

She holds Rosie’s hand the entire time, occasionally swinging their interlocked digits between them or fiddling with Rosie’s fingers, as if they’re the most fascinating thing Hope can conceive of. And maybe they are. Maybe the way their hands fit together is strange, maybe the way they’re so close in size is odd, maybe the way Rosie squeezes her hand or traces circles along her knuckles idly is puzzling.

She pulls Rosie to a stop at the mouth of an alley, earning a confused expression in turn as Rosie looks around, “What are we doing here?” she spins in a slow circle, taking in the desolate street around them, a backroad with a small boutique, a pawn shop, and an auto body place. “Are you going to mug me?” she asks with twisted lips when she faces Hope again.

A laugh bubbles out of Hope and she swats at Rosie’s arm, a pleased smile curving Rosie’s mouth. “No!” Hope chastises, before pausing, her jaw clamping shut. “Close your eyes,” she demands a beat later.

“Okay, you’re definitely mugging me.”

“Just do it,” Hope whines. “Please?” she smiles, sweet as candy, Rosie immediately giving in with a roll of her eyes. “Perfect,” Hope squeezes Rosie’s hand tight, gently tugging her further into the alley.

“This is a very elaborate ruse to mug me, you know,” Rosie comments, eyes still squeezed shut, a hand on her lower back leading her.

Hope huffs exasperatedly, “Would you stop it?”

“Just saying. You already know where I live and when I have work, you don’t have to mug me.”

“Stop it or I really am gonna mug you.”

Rosie grins victoriously, reveling in the way she doesn’t even have to see Hope’s face to know how irritated she is, that she can tell from voice alone, “Knew it.”

“Shut. Up,” Hope’s teeth are gritted as she glares at Rosie with her dopey smile and closed eyes.

“Fine, fine,” Rosie concedes, “Just leave my money alone.”

“Just your money?”

Rosie faces Hope regardless of sight, “What’s that meant to mean? You want my phone, too?”

“Just checking if you’re available then,” Hope teases playfully, still gently leading.

Rosie pauses to consider, “Depends,” she finally lands on.

“On what?” Hope challenges.

“What you want out of me,” Rosie answers carefully, “I’m not mugging people with you.”

Hope barely suppresses an eye roll, “You’re the worst.”

“Aw, you really care,” Rosie coos, her hands clasping above her heart dramatically.

“I care about your money.”

Another victorious smile, “Knew it. Golddigger.”

“Arsehole.”

“Says the mugger.”

A sigh’s Rosie’s only response as they come to a stop somewhere, Hope’s arms draping around Rosie’s shoulders and her lips pecking Rosie’s. Her hands instinctively land on Hope’s hips, “Okay, open your eyes,” Hope hums.

Rosie obliges, blinking a few times to adjust to the sunlight, smiling down at Hope as her vision clears. “This it? Lotta theatrics. Coulda just stayed in for this view,” she teases.

Hope shakes her head exasperatedly, but it’s not enough to hide the smile on her lips, “Look around.”

She does, lifting her head away from Hope and finding them on a busier street the alley emptied onto. There’s a little café right in front of her, somewhat secluded from the rest of the street, with fogged windows and blurs of colour inside. No one’s moving in or out of the building, and it’s small enough that only a few patrons could possibly be inside.

Rosie’s eyes fall back to Hope and her smile, “What is this place?” she asks softly, bewonderment lessening the edge of her tongue at the quiet little escape she’s been led to.

“My favourite café. It’s really small and has the same regulars and everyone’s super nice and wonderful.” Hope bites her lip, as if she’s hesitating or nervous about something, “I found it after the show, when there was so much attention everywhere I went, and no one even knew me, so I started coming all the time.”

Rosie nods along, staring into Hope’s eyes intently to ground her, to show she understands. And she really does. She understands how hard it was with the editing and the pressure of the show. She understands how bad the backlash online was at times, when people would shit on them for anything. She understands how necessary it was to find a place to withdraw, to have people that didn’t care and just let her continue on with her job.

“Well, let’s go,” Hope’s arms retract from around Rosie’s shoulders, hands sliding down to grip Rosie’s and pull her along to the café. She swings the door open with a grin, a bell ringing above their heads. Not a single patron glances their way, most typing away at laptops or scrolling their phones as they sip drinks and slowly pick at food.

Only an employee takes notice, waving at Hope with a welcoming smile as he wipes down a countertop. She gently leads Rosie to the till, immediately falling into a conversation with the man as Rosie scans the menu and the shop. There’s booths on one wall, most empty, small tables filling the front, and a mural of different climates and natural environments on the wall opposite the booths.

“What do you want?” Hope asks, turning to Rosie as the employee stands waiting, his hands on his hips and a slight smile curling his mouth.

She smiles back before glancing at the menu and the dozens of items written across it. “Um,” her eyes scan over drink after drink, the letters whirring together. “Iced vanilla latte for now?” she tries, meeting the employees eyes.

“Ooh, me too!” Hope chimes, squeezing Rosie’s hand excitedly.

The employee - Chris, on his name tag - smiles even brighter, “Coming right up.”

Hope tugs Rosie away before Chris has even turned all the way around, pulling her along to a booth and collapsing into one side. Rosie follows, settling across from her, their hands still loosely linked together on the table, Hope’s thumb tracing the lines of Rosie’s palm.

Something sparks in the back of Rosie’s mind at the contact, in the pit of her stomach, in the thump of her heart, and she can’t quite place it, but she knows she likes it. She knows she likes this moment, too, the way Hope looks so at ease and relaxed, the way Hope brought her to her hidden spot, the way Hope tried to make breakfast before opting for the café. She likes the way this is going, they way they work together, even from before they realised there was something more to them than platonic movie nights. She likes how casual it was, how easy it came about, how relaxed she is as long as Hope’s there.

And she likes the way they just fit. They fit like one another’s other half, their perfect match, the missing pieces in the puzzles that construct their lives. And she can see herself sacrificing things for the woman sitting across from her, can see herself working for this relationship and all its inevitable flaws, can see herself in this moment forever, without a doubt in her mind. And Rosie doesn’t do things she can’t see, can’t envision, can’t rationalise.

But she can see Hope’s smile, can envision countless Sunday mornings spent at this little café, can rationalise the way her heart flutters at every laugh. This makes perfect sense, every detail and every second is reasonable and real and means so much more than Rosie ever thought they’d mean.

#litg fanfic #litg hope #litg noah #hdn #hopefully this shuts the gremlin up #that bastard #but deadass that anons a genius #id also like to make it very clear that i have no problem with noah he seems chill its just hard to write a breakup without making someone #seem like the bad guy #yknow?

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lynnthevirgo · 4 years

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When You’re Cheated on - Namjoon

WC: 2k

Summary: Namjoon helps talk you through a day of mental breakdowns after a breakup.

Warnings: mentions of self harm, mental breakdowns, mentions of bodily harm

A/N: I’m still taking my break, just wanted to post and go because writing is the only thing keeping me going at this point. Yes, this is personal to me. Please don’t ask. Unedited!

***************

I was lying on my bed, scrolling through my Tumblr feed with Namjoon just a few seats away from me. He was here as emotional support, having messaged him about the current state I was in. His laptop was open, headphones on and his head bobbing to the beat of a song I’m sure he’ll show me weeks from now when he’s out listened it. But should another episode or attack spring on, he’d be right there ready to talk me down.

It’s not like I was unstable….okay, maybe I was. But I was really good at containing it inside myself, but certain memories will crawl back to the surface and snap my hold on reality. It was so exhausting to go through this cycle. I’ve been spending most of my days in bed, not really doing much because doing too much required energy and effort I couldn’t muster.

He knew I had been with her for a long time. How much she meant to me and the parts of me I let her see, that weren’t always pretty, but I felt comfortable sharing. She shared so much of herself with me as well and that’s why I thought, this is it. She’s it. She’s the one that I’ve been waiting for. My twin flame.

Only for me to be hit with the news that she cheated. We had found ourselves in a predicament where I made her feel alone, unknowingly at the time, her mental demons playing with her over my silence. Then I couldn’t give her the things she needed when she was needy. The two made her reach out to someone who helped her, was there for her when I wasn’t. He gave her comfort and fulfilled the needs she wanted.

She felt bad afterwards and wanted to try to fix things. But I pushed her away. Only afterwards, when I thought we should try to fix things did I find out she had already fallen for him. So she no longer needed me, I was just a piece in her game of life. One that she wanted, because I helped complete the game for her, but didn’t necessarily need.

“Namujoon, please..” I croak, my voice already broken. The pit in my stomach swelling in size, the need for air heightening and the tears falling so fast they double. They’ve already left streaks on my face by the time he looks at me. Instantly he’s at his feet and setting the headphones and laptop to the side, before taking his place beside me.

“What happened? Where are you?” He asks, his fingers through my hair and the other hand rubbing small circles on the center of my back.

“Y/N, it‘s okay. You‘re okay. We‘re okay. Everything will be okay.” He says like a mantra beside me. He’s been using this as a way for me accept things, keep me grounded in reality.

“I hate this. I hate her. I hate him. I fucking hate e-everything.” I bite. My anger lashing out now, I swat the empty space between us on the bed. Only to curl into myself further, fetal position being the only thing to provide me comfort anymore.

“Shh, I know. It‘s okay to hate everything. You‘re allowed to hate this.” He offers as comfort. His big hand sliding down my spine slowly from top to bottom. The other hand out of my hair and holding the hands clutching my chest.

“I don‘t hate her. I don‘t even hate him. I just want things to be like they were. I want her, I want this back and to forget anything happened. Why can‘t I have that back? Why can‘t I have her back?” I ask, more to myself than Namjoon. My emotions peaking, my voice breaking and all the thoughts spilling out.

“I know you don‘t. But you also know why you can‘t have her back, why you can‘t have it back. She made her choice, it‘s time for you to heal.” He replies softly, fingers brushing against my own as he tries to find my eyes.

“You need to help fix this heart of yours. It won‘t work right if you don‘t. She chose her journey, now it‘s time for you to find your own again.” He offers, trying to give me a new perspective to consider.

“I‘d love to! But all I keep seeing is him and her and I‘d rather die than keep reliving it! I‘d rather gouge out my eyes than have to remember that she wanted him to do those things to her! Fucking slit my wrists again than know that every time she‘s not talking to me, it‘s because she‘s talking to him!!” I scream, the sobs ebbing through and the last of my dignity leaving with it as I whine into his chest.

“You don‘t mean that. I know you don‘t. It‘s okay. Just let it out, let everything go.” He whispers in my hair. He holds me so tight that I can’t feel the hurt anymore. It slowly numbs inside myself as the mess on my face wipes onto his shirt. His mantra from earlier being repeated and the sound of his voice lulling me into a sleep.

******************

“Look who‘s awake.” He says, putting a tray of food in front of me. I scrunch my face at it, the want and need for food nonexistent.

“If you don‘t eat, I‘ll be forced to feed you myself and you know how much you hate that.” I look to the soup stains from this afternoon on my comforter and sigh. Unhappily, I eat small spoonfuls of the porridge he made.

“How are you?” He asks, sitting at the end of my bed. His full attention on me as one of the BTS soundtracks plays in the background.

“That was a pretty bad one earlier.” He defends for his worry. I just stare at him, wanting to find the perfect words to give him but not having the voice or reason to.

“I know this was the last thing you wanted. Especially after all the promises she made and you told her you‘d believe.” He starts, my eyes already brimming with tears.

“But you keep saying you‘re happy so long as she is. So why don‘t you try?” He offers. His hand resting on my ankle, gently massaging up my calf.

“It‘s so hard, Namujoon.” I manage to croak out. After I place the tray to the side of me, I curl my legs into my chest again.

“I am really glad that she found someone who takes care of her needs like she wanted. A part of me knew going into this that it wasn‘t going to last forever. But-” I can’t even finish, another scream trying to come out in it’s place. I’d been doing so much of that the past few days. I’m sure Namjoon is sick of me.

“Hey, let it out. Stop holding in your emotions. You‘re mad, so scream and yell. You‘re upset, so cry, sob and wail all night if you need to. This is how you heal, y/n. So start allowing yourself the chance to.” He advises, his hand in the center of my back just like earlier. He’s found that I calm down faster when he leaves it there. The other hand of his is still enclosed around my ankle, holding me in place.

“You‘re allowed to have feelings and to express them. It‘s just us here. So let it all out. Your health is the most important thing to me right now.” The bed shifts and I feel his body heat behind me. His arm slides under the pillow and my head, while the other wraps around my stomach and pulls me close to him.

My emotions calm, but my voice is still shaky and broken when I speak.

“This is just so hard. How do I go from asking her everyday if she took her meds, if she‘s eaten to not talking at all some days? She was my best friend, my only friend some days and I love her. I‘m still in love with her.” I finally get out, my sobs breaking again. He squeezes me tighter, I can feel his heartbeat against my shoulder blade. His face buries into my neck, keeping me so close that I can’t tell where I start and he ends.

“Everything works out like it‘s supposed to. You needed her to see that it is possible for someone to love you, all of you, as a whole. Someone to love you as deeply as you love them.” He says low with emotion in my neck.

“You needed to see that. Now that you‘ve seen it, you don‘t need her anymore. She left as quick as she entered and now it‘s up to you to pick up your pieces. To look for the person who isn‘t going to go running to another‘s arms when things get rough.” He explains, his voice just above a whisper now. A low hint of emotion showing with the way his jaw clenches.

“You deserve to be happy and to be cared for fully, without fear. Someone to give you their all for once, instead of you always giving yours.” He adds, my hair sticking to my neck in wet patches from his tears.

“You can beat whatever this is. You‘ve been through hell and back, this one bad heartbreak isn‘t going to ruin the rest of your life. Please believe me. You have to.” He finishes, the breath he exhales coming out shaky.

I wipe my tears, fight the urge to cry again and turn myself to face him. His eyes closed, but his cheeks full of the streaks he didn’t want me to see. As I exhale shakily, I wipe his face with the palms of my hands. His hands coming up to grab my wrists and bring them between our chests. I watch his eyes open and see the pain inside them mirroring my own.

“I‘m okay. You‘re okay. We‘re okay. I will be okay.” I say back to him. Reminding him of the mantra he’s implemented in my head.

“Just don‘t leave me alone. I can do this, so long as you don‘t leave me too.” I say with tears already starting to form and my voice faltering.

He pulls me close, his scent overtaking whatever negative thoughts I was having. The fingers he tightens in my hair, a reminder that he’s there.

“Even if you left me, I‘d never ever leave you. I‘ll still be waiting for you to find your way back home. You‘re family to me and always will be.” He says, leaving a kiss on my temple.

Namjoon was right. I had told myself that so long as she was happy, so was I. So that’s what I would have to start doing. I’ll still let myself grieve over what I lost, who I lost. But at the end of the day, someone else was making her happy. I should be happy for her. Not angry because I don’t have her. She’s happy and because I love her, I want her to stay happy. Even if it means it’s not with me.

I deserve someone who doesn’t break their promises that they won’t leave. Who won’t break their promises that they’ll be there for me too, knowing I’ve been used so many times in the past. Someone who’s willing to still fight for what we had, instead of throwing it away for something that seems exciting right now but might not be in the long run. I deserve better.

Namujoon might just be a friend. But so far he hasn’t broken those, in fact, he’s done everything he can to assure me that he’s always going to be here. Which is what I never got from her. So maybe he’s right. I should fix up this broken heart and work on my journey, because I think I know where I need to go.

#tw self harm #tw bodily harm #tw mental breakdowns #namjoon imagines #namjoon drabbles #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst

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12freddofrogs · 5 years

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Gotham Crusaders - A Batfamily TV Show

A few months ago I started wondering how I would adapt the Batman/Batfam comics to TV. I started relatively simple, but then I started getting a little more detailed with a specific episode plot here, a little more to this scene there, some dialogue to be specified… and now the fic is nearly 80k on Ao3, and I still have another season/chapter to go.

This is an extract from Chapter/Season Five, Damian’s Robin introduction, also known as Dick’s run as Batman.

Other episodes in S5 include Cass giving the Batgirl mantle to Steph, Jason getting caught in a hostage situation at Gotham Library, Dick introducing Damian to ice-cream, Tim making a reluctant alliance with the League of Assassins, the Red Hood trying and failing to convince himself he doesn’t care, and the general aftermath of the Bats without Bruce.

Start Gotham Crusaders from Season One Here

Season Five Here

Season Five, Episode Sixteen - Halloween Night

There haven’t been any holiday episodes so far. Let’s celebrate Halloween with the Batfamily.

Cass, Steph, and Babs wander the Gotham University Halloween fete at dusk.

For the moment, they’re just having fun. Steph goes apple-bobbing. Babs aces a ring-toss. Cass is unimpressed with cotton-candy.

A commotion catches their attention.

The girls hurry to where one of the students had tried to tear apart a light display. By the time they arrive, two security guards have already pulled the skinny twenty-year-old off.

He’s babbling about how lights will attract Batman, even as the security guards breathalyse him.

In his theory, the Batsignal is a way for the police to announce when they have a new victim for him, so it’s very unwise for them to have their own vampire-beacon on Halloween night.

“Batman and his colony are feeding on criminals to lure us into a false sense of security before he unleashes his dark powers—”

Steph laughs so hard she falls over. The student pauses long enough to glare at her, which doesn’t help.

Babs bites her hand to stop giggling. Cass is trying to pull Steph to her feet.

Finally, the student is escorted back to his dorm, mumbling that Gotham is going to be enslaved because they believe a blood-sucking monster wants to help.

Robin’s been a child for over ten years now, how is that not suspicious?

If anything would get Steph off the ground, it was not that.

Once he’s gone, Cass asks what a vampire is.

Meanwhile, Dick and Damian are arguing in the Manor living room.

“I’m not asking you to go trick-or-treating.” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. “Or dress up, or put on a spooky voice, or do anything beneath the outrageous dignity of a ten-year-old. All I’m asking is you open the door, smile, and give out candy.”

“I don’t understand why we reward these pitiful efforts.” Damian looks out the window. Alfred is visible handing chocolate to a girl dressed as a dragon. “I have seen three facsimiles of armour tonight, none of which would stand up to the shoddiest of blades, and there’s no challenge in approaching the door. Surely we should have at least set up a basic trap to be worth overcoming?”

“Okay, the point of fun is a lesson for later.” Dick picks up a novelty candy bucket and shoves it into Damian’s hands. “Right now is social skills.” He drags his youngest brother to the hallway. Through the window, there’s another group of trick-or-treaters. “Talk to these kids, and then we’ll go on patrol.”

“Tch! Fine!” Damian storms to the door as Alfred steps out of the way. He sends an icy glare over his shoulder before turning the knob.

“Trick or treat!” Three eight-year-olds beam at him: a princess, an astronaut, and a dinosaur.

It’s impressive Damian’s forced grin doesn’t scare them. There’s nothing genuine about the teeth on show. “I… like… your costumes.”

“Thank you!” The astronaut holds out her sack.

“You must be a dead astronaut.” Damian gives her a chocolate. “Appropriately ‘spooky’.”

“I’m not a scary astronaut”

“No, you’re a scared astronaut.” Damian hands confectionary to her companions. “Even accepting the useless fabric as part of the holiday, your ‘suit’ stops at your wrists and ankles, exposing much of your skin to the void. Your ‘helmet’ is improperly attached to your shirt, and there is no indication your character has an air supply. By now you would have suffocated as your blood vessels rupture and the fluid in your eye sockets boil.”

The children gape at him.

“Happy Halloween.” He shuts the door. “Well?”

Dick and Alfred exchange a look. “He did smile.”

“That he did.”

Night falls and the Bats go on patrol.

Batgirl detours back to campus, tucking her comm unit into her belt.

The conspiracist-student is getting ready for bed. When he steps into his bedroom, he screams to find Batgirl on his desk.

“For someone so afraid of Bats, you’d think you lock your window.”

He stumbles back, pressing himself against the wall. “You… you can’t come in here without an invitation. You shouldn’t be—”

“Vampires can’t enter houses without permission. This isn’t a house.” Batgirl waves at the dorm. “It’s not your home, not a permanent space, it’s basically public property. I can come and go.”

Maybe it’s a little cruel, but it’s supposed to be a harmless prank.

Batgirl’s rattles off vampire lore, occasionally slips into a bad Transylvanian accent she can’t hold, makes spooky gestures with her hands.

She does promise that the Bats of Gotham don’t kill — maybe they’ll take a sip from a mugger, but nothing they can’t spare.

“Calm down, I’m not going to bite you. We’re harmless, really, at least to law-abiding citizens like—”

The student had been pushing himself along the wall to his closet, where he rips out a clove of garlic.

Batgirl is delighted, and plays the part. Hissing, retreating, hands out defensively. It’s awful acting, but she’s only there for a joke. It certainly convinces him.

While Batgirl is dramatically cowering from a spice, the student grabs a heavy metal water bottle from the desk and hits her over the head.

(Continues under the cut)

Batgirl wakes up tied to a chair in a lecture theatre.

A garlic garland is draped around her neck.

Steph is more concerned with the ropes. Her arms are pinned to the arm rests, done so vigorously she can barely wriggle her fingers. Her legs are similarly tied.

It’s still night. The lecture theatre is dark, with the only light being a glimpse of the festival from the windows and the candles the student is lighting.

“Um, hi?”

The student leaps to his feet, brandishing a cross at her. “Stay back!”

“Sure. Just untie me first.” Batgirl tugs at her ropes. “Okay, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I was kinda joking. I’m not a vampire.”

Shockingly, he is unconvinced. “I will not allow your colony to feast on the innocent.”

Batgirl switches her argument from ‘not-a-vampire’ to ‘not-an-evil-vampire’. It doesn’t work either.

Finally she groans, letting her head hang forwards. “How long am I going to be here?”

“Until morning, when you are destroyed by the rays of the sun.” With that dramatic pronouncement he picks up his book and leaves.

Batgirl sighs. “Nobody will ever let me hear the end of this.”

Meanwhile, the episode needs a bigger threat than a uni student with a stroke of luck.

Clayface is a more traditional Halloween villain.

Batman and Robin get waved down from a building by a nearly hysterical man, babbling about a monster that just mugged him.

At first Batman just tries to calm him down, but the revelation that the mud coating his shirt is attempting to crawl away makes them realise Clayface is active.

They give him money to take a cab home and the Dynamic Duo split up to search.

Contacting the others reveals that Oracle’s cameras caught glimpses of Clayface an hour ago, that Black Bat is patrolling on the North End but will keep an eye out, and Batgirl isn’t picking up,

While Batman continues the A-plot with an actual rogue, Robin is sent to find Batgirl.

He grumbles as he leaves, but doesn’t protest.

Steph hadn’t wanted to advertise her plans to prank a civilian, and had switched her tracker/comms off as she arrived on campus. That was still enough of a record for Oracle to note she went back to the university.

Oracle takes a guess and researches the vampire conspiracist. Henry Davids has posted a lot online.

The window to his dorm is open. Robin grapples up, pauses when he finds identical grapple marks already in the wood.

Inside the room are signs of a struggle. A single blonde hair is caught on the curtain.

“Oracle. Batgirl was here and appears to have been outmatched by someone with less combat training than a goldfish. What can you tell me about this building’s activities?”

“Not much, kiddo. Most of the dorm building cameras have been broken for months, needing new funding that hasn’t gone through.”

Black Bat is in the middle of stopping a convenience store robbery, but she takes the time to touch her comms. “Do you want back-up?” she asks, spinning neatly to slam her knee into someone’s throat. “Can be there twenty minutes.”

“No.” Robin climbs out the window. “I can handle this.”

He swings up and drops down to the ground.

Meanwhile, Henry has returned to the lecture theatre.

Batgirl is bored, but her cowl’s eyes widen when she sees him placing a pile of wooden stakes on the teacher’s desk. “Wait, I thought you were going to burn me in sunlight?”

“I said you would die at sunrise. I’m not dumb enough to think a vampire can be defeated by one.”

“How about garlic and sunlight? Throw in some holy water, too, that’ll do the trick — is that one silver?”

Robin is combing the campus.

Oracle tries to help, but Batgirl’s offline and there aren’t enough security cameras. Plus, she’s also concerned with finding Clayface.

“Are we sure Davids is still on the grounds?” Robin asks.

“No, but he hasn’t got a vehicle, the buses aren’t running, and there haven’t been any taxis. If Henry left campus, he was on foot. Even in Gotham, you can’t drag an unconscious girl through a crowd unnoticed.”

“You think she was unconscious?” Batman asks, crouching in an alleyway. More of Clayface’s mud is splattered over the ground, steadily making the way to a manhole cover.

“Hard to imagine what he could have threatened her with to make her go willingly, and Robin said there was a fight.”

“And there’s no digital trail.” Batman puts a sliver of mud into a tray as a compass and slides into the underground. “Guess you’re on physical detective work, Robin.”

“How? Drunken crowds roam every pathway. Even if he left footprints, every sign would be obliterated.”

“Those crowds happen to be your best bet,” Oracle says. “Just ask for information.”

“Nicely,” Black Bat adds, handcuffing the last of her robbers to a streetlight. “Don’t hurt anyone.”

“Or tip anyone off,” Batman says. He flicks his torch against the walls, which bounces back and lights up his grin. “You need to go undercover.”

“How would I do that?”

Cut to Damian knocking on a door.

“Trick or treat,” Robin mumbles reluctantly, holding out a bag from the fete.

He’s given a slew of compliments about how adorable he is, how cute his Robin costume is (“Did you make that yourself?“) and a small shower of candy.

“Thank you,” he says, forcing a smile. “Have you seen my… older sister? We’re in matching costumes. She’s Batgirl.”

He’s told they must look adorable, but nobody’s seen her.

At another party someone waves over someone dressed in a well-intentioned-but-badly-designed Batgirl costume Robin has to visibly bite back comments about.

His bag fills quickly. Once in a while he double-checks no-one’s watching before sneaking a chocolate.

Finally, he gets some useful information. No-one’s seen his ‘sister’, but when he adds that her boyfriend is Henry Davids, someone recognises him. “Yeah, I saw him an hour ago heading into the Arts Building with a lot of candles.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait, kid.”

“Yes?” He pauses midstep.

“Look, see, um… sometimes when a boyfriend and girlfriend get candles and go into a place alone—”

Robin leaves without another word.

He palms another piece of candy before dumping his bag.

Robin lands on the Arts Building.

He pauses at the stairs, finding paper cut-outs of crosses and garlic cloves dotted around.

“Tch.” He taps his comm as he walks. “Robin to Batman. I’m pretty sure I found him. Give me ten minutes and this will be handled.”

“Alright.” Batman is distracted, climbing out of another storm drain and frowning at the giant Halloween party in the building in front of him. “Keep me updated.”

Batman watches the party.

He notices the same man who’d begged him for help earlier that night — now cheerily joking with friends, the same clothes mysteriously clean — and contacts Black Bat.

While she arrives, he heads over to the party, only to find not only is there a strict guestlist that requires an invitation and ID, but also that the bouncers don’t recognise he’s really Batman.

Batman doesn’t insist on his identity, instead asking why the security is tight enough he can see patrols walking the upper balconies.

The guards don’t answer.

Oracle explains that company parties mean it’s very difficult to keep track of everyone’s movements, and this particular company has a lot of valuable prizes stored in the same building.

She’s cut-off when the suspiciously-not-muddy man notices Batman, curses, and transforms into Clayface.

Back in the theatre, Batgirl is sulking.

Henry has set up the room with enough candles to be a fire hazard, each connected with string.

He’s sitting in the row behind her. Several wooden stakes are resting in easy reach.

Batgirl sits up a little straighter when a small red-green-black figure appears in the doorway. “Oh. It’s you. Great.”

“What is this?” Robin steps inside, gesturing at the room.

“This is… umm…”

She’s spared the explanation as Henry lunges forward over her shoulder. He presses a wooden stake against her chest plate, the other hand gripping a mallet.

Robin has a batarang out immediately. “Let her go.”

“I can’t.” Henry’s pale, his eyes frantic. “I have to — I have to protect Gotham. This is my only chance.”

“Protect Gotham from what?”

“You.” Henry’s breaths are quick and shallow. “I know what you are, I know what you’re going to do to the city. I’m the only one willing to stop you.”

“He thinks we’re the terrifying vampire heroes of Gotham,” Batgirl says. Her voice is unconcerned, but she can’t stop glancing at the stake.

“You’re not heroes.”

Robin rubs his forehead, lowering his batarang. “Look, we’re not va—” He stops mid-word. Slowly, he pulls his hand down, smiles with too many teeth. “We only feed on those who deserve it. Criminals, muggers, the occasional student too nosy for their own good.”

Henry jolts.

“I’ve been very good lately.” Robin takes a step forwards. “But it’s Halloween, and no-one can deny I look like a child. I think I deserve a treat.”

Batgirl tries not to laugh.

The panic serves to motivate Henry and he swings the mallet with all his might, digging the stake forwards.

Reinforced armour meets pointy stick. The wood splinters.

There’s a long moment where he’s frozen, unable to comprehend what happened, before Batgirl headbutts him. He falls back.

Robin bites down his smile, stepping into the maze of tripwires.

“No, no, no!” Henry stumbles to his feet, one hand clutching a bloody nose. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his emergency garlic clove, throwing it at Robin.

There is a long moment where Robin considers the spice that landed by his feet, before he grins.

He takes a dramatic leap back, flipping midair, and bares his teeth in a hiss. “That was unwise. Now you’re out of ammunition.”

“Not yet!” Henry rips the garlic necklace off Batgirl’s neck, and starts flinging the individual cloves.

His aim’s pretty good. It’s useless, but accurate.

Robin plays the game. He ducks and dodges and somersaults to avoid the garlic, trying to hide his smile. Once he pauses long enough to wave his fingers like claws.

Batgirl is trying very hard not to laugh. When Robin abruptly remembers her presence, she grins at him.

Meanwhile, Batman’s dealing with Clayface.

The security guards fire, but the bullets do nothing except splatter people with mud. He reaches up to swipe at the balcony, and the guards are no longer interested in shooting.

Batman darts past the bouncers, causing a reaction as people recognise it’s not another costume.

Clayface doesn’t stand and fight, and instead moves to the upper levels by stretching an arm as a grappling hook. Batman follows him, as the party flees.

Upstairs, amongst enough art to be a gallery, they fight.

Black Bat arrives through a window mid-battle.

It takes a while, ducking between pieces of fancy artwork (Black Bat takes the time to move one statue out of the way) but eventually Clayface ends up caught in containment fluid.

Henry is still throwing garlic.

He attempts a particularly ambitious shot and trips over the string criss-crossing his theatre.

Around the room, his candles are knocked over.

Flames start to spread.

Robin flings a batarang. It stabs Batgirl’s chair, narrowly avoiding her arm.

“Hey!” She scowls, even as she’s rubbing her tied wrists against it.

Robin leaps over the chairs.

Henry is tangled in string and mildly dazed. Robin slices the thread and drags the student to his feet.

Batgirl’s free by the time they’re standing.

The three of them flee the burning building, Robin and Batgirl dragging Henry by the elbows.

Batgirl pauses at the door, turns, and tosses a pellet into the midst of the fire. Foam explodes out, suffocating the worst of the flames.

Combined with the sprinklers finally turning on, the damage is halted.

The moment they’re out, Henry slides to the ground.

The Bats let him.

“You okay?” Batgirl asks.

“I — I think so.” He takes a deep breath, still on his knees. “You saved me.”

“We did.”

“Are you going to bite me now?”

“No,” Robin says.

“I might slap you, though,” Batgirl mutters.

“How exactly did you get into that situation?” Robin asks her. She ignores him.

“So — so you were telling the truth? You’re heroic?”

Batgirl and Robin share a look. Robin rolls his eyes and turns away, and Batgirl shrugs. “Yep.”

“I… I was wrong?”

“Also yep.”

“About everything? What about the Riddler being an escaped thrall? And the Bat-signal announcing new victims? And — Batman came back after being disintegrated, I had to be right about the time-travel.”

Robin jerks out of his folded arms. Batgirl stiffens. They stare at him.

“Or… not. I guess I was” He stumbles to his feet.

The sound of sirens reach them. The fire’s out, but smoke drifts from the windows.

“I’m sorry. About everything. I shouldn’t have — I should have put more together, realised vampire doesn’t equal monster.” There’s no response, but Henry’s looking at the fire engines anyway. “I’ll talk to the firemen. Thank you for not biting me—”

When he turns around, he’s alone.

Later, the Bats have met up on top of a building.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Robin says, balancing on the roof railing. “He tried to put a stake in Batgirl’s heart. I wouldn’t consider him a reliable source.”

“No,” Black Bat agrees, sitting with her back against the railing. “But Tim is.”

“Names,” Batman says without thinking.

“I figured T was in denial.” Batgirl’s pacing. “I got it, I might have done the same. He didn’t want to lose three parents in ten months. But our little conspiracist had the same theory.”

“We already knew T must have had something to base it on.” Batman stares out at the city. “Some detail he’d decided was a clue. Even good detectives come to wrong conclusions and he’d never insist if he hadn’t found something he called evidence. Someone else just found the same clues.”

“Nothing Davids said can be considered relevant,” Robin insists.

Batgirl stops pacing and sighs. “No. Probably not.”

There’s a moment as they let it sink in.

Oracle informs them Henry had admitted the truth and been arrested. He’ll only be held overnight, but is likely to be expelled. He’ll probably head back home, leaving Gotham.

“Good.” Batgirl nods. “I don’t think he deserves Arkham but I really don’t want to deal with him again.”

“I still have questions about how you were captured by that incompetent,” Robin says.

“Don’t act so dignified, I saw you playing along and hissing like a good little vampire.”

Robin’s cheeks colour. “I was not — I did not play — and even if I — that does not answer how you were caught!”

Batman places a hand on Robin’s shoulder, trying not to grin. “It’s not Halloween without a horror movie. Shall we finish patrol and meet up?”

“Make it the Cave,” Oracle advises. “Better atmosphere if we turn off the lights. I’ll bring popcorn.”

“I vote cheesy horror,” Batgirl says, swinging off the roof.

“With vampires!” Black Bat calls, following her.

Batman glances at Robin. “Did you have fun?”

“I—”

“Good.”

They pull out their grappling hooks and swing away.

Find the rest of the fic on AO3.

More tumblr extracts:

S1E13 - Birdcage In which Dick Grayson is held for ransom. Dick is bored, Bruce is frantic, and Robin ends up on the phone with the Commissioner and has to fequently ‘pass’ the phone to Dick.

S2E9 - Double In which the second Robin trades himself to Two-Face as potential leverage over Batman in return for the civilian hostages to be freed. Jason proceeds to comment frequently on all the ways Two-Face’s plan is failing.

S3E20 - Songbird In which everyone in Gotham under the age of eighteen is abruptly bursting into song. Tim is distressed, Steph attempts to pretend she’s not creeped out, Dick finds it hilarious, and Cass is a little jealous that she’s too old to be effected.

S4E01 - Worst Nightmare In which Scarecrow manages to drug Robin and Spoiler. Batman is a protective father, Steph has a discussion with her childhood fears, Tim is walking a fine line between terror and consciousness - and at home, Cass refuses to acknowledge flour/sugar/baking soda are different ingredients for cookies.

#damian wayne #stephanie brown #dick grayson #batman #robin #dickbats #batgirl #batfam #cassandra cain #black bat #barbara gordon #oracle #tim drake #red robin #because he's mentioned too #batfic #fanfic #12freddofrogs writes #gotham crusaders #as ever the episode numbers are more or less random #jason todd #he is not in this episode but his fans will probably enjoy the full fic regardless #dc #this is probably the tumblr extract that most connects with the rest of the season #but it kind of loses the effect of the end if i take out the references to tim #for the record in this verse bruce's vanishing act was public and in the middle of gotham #dick took up the cowl so nobody realises batman's really gone #but that's why henry was able to start wondering about it #batman was on earth when it happened #also i'm not thrilled with the clayface subplot

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kwa-aj · 5 years

Text

The Kind of Weird Adventures of Ana Jayanshakar - Episode 03

I Think I Just Struck a Deal with the Mafia

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

“Hello, lovelies!” Estelle’s giddy voice bounced off the immense concrete ceiling of the space hangar. Her eyes swept the array of docked ships greedily.

“’Scuse me? May I help you?” A shortish man with a big nose peered up at them, grasping a clipboard with the appearance of utmost business.

Estelle looked down at him, grinning widely. “Yeah, actually. We’re looking to rent the SS Yugoslavia.”

“Ah.” The man shoved a small pair of eyeglasses onto his nose and flipped through a couple of his papers stacked on his clipboard. After a few moments of perusal, he waved his hand for them to follow and started down the concrete aisle in between docking stations.

Estelle narrowed her eyes as she walked after him. Ana jogged behind her, staring wide eyed at the vast amount of space ships lined up at the docks. She had seen a few at museums and vaguely remembered a middle school trip to a space port in Ohio. But that was nothing compared to the ships she now saw, each powerful and unique and crawling with their respective crews and mechanics. She wondered what it would be like to actually experience… space. The darkness, the sense of wonder, the pure newness. I guess I’ll find out soon, she thought.

Estelle stopped so abruptly, Ana almost bumped into her back. They had reached a small white-ish door which opened to a plain office painted an unhealthy green.

“Come in, please.” The salesman plopped down behind his desk and gestured again for them to walk inside.

Estelle narrowed her eyes again and hesitantly stepped over the threshold. Ana opened her mouth to ask what was bothering her but the words never left. Hands grabbed her arms and a rough fabric bag was shoved over her head. “Hey!” she shouted, alarmed. A similar exclamation, although not quite as pure, informed her that Estelle was in the same predicament. Ana attempted to reach for her necklace but a zip tie was tightened immediately around her wrists. Hands pulled insistently at her elbows. She awkwardly jogged along until her head was pushed down and she felt the sensation of cool leather underneath her. I’ve been kidnapped and forced into a car, she thought. So much for space and all its wonders.

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

Ana decided car rides with one’s head stuck inside a dark cloth bag are officially the most boring way to travel. She found herself counting speed bumps to pass the time. The muffled scent of cigarette smoke made its way to her nose. After the time equivalent of being stuck in a Disneyland que (also known as eternity), the car finally slowed down and Ana was pulled outside. After walking a short distance, she was pushed down into a chair that creaked. The bag was yanked unceremoniously off her head. She blinked a few times, eyes adjusting to the sudden bright lights.

“Privet, Miss Jayanshakar.” A gray-haired man with an unexceptional face sat with his hands folded behind a large white desk. Two huge men in dark suits flanked him on either side.

Their cheekbones could kill a man, Ana thought. Someone sneezed to her right. She glanced over to the chair next to her. “Estelle?” she asked.

Estelle wiggled her nose, annoyed, and sank back into her seat. “Would pay for a handkerchief about now. Don’t you ever clean those bags?” She sneezed again and glared at the man behind the desk. “So, what happened? We get kidnapped by the Russian mafia?”

The man smiled. “Precisely. Miss Livingstone, I presume?”

Estelle rolled her eyes. “I suppose. Why’d you ask?”

The mafia boss beckoned to the intimidating flunky on his right. “Dispose of her. We have no need for her.”

“Wait!” Estelle struggled as the flunky pulled her up from the chair, kicking out at his shins. “What are you doing?”

“What’s going on?” Ana jumped up out of her seat, alarmed. The other flunky pushed her back down placidly. “You can’t kill her!”

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Miss Jayanshakar,” the boss replied calmly.

“What do you want, then?” Ana craned her head to glance frantically back at Estelle, who was being promptly dragged away through the narrow doorway. “Is it because of the alien invasion?”

“Da, Miss Jayanshakar.” The boss nodded primly. “You will fetch good price from multiple buyers. UK government, US government, Russian government. Even alien force has reward for you.”

“Wait, wait!” Ana panted slightly, watching as the door slammed behind Estelle and the flunky or assassin or whatever he was. Guy who killed people. “I’m the only one who can stop the invasion! Don’t you want that?”

The boss raised his eyebrows and nodded again. “That is ideal. But you must understand…we must make profit. If we do not sell you to governments, we would sell you to alien force. In this case, aliens will invade Earth. But we have agreement with them. You must work with enemies to make them work for you.” He chuckled slightly and gave instructions to his remaining flunky in Russian.

Ana gazed down at her feet, currently encased in a muddy but trusty set of black rainboots. Work for you… She glanced back up urgently. “What if – what if I work for you?”

The boss abruptly stopped speaking and turned surprised eyes, a sudden silvery blue, to stare at her. “What did you say?”

“I’ll work for you!” Ana exclaimed impatiently. She felt Estelle’s time ticking away rapidly. “You said you wanted to have an agreement…have your enemies work for you. I can stop the invasion and work for you. The UK government, the US government – whatever – they’ll be at your mercy because you’ve got me. Any world government, really. I’m your trump card, don’t you see? Now, let my friend go!”

“You…work for us?” The boss blinked at her. He gazed back his flunky, who stared back, equally stupefied. “I do not think anyone…” He turned back to Ana and narrowed his eyes. “You must not betray us, Miss Jayanshakar.”

Ana nodded so hard she was sure whiplash would set in soon. “I’ll do whatever you want. But let my friend go first!”

The boss nodded slowly and after a brief eternity, spoke a few words of Russian to his flunky, who strode quickly out of the room. He and the other flunky assassin walked back inside, dragging Estelle between them.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“I, uh, offered to work with the mafia,” Ana explained.

Estelle’s dark eyebrows shot up so fast, they could’ve reached the moon in record time. “You – “

The boss abruptly cut her off. “I have conditions of my own, Miss Jayanshakar,” he announced, rising from his desk. He was shorter than she had expected. He took two steps and stretched his hand out towards her. “Other than this, we have deal, yes?”

Ana nodded tentatively. “Could you untie me, first?”

“Of course.” He snapped his fingers at the flunky on his left, who neatly cut the zip tie around Ana’s wrists.

Ana rubbed at her wrists gratefully and accepted his handshake. “Can I ask your name?”

“I am Maxim Dvorak. I am in…exalted position of St. Petersburg organization.”

“I see. So, what are your conditions?”

“You and Miss Livingstone will go into space, yes?”

“Yeah, we are. I have…powers that can stop the alien force.” Come to think of it…I have no idea what my powers actually are. She hoped she sounded like she did.

“You must take one of my employees. She will make sure you are not betraying us. This is agreeable, yes?”

“Perfectly,” Ana replied, absolutely dreading the prospect.

“Vlas, get Nadya,” Dvorak ordered the flunky on his right, who had untied Estelle and resumed his customary intimidating flanking duties.

“Da.” Vlas set off down the corridor.

Dvorak turned back towards Ana. “She is one of our computer engineers. You will find her most useful.”

Estelle chuckled, rubbing at her wrists. “Hacker,” she muttered. Ana was about to nudge her sharply when Estelle perked up and exclaimed, “Oh! I completely forgot. A computer engineer. We need a computer engineer. I can’t operate the ship’s computers by myself.”

“I’m so glad you thought of it in the first place,” Ana muttered.

“Nadya is here, Mr. Dvorak.”

Ana and Estelle turned around. A tiny, pale girl with a silvery blonde bob stood ramrod straight behind them, hand resting on one of the chairs.

“Nadya, you are to join their crew as computer engineer,” Dvorak said shortly. “Miss Jayanshakar, Miss Livingstone. This is Nadya Zelenko. One of our best.”

Nadya nodded curtly. “Privet.”

Estelle stared at her, mouth agape. “How old are you?”

Nadya glared at her. “Nineteen. How old are you?” Her voice carried a light accent but she spoke English even better than Dvorak.

Estelle sniffed. “That’s classified information.”

“Oh.” Ana turned back to Dvorak. “We also need a ship.”

Dvorak smiled. “Of course. Our dockyards you visited have many good ships. We will sponsor which one you choose.” He snapped his fingers at Vlas. “Take them back to dockyards. Here’s to one long alliance, Miss Jayanshakar. What do you English call it? Symbiotic. We have symbiotic relationship now. Do not forget.”

Ana felt the side of her mouth curl up into a smile, as well. “Thank you, Mr. Dvorak. Have a nice day doing…mafia stuff.” She waved her hand as she and Estelle followed Ivan out into the corridor. Nadya promptly fell into step behind them.

“Great,” Estelle muttered. “We have our own personal Chekhov.”

——————————————————————————

Author’s note: Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to like or reblog. For more of the Kind of Weird Adventures of Ana Jayanshakar, follow kwa-aj or chroniclesofspaceandstars.

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monomas-a-smug-bih · 6 years

Text

Hiiiiiii could i possibly get a scenario with fem y/n challenging Bakugou in the pool training episode?! Thristy from those BakuAbs honestly ;) - anon

(Umm me too obviously)

:::

Tired of watching the boys race each other to the death, I decided to step in. No way was I gonna play beach ball the whole time and look girly and- ugh whatever. Anyways I ended up challenging Bakugou to a race, but without quirks so I could actually stand a chance.

“Race me!” The angry boy narrowed his eyes.

“Are you kidding?”

“Does it look like I am? Jeez Bak I never took you for the sexist ty-“ he scoffed.

“Oh shut it, you really wanna lose that badly?”

I faked a frown, “And suddenly, you’re a chicken too...” I smirked with my hands on my hips, still a little nervous. But I refused to back down. The excitement hidden behind annoyance in Bakugou’s attitude had pumped into my veins made my long hair bounce. Ends of every strand lighting itself, putting on small show of flames thanks to my change in attitude. The challenge hyped me up, making me ready for the swimming competition I expected from the teen.

If he didn’t go through with it, he’d be backing down, which wouldn’t in a million years happen right in front of his peers. Especially if it was to some girl. Despite that, he wasn’t too intent on losing to y/n and he didn’t want to risk it. Because by the looks of it, you could be some pro-swimmer for all he knew thanks to your physique and unusually cocky demeanour.

“Haaah?!” He growled, taking a step way closer than I’d expected him too. I felt his hand grip my arm and tug me forward. His face leaned in, our noses were practically touching. Suddenly, his voice hushed, a cocky grin plastered onto his face. “What’d you say little girl?” The sentence made my mind reel a bit. The surprise from having seen somewhat flirty(?) all of the sudden and being way too close to me at the same time, caused me to instinctively take a couple steps back. Unbeknownst to the pool’s edge being close enough to my back already. I managed the first step back, my foot going down unsteadily onto the wet and slippery cement, but the moment I felt the surface of a foam floaty board touch the palm of my second foot, my fate had been sealed.

“E-eh..?” I wasn’t paying enough attention to the attractive boy to see the surprise in his face. The board squeaked under my weight contemptuously. “G-GAh-“ I flailed my arms for balance. The desperate small steps that came after as I stumbled back in a frantic hope to recover only managed to shift my weight enough for the thing to slip out from under me and shoot outward. Gravity betraying me completely. Shit shit shit sh- Legs flying into the air, my body flew further from the edge, heading straight for the water. This is it. I squeezed my eyes shut. This is where I die.

“Oi! Baka-uh!“ His speech faltered, when I opened my eyes, he had a hand on my arm, the other ready to catch my waist. His body falling forward cut him off. Suddenly I was chest to chest with a wide-eyed Bakugou, his arms sticking out under mine. As he started to fall in what seemed to be slow motion, his head descended towards me, just enough to for me to see the culprit. Mina behind him. Mina, one hell of a wing-woman, had decked Bakugou Katsuki square in the back. Oh fuck-

\\SPLASH!//

Midoriya rose his voice, “Y/N!”

:::

Classmates watched in awe and horror, as they witnessed there oh so unfortunate y/n be belly-flopped by Bakugou. Mina dusted herself off, obviously proud of herself. Despite her and the red-head trying to get you two together, shark-teeth was horrified. Mina felt confused.

“High five?” The pink girl raised her hand, only to have it rejected and lowered slowly. Kirishima stared blankly at the water.

“He’s so gonna kill us.”

Midoriya murmured in the background. “This is badthisisreallybad.”

:::

An angry blonde head of hair emerged from the water. He shook his head, drying his hair in seconds while spraying groaning bystanders in the process. He grabbed the pool edge, screaming with a fist in the air. “Oi oi oi,” The intimidating boy started to crawl out of the pool. “Hey fucking idiots! Who in their righT MIND PUSHED ME INTO THE GOD DAMN POOL?!”

Mina stood there oblivious, while Midoriya was biting his nails in a trance of terror.

“This isn’t good. C-can she even handle that much?” He squeaked, “Cansheevenswim?whatifshejusslosesalofheren-“ Kirishima put a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s a matter? Why are you freaking out all of the sudden?” Bakugou glanced back at the empty water body, and pushed himself up. Only to pause mid-action. Wait. He glanced back again. Where’s y/n? Looking into the pool quite frantically, it didn’t take long for panic to arise in his chest.

“Eh? She disappeared?!” The blonde growled, whipping his head around towards the pink-toned girl.

“Well obviously not Raccoon-eyes!” He decided to look over to Deku and Kirishima. They’d been chatting none stop. Deku slammed his hands onto Kirishima’s shoulders.

“Y/n has a quirk that’s weak in water! Meaning water can’t be good if she was using-“

Then it came to him, your quirk. Fire, with water... Fire with-

“You dipshit she’s got A DAmN FIRE QUIRK!” He gripped Mina’s arm threateningly, “SO YOU THROW HER INTO A POOL?!” Mina blinked innocently, only to tilt her head and slowly realize...

“Oh.” A nervous and very forced smile clumped onto her pinky face. “Oh no.” Suddenly, Iida came into the conversation, advising everyone of the danger and trying to teach them how to do the Heimlick Maneuver in way too little time. He flailed his straight arms with authority, and poor Denki was dragged into his frantic demonstration.

“Alright everyone! The first step is to ask the victim if their really drowning-“ Quickly losing everyone’s attention, 1A looked at Bakugou. His red eyes widened. Shit. “Bakugou! Don’t even think about-“ He dove back in, ignoring Iida’s warnings completely.

The unpleasant feeling of the coldness of the pool and his ears popping from the sudden action welcomed him into the water. He bobbed up after a super short period of looking, having realized he was so panicked he didn’t take in enough air beforehand. He felt flustered. Why does he feel so guilty? He shouldn’t be caring this much. He dove in for real, seeing a mass not too far ahead and below him drifting slowly down further into the depths water. He swam his way over, being hit by an unpleasant wave of steam from the hot air bubbles your quirk had caused. He still found your torso and wrapped his arms under yours to swim forward and up as fast as possible. He inhaled air and gasped as soon as he broke the waters surface, trying to relieve his slightly aching lungs.

“Bakugou!” Iida’s screams coming form the other side of the pool didn’t affect him in the slightest. He latched onto the edge and held onto you with his other arm, looking down to see if you were okay. After staring at your peaceful unconscious face for a short while, you finally woke up. Throwing a small coughing fit and inhaling sharply was a relief, he exhaled and his muscles seemed to untense. Sero walked toward the other edge of the pool and cupped his hands beside his mouth.

“Hey! Are you guys okay?!” He blinked, snapping out of the trance you seemed to put him under.

“Of course we are! Don’t you fucking doubt me!” Sero’s figure seemed to shrink and shrug down in relief. Bakugou blinked in surprise as he felt something tighten around him. You’d squeezed shut your eyes and lied your head on his chest again, your teeth chattered uncontrollably, making your slightly blue lips twitch a little. Your soaked hair stuck tightly to your shaking shoulders peeking out of the water. You clung to him desperately, limbs wrapped around him like a koala bear. “S-shit! Y/n?” Most of the students rushed over, some astonished to notice concern in the boy’s voice for once. He pushed himself up to sit on the edge with you, still snug and stuck to him like a desperate leech. Murmurs from students filled the air as everyone got closer.

Iida emerged and pushed through the small crowd, “Bakugou! Let me see y/n! We should check her health and state immedi-“ He pulled you closer to him, surprising himself.

“Back off! Can’t you fuckers give her some space?” After a few seconds out of the water, he noticed you body loosen your grip and become less tense. Deku piped up,

“I’ll go get towels!” While the nerd walked away, he felt you go completely limp, worrying him a bit. You were out cold, seemingly unconscious when your breathe finally found its rhythm again. He couldn’t help but blush at how comfortable and at peace you looked. You were usually between stressed and competitive, so this you was new.

“Daaaaw, Bakugou will never let go~” Denki cooed with clasped hands, making Bakugou’s face darken into a deeper shade of red.

“Oh shut it with your shitty puns!”

“Bakugouuu shush, you’re gonna wake her up~” his gaze flickered from Denki to you.

“Why you-“ his growl was interrupted by a freckled boy returning with a handful of fluffy looking towels.

“I’m back! I found them!”

“Tch. About time nerd.” He looked down at you, and tried to wake your up. He squirmed his upper body out of your clutches, so he could shake you by the shoulders.

“Wake up.” Your head lulled forward and forced a sigh out of his mouth. He tried to pry you legs off of his waist, only to have you arms hugging his torso again. She sure isn’t making this any damn easier. He tried to stand up without you, only to look like a dumb tree with a tiny bear clinging to it sleepily. “Not to be an ass or anything, but get off.” You didn’t even stir. Mina’s giggle and the snap of a cellphone camera made his head dart to the side. He growled in protest, now trying to forcefully pry you off red-faced in embarrassment and anger.

“Get off! You trying to embarrass me pipsqueak! Get off a me and grab a damn towel! Don’t you dare look down on me!” Everyone sighed and giggled as things had gone mostly back to normal. He was stiff as a board and his face got even hotter when he felt your cheek rub against his chest as you hugged his body tighter.

“Nnn...noo~ You’re soo warmm~” A distressed growl of annoyance met your ears. Finally stirring with a tired murmur, you lifted your head off his chest. Taking a hand off, you rubbed your eye. The fuzzy red and blonde shape finally focused, you narrowed your already half-lidded eyes. “Wha- Bakugou-kun?” The boy had an adorable blush infecting his whole face, with a startled look in his crimson eyes. Blinking, you realized what you were doing. Your drenched hair and cheeks heated up. “Aaah! I-I’m,” h/c tendrils circled around your shoulders and your hair wooshed up into a flustered bunch of flames. You climbed off of his rather quickly, slipping on the ground and landing on your bum.

“Y/n!”

You waved your arms in defence, your lit locks toning down as you felt your blood run cold. “I’m sorry Bakugou!”

“Why would an idiot like you challenge me when you can’t even fucking swim?! Wasting my damn time with your clumsy ass-” You blinked slightly offended. You got up to your feet and puffed out your rosy cheeks. I can swim!

“I’m a fucking fantastic swimmer! Maybe if you hadn’t made me to use my quirk and then body slam me into the pool I could’ve shown you!” Bakugou’s hand landing on your shoulder made you jump. His hand tightened its grip. He leaned in again, making me shrink back.

“I should fucking strangle you for making me worry like that you ass!” Strangle me? For what-! wait. Worry? I got Bakugou Katsuki worried? His ruby eyes looked furious, but his words revealed the spark of concern in the boy’s expression.

You struggled to get up from the slippery floor steadily, (failing miserably) “O-oh, yeah. Sorry...” Only to give up for a minute so you wouldn’t make this anymore embarrassing than it already was. “-about that.”

He sighed and frowned. You blinked and blushed a little, The blonde whipped his head to the side, making you notice the hand he’d stuck out for you.

“J-just fucking take it! You look pathetic doing that on your own.” He sent you his half-baked explanation and it made you smile.

“Sure thing!”

You two snatched some fluffy towels and dried yourselves off a little. The warmth from them were so soothing you felt totally at peace. Until... wait a second. You whipped your head back and forth in search of a certain someone. A certain pink alien-queen was awkwardly conversing with Kirishima, totally subtly backing into the girls changeroom.

“MinaaaAAAAA!” You got up to dash towards her, throwing your comfy towel to the side. Not a second late, Bakugou shoved away Kiri and tugged Mina away from the change room she was oh so close to escaping through. She babbled and stumbled over her words to force out some apologies nervously.

“I-I’m sorry guys! No need to fight, me and Kiri were just...” she stared at the red-head desperately,

“D-don’t bring me into this! I didn’t throw anyone into the pool!” Mina stared him down with puppy-dog eyes. Kiri crosses his arms. “F-fine. Maybe I was a little involved? We just really wanted you guys to have some fun together, y-y’know?”

You and Bakugou glared holes into both of them evilly. Your auras changing from flustered and angry to terrifying. Kirishima and Mina hugged each other begging for mercy. Oh boy.

...

Alright ive been dead I’m sorry, but here’s an oldish ask from anon! Hope you enjoy!

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia season 3 #my hero academy #izuku midoriya bnha #kirishima ejirou #mina ashido #reader x character #bnha scenario #bnha imagines #bnha oneshot

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