#they should have had the doctor just PRETEND to go along w things after his ethics subroutines were turned off | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

argylemikewheeler · 3 years

Text

July 1st, 1985

what the first ep of (my) s3 would look like if the main concept was: both Steve and Will are gay in 1985’s Summer of Love and the town’s enemy is a little more human; loving friendships, very confused adults, and Will Byers Actually Getting Help

“Harrington!”

“Yes, sir.” Steve looked up from his desk. He dropped his crossword and looked to be at attention; the police station’s phone wasn’t ringing, though, so there wasn’t really anything he should have been doing. Hopper stepped out of his office, angling himself toward the door rather than Steve’s desk island.

“Do you think you’ll be able to-- Harrington, what are you doing?” Hopper caught sight of the pocket thesaurus sitting on his desk (the last name written on the inside cover not belonging to Steve, of course). Hopper fixed his sunglasses on the edge of his nose, looking over them and down at Steve.

“I’m just, uh, working on my vocabulary.” Steve said. Hopper blinked twice, waiting. Steve wasn’t going to say the truth: he was dating-- well seeing someone-- way smarter than him. This wasn’t for joy or boredom. He was studying to impress. “It’s college prep, sir.”

“The crossword?” The chief evened his stare. “This your old man’s suggestion?” Of all the things Steve’s father was telling him to do with himself, he wished some of it was simply pecking at a crossword over a twelve hour shift. Fucking off and being a better piece of shit son just wasn’t feasible to accomplish in one summer.

“He swears by it.”

“Okay, well. Uh, moving on from that,” Hopper grabbed his hat from the coat rack. The topic of Steve’s father always made Hopper stiffen up; it was definitely the main reason Hopper gave Steve his job at the station, but it still created more questions. Steve knew Hopper and his father went to high school together, but he never asked his father about those years-- beyond his baseball glory stories. “I’ve got plans tonight and I need to head out early. Can you handle things on your own for a while. At least until the night shift comes in?”

“I’ll be fine.” Steve made sure not to acknowledge the crossword on his desk as he nodded. He was really good at his job, he was. He was also just, unfortunately, still a pretty shitty boyfriend and needed all the vocab help he could get. “What’s the pressing story?”

“I have dinner.” Hopper was already trying to walk out the door. “So don’t call me. For the love of God.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Chief. I--” Steve was sure it was the cool July wind that slammed the door on the last half of his sentence. Not Hopper. “won’t... Have a good time, I guess.”

The police station was empty: it was another boring and wonderfully quiet Monday in Hawkins. There’d been some calls to break up disturbances at city hall in the past few days, but somehow everyone just seemed to agree that Mondays-- the longest shift of Steve's whole week-- was the day everyone went about their quietest day.

There were a few officers milling in and out of the back lounge and front door, casting a quick glance to Steve as he muttered and threatened fourteen down and six across. Nancy had been helping close the gaps of his post-high school education-- without knowing just what for-- but had been picking up most hours at the Post to try and elbow her way into their good graces; it put his tutoring on hold. So here he was, groaning at some clues about classical artists he’d never heard of.

There were other reasons Steve was sure the other officers thought he was odd-- things he was sure his father had passed along in spitting rants-- but Steve didn’t mind. No one said anything to his face.

“Hey Flo! Is, uh, is Steve here?” The question was asked with the answer already in mind.

Steve sat up in his chair, twisting around to see down the hall to the back entrance to the station. There weren’t many parking spots to fill, but he knew a certain someone who preferred it to street parking.

“Jonathan?”

“Oh, I hear him. Thanks-- hey!” Jonathan hurried out from the hall, his camera bumping against his stomach and bag slapping against his leg in the same rhythm. He’d gotten a new haircut recently: semi-wonky bangs and a closer cut in the back. All thanks to Steve’s peer pressure and Mrs. Byers’s kitchen shears.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to stop by your work like this--” he lowered his voice as he stopped at the corner of Steve’s desk. “I know we said we wouldn’t do that, but we got an extra muffin in the lunch order and I know you’re always starving after a Monday shift so.” Jonathan produced a folded brown paper bag from his satchel. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks.” Steve wanted to say so much more, but had to settle. No more. None of what they’d decided they wouldn’t say. Not until the summer had ended. They wanted to see if they lasted longer than the convenience of loose summer schedules.

“Won’t I see you, uh, later, though?” At eight, when Steve got sent home he always drove straight to Jonathan’s. Jonathan started late on Tuesdays and Steve had off; they had the time to waste. “Or is this your way of telling me to stay home?”

“No! No we’re still... hanging out.” Jonathan had gotten really good at cooking and treated Steve to weekly dinner. It was a nice gesture at first, but Steve started growing fond of the company. They both did around mid-June. “But, I think Mike’s going to be over so. Be cool , alright? Keep it cool.”

“Cool, got it.” Steve leaned back in his chair. He moved his papers to leave a corner of his desk for Jonathan to sit on. No one was in the main office; it was a harmless invitation.

“I have to get going...” It sounded like an excuse, a dive for safety. “And I’m sure you have, um, puzzles to do?” Jonathan pretended not to be endeared. He tried, he really did. He failed , but Steve pretended he didn’t notice.

“Don’t want to sit and help me figure out the title of Mozart’s last opera?” He patted the desk, daring to be more direct.

“I really have to go.” Jonathan was genuine, looking at his watch. “The Post only let me out early today because I have to go pick up Will from his doctor’s appointment.”

“Wait.” Steve put the cap back on his pen. “Isn’t Will’s therapy on Wednesday?”

“Yeah, but with Mom’s schedule and the store being all weird-- we had to move it to today. And you know we typically have a family night after-- so he feels okay, you know-- but we can’t . So, that’s why Mike’s coming over. Hopefully they’ll be idiots and tire Will out and he’ll sleep okay.” Tension rose in Jonathan’s voice quickly, explaining his day as if going over a laundry list; never rehearsing it but having it memorized.

“I can stay home if you need time, Jonathan.”

“No, really. I want you to come over.” Jonathan sighed and placed his hand on the emptied spot on Steve’s desk. “Besides, you can’t break tradition after a little over one month , then it was just a weird habit.”

Steve Harrington did not consider his summer fling a w eird habit . If anything, it was the most sensical thing he’d done in a very long time. Even after getting rejected from all his colleges, and never hearing the end of his father’s lectures, 1985 had been very kind to him. And that was mostly due to Jonathan’s inherent nature to be the same.

“I’ll see you after eight.” Steve smiled and reached for his hand-- but averted to grab a piece of memo paper by the phone.

“I’m sorry to leave in a rush.” Jonathan hitched his bag up, checking his watch again. “I just, I really need to get going.”

“Don’t worry. The muffin is more than enough.” Steve said. “And seeing you wasn’t too bad either.”

“Slow day, huh?” Jonathan said. The corner of his mouth quirked with a flattered, embarrassed smile. Steve tried to act nonchalant, like he wasn’t so goddamn relieved to see a familiar and happy face. Especially his familiar and happy face. “Well, good thing I have another surprise for you.”

“You can barely fit your camera in that bag, what could you possibly-- hey!” Steve missed grabbing Jonathan’s arm as he walked away, heading for the front door. “Where are you going?” Jonathan kept walking, checking his watch the whole way. “Hello?”

“Delivered right on time.” Jonathan pushed the front door open to the station-- but was nearly knocked over as a green dash barreled through it.

"Steve! Steve! Steve!” The dash was suddenly grabbing him by the shoulders. “You got the job!”

“Henderson! Oh my god! You’re back!” In an unlikely impulse, Steve grabbed Dustin in a hug, taking advantage of the change of height. “Holy shit, I nearly forgot! First of the month!”

“See you, Steve.” Jonathan walked across the room to the back entrance again. His hand braced the back of Steve’s chair, brushing across his shoulders.

“O-Okay! Yeah, see you!” Steve sputtered, losing his reminded cool in an instant. “Bye.”

Dustin pulled away slowly. “What was that?” It looked like everyone was too smart for Steve.

“Nothing. He brought me a surprise lunch-- which was an obvious decoy to the main event! You! How are you, buddy? How was camp?”

“Oh, it was fantastic. Steve, I have to show you all my inventions! Camp was the best four weeks of my life .” Dustin hopped up onto the corner of his desk. His heels tapped against the empty metal drawers. He was jittery, nearly uncontainable, but still so composed-- if only to be focused all on Steve.

Steve held his hands out, letting him start. “Lay it on me, Henderson! I want to hear everything. I missed you like crazy.”

“Well, first, obviously. I have to tell you about my girlfriend--”

“Whoa! Whoa! Girlfriend ? That fast?” Steve hadn’t been expecting any of his dating advice to work. It had been coming from such a poor and confused part of himself, Steve figured it was destined to fail. Apparently, it was just Steve that was-- when flirting with women at least. “Damn, there’s something in you after all!”

“She’s super smart, Steve. I’ve never met any girl like her. She’s a genius and she’s so pretty. God, I miss her already-- and I just saw her.”

Steve looked over his shoulder. He knew the feeling. “That’s great, man. I mean, I’m super happy for you. Like, that’s crazy . That’s freaking awesome.”

“So what about you? How are the ladies? I mean, you work for the Chief now. All the ladies you could need and more, am I right?”

Steve used to be really good at this part of the lie, but with Dustin it felt cheap. He didn’t need to lie to him, but that was the deal; no matter how much that person was Steve’s best and most beloved friend, their secret was a dead-bolt, vaulted secret.

“Eh, not too great. Only girl my own age I see-- besides Nancy, really-- is the night-shift girl, Robin. But she’s not really-- we’re just friends. She’s alright. Leaves me weird drawings in the memo pad.”

“Ooo, she sounds cool.” Dustin raised his eyebrows. “Do you know her from school?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really run in the same crowds but-- it’s not like that, man. It’s really not.” Steve started unwrapping his lunch. “It’s so not like that with Robin.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not... looking at the moment.”

Steve had originally decided to not go looking for trouble. After he and Nancy split in the beginning of his senior year, he didn’t start looking for an immediate replacement. The illusion of thinking he was in love with Nancy-- capable of being in love with Nancy-- was a hard thing to have come crumbling down. Steve needed time to get his own bearings, to put his feet firmly on the ground, and have them lifted off when his father grabbed him by the lapels and--

Steve hadn’t gone looking for trouble. Hadn’t gone looking for love either. But somehow, both seemed to find him.

Jonathan was late. He usually wasn’t but Will was trying not to be worried. It was a different day than usual and he knew how awful Jonathan’s boss and co-workers were. Will tried not to be worried-- he wasn't. It was just that he had spent an hour talking about the night his father left their family; standing outside the doctor’s office was a bit nerve-wracking. It felt too familiar, even with all the talking and note-scribbling.

Finally, Jonathan’s car pulled into the lot. He was speeding, as much as his car could speed: he knew he was late, which made Will feel a little bit better. No one had forgotten him. It was just traffic or his bosses or maybe just hitting all the red lights. As Jonathan stopped in front of the curb and waved Will in, Will could see he was jittery-- he was upset that he was late. Will felt bad for counting the minutes.

Not that he did it out of impatience or anything. Will just formed the habit after getting his new watch. It matched Mike’s. Completely on accident, of course.

“Hey, buddy! Sorry I’m late. I was-- I had to run an errand really fast. How long were you waiting.” He moved his bag and threw it onto the backseat. Will would’ve held it on his lap.

“I wasn’t keeping track.” Will said, climbing into the passenger seat. Will wanted to ask if his bag had Jonathan’s camera in it. If everything was okay. He didn’t. It seemed like Jonathan had been in his therapy with Will, just as shaken up. “It’s okay. Thanks for getting me.”

Jonathan waited until Will put on his seat belt. “Of course. We’re always here to pick you up. Therapy is important; you have to go.”

Will laughed before he could stop himself. “You sound like Mom.” Why?

“Because she’s right.” Therapy was still kind of weird to Will-- since no one else in his grade had to do it-- but he humored his family. It was helping, if he had to admit it. But it was still embarrassing sometimes.

His therapist, Dr. Bright-- Rose Marie, as she insisted on being called-- was a send-out from the Lab, but disguised within a private practice just outside of town. She was able to listen to Will talk about what he saw and felt during his time with the Mind Flayer without trying to commit him. Almost nothing was off limits. Almost nothing.

Will checked his watch again.

“Are you excited to see Mike tonight?” The question was pointed, but Will wasn’t sure why it made him nervous. “I mean, I feel like I haven’t seen him in a bit.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s always with El.”

Will was sure they weren’t dating. El was just on a year-long stint of self-discovery and, besides Max, Mike was the person she trusted the most to help make as many helpful mistakes as possible. He bought her books to read and new music to try. It was really sweet, seeing Mike take such big strides toward helping their friend. But there was also a part of Will that felt dejected: his sort of help had to be prescribed and couldn’t be replaced with a warm laugh from one Mike Wheeler.

Will was sick while his friends were growing.

“Is there something wrong?” Jonathan used to ask the question like Will was one trembling lip away from crying-- but this time, he asked it like Will had his hand on the door, seconds from jumping out. “Will, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Will nodded. “I’m fine. Just-- I talked a lot today and I’m tired.”

“Do you want to cancel with Mike--”

“No.” Will had been looking forward to having time with Mike-- just Mike-- for a whole week. He wanted to sit on his floor with his best friend and be a kid again. Just for the night-- maybe draw some of Mike’s old campaigns or sketch out an idea for his own. He just wanted to remember something good about the past four years. After his hour with Dr. Bright, it all felt painful. Like his childhood naivety had been broken and every conversation he overheard in his house dripped with venom and disdain.

Will didn’t like picturing his house that way. It was a place that loved and raised him, a place he felt safe. He didn’t like thinking the conversations he heard being screamed through the walls were trapped in the drywall.

His arms felt heavy and his chest felt like it was made of metal-- he kept tasting it in his mouth. Will leaned back against the seat and reached for the radio. Jonathan turned it down before Will had even changed the station.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I just want to see Mike.” Will said, his mouth too honest and his mind shrouded in guilt. “I just want to see my friend.”

“Okay. Okay.” Jonathan nodded somewhat somberly. “I understand. Let’s go pick him up. He’s at his house right? Not El’s-- o-or The Sinclair’s or anything?”

“No. He’s at his.” Will crossed his arms and tried to find the loose string-- the thing that could uncoil Jonathan’s still-tightening anxiety. “Are you still dating Nancy?”

Jonathan turned to look at Will, nearly crashing the car. That was the wrong string. “What?”

“Nancy? Are you still dating her?”

“I was never dating Nancy.” Jonathan laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not dating Mike’s sister, don’t worry.” The clarification was strange and felt off-topic. Like Jonathan was trying to talk about something else.

“I thought you were. You guys hung out a lot during school.” Will heard her voice through the walls too. Always gentle, never yelling. Except when she was losing at playing cards. Then she shouted.

“She was helping me pass chemistry. That’s all.” Jonathan turned the radio up a little. Will checked his watch. “And then she helped me apply to the Post internship-- she’s great at writing papers, did you know that? A real wordsmith. Is Mike a writer too?”

He was, he really was. Grammatically, Will ran out of red pens trying to help, but creatively? Will envied Mike’s ability. “I don’t know. We don’t really talk about that kind of stuff like you two do… Since you two are dating.”

“We’re not .” Jonathan laughed. Will took advantage of an upcoming stop sign to lean forward and look at his brother’s crimson face. “We’re not, Will, okay? We’re really not. I’d tell you.”

“You’d tell me?”

“Of course! I’d tell you if I… I had a girlfriend. Which I don’t!” He stayed at the stop sign for a bit too long. “Do you?”

There was an option to play dumb, to make Jonathan ask more directly: do you have a girlfriend, Will ? but it sounded far more painful than being honest, than being as lonely as he was.

“No. I don’t.”

“And you’d tell me. If you were dating someone?” Jonathan looked at Will, hopeful but scarcely so. “You’ll tell me if anything big happens in your life?”

“Yeah.” There wouldn’t be anything happening at all that summer, that was for damn sure . “Absolutely.”

Steve had about seventy percent of his puzzle done-- fifty of which was because Dustin was an unstoppable genius with no tolerance for Steve’s careful pace. It was just about quarter past seven, and Steve’s back was getting sore from sitting in his chair all day. He only liked sitting when it was in his car, on his way to the Byers's House, careful, of course, to obey all traffic laws.

Steve was packing his crosswords and pens up in the top drawer of his desk when something clattered the back door open. Steve grabbed a pen and whipped around in his seat, as if to wield it like a weapon.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

“Hey dingus.” Luckily, Steve couldn’t even see Robin yet-- or rather, she couldn’t see him or his emphasized eye roll. She could hear him groan though. “Hey, shut up and quit whining. I’m sending you home early.”

Her head popped out from the hallway. Robin’s ponytail was high on her head, the hair flopping over and getting caught in her stringy bangs. She flung her backpack out from behind her and tossed it toward Steve. She wasn’t in her uniform yet, only wearing the buttoned up shirt-- unbuttoned and showing her torn and dyed shirt underneath. She was wearing jogging shorts, her knees torn up and covered with Band-Aids. They reminded Steve of the ones taped to his face after getting a plate smashed into his forehead. Deceivingly cheerful.

“What are you doing here early?” Steve stood and followed her, holding her backpack awkwardly in his hands. “You’re never early.” Eight on the dot. Every time.

“I figure you want to get out of here tonight.” She didn’t even stop to look at Steve as they walked into the back room. “Probably want to see your boyfriend.”

Her words weren’t sharp, but Steve still recoiled. He let his arms, and her bag, hang by his sides.

“Who? Jonathan?” The only way Jonathan and Robin had ever met was in the hallways of Hawkins High. She definitely never saw them interact at the station-- or on any of their nights together: they were always indoors. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“First off, I didn't even say a name." Shit. "Second, he came in the other day looking for you.” Robin started buttoning her shirt up, fixing the collar as she finally turned to see Steve. “He was really upset-- didn’t even know what time it was to know you weren’t working.”

“Upset?” Technically, it wasn’t Steve’s problem. It was the deal; they didn’t have to care about each other’s lives. It was just summer. It was just like any other summer.

“Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.” Robin sounded extremely sympathetic despite beginning to change her pants. Steve whipped around, covering his face. “You should go see him. Make sure he’s okay. Be a good boyfriend... shithead.”

“He’s not--”

“Steve, I’m the last person you should be arguing with.” Robin laughed-- and it was only momentarily threatening. Until, of course, Steve realized what she meant.

Like all good secrets kept at Hawkins PD, Steve kept his mouth shut and nodded even if she wasn’t looking.

“Yes, sir--ma'am-- Robin.”

“So, are you going to go or what, dingus?” She tapped him on the shoulder. “Get out of here-- and tell me all about it Wednesday.”

Steve blinked at her, holding out her bag. As if it was enough thanks to give her back her own property. “Are we… friends, or something?”

“No, of course not.” She winked, slapping his arm. “Just looking out for one of my own.”

After picking Mike up from his house, they drove home in uncharacteristic chatter. Jonathan was the only one speaking, humming along to the radio. Will was exhausted beyond performative small talk; the type that had to be done between two best friends when a third party was present. Mike was great at just sitting with Will in silence, but Jonathan didn’t know that. Instead, the three of them passed around quiet jokes and laughter, answering questions about their friends for Jonathan’s upkeep of information.

Once they got in the house, Jonathan let them wander off into Will’s room as he started pulling pots out of the kitchen cabinets. He wouldn’t bother or pester them about any summer work, either. They would be left alone in their own coupled silence.

Mike was sitting cross-legged on Will’s floor, twisting one of Will's crayons between his fingers. Will needed new ones but he felt funny asking for them as a near-freshman in high school. He liked the glide of wax on paper compared to the scrape of colored pencils. Well, that and the fact he ruined half of his crayons the year prior making a full map of Hawkins in a fugue state and only had two crayons able to be used normally.

“You had doctor stuff today, right?”

Will was digging under his bed for his emptier sketch book. “Yeah. Therapy. Doctor doctor stuff was two weeks ago.”

“How was it?” Mike let his hand still and rest in his lap. “Like, what do you do in therapy? Just start talking?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that. You have to think about stuff too. Doctors ask you questions, sometimes.” Will pulled back and drug his old drawing supplies along the carpet. He sat back on his heels and was able to see Mike over the top of the bed. He didn’t know Will was looking. “You have to have answers.”

“What do they ask about?” Mike kept looking at his hands, unaware of Will. “Upside down stuff?”

“Sometimes.” Will shuffled back around to Mike's side of the bed. He could feel the tiniest bit of rug burn starting. “She asked me about my dad today.”

Mike looked up, almost immediately. “Can she do that?”

“Why can’t she?” Will popped the lid on the retired Tupperware, now his art bin. “I talked about it.”

“I thought you didn’t like to.” Will had never said those words which meant Mike had gathered it from just observing him. “Did you… like talking about it?”

“Not really.” Will laughed. He found a few extra crayons, but of all the wrong colors. “She had this big speech afterward about learned helplessness that I… really didn’t like.” Will tried to keep laughing.

Mike put the crayon back in the bin. “Are you okay, Will?”

“Yeah. It’s just… the same old stuff.” Will shrugged. “Sometimes it just bothers me more than other days.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, picking at his words carefully. “You never talk about your dad, Will.”

“Why would I?”

“Because it bothers you. You can talk about anything you want-- I… I would listen.”

“You don’t have to listen to it just because it happened to me, you know. My therapist says you don’t have to experience things with me for them to be real.”

“But I want to know.” Mike looked insulted, almost crushed and collapsed as he sat back on his hands. “That’s your dad,” he said. “And you’re my friend.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mike went back to studying a new crayon, picking at the wrapper. Will felt something forming in his throat. A bubble that was hot, thick and sticky. Not vomit, but not impending tears either.

“I don’t get why he left.” Will said. “I don’t know what happened to our family.”

“Nothing happened. Maybe he just… wasn’t good at being your dad anymore.”

“But then why? What did I do?” Will didn’t want to ask Mike, make him feel responsible for answering, but Will was desperate to ask the universe again.

“Nothing.” Mike said. “I just think he…”

“He what? My dad got tired of me? Didn’t want to raise me?”

“Maybe he actually learned how to take a hint and knew he wasn’t good enough for you and Jonathan-- or your mom.” Mike wanted to be hopeful, to be positive, so badly. He ached, his smile tight and weak. He didn't have the answers, and who was Will to put him in the position to come up with them.

“So he gave up.” Will said.

“That’s not what I meant--”

“I know. I know… That’s just how it feels.” Will shrugged. He smiled at Mike, accepting his help and his warmth. It hurt knowing that Mike was wrong, but still. Will could always pretend a little longer. Anything for Mike.

“Hey! You monsters hungry?” Steve clapped his hands together before gently tapping the door. “Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

The door was open. Steve didn’t have to knock. He wanted to, just to prove he wasn’t too comfortable, but he also knew Mike was over. And knocking would announce his entrance rather than letting it just be something that just was . Rather than being cool .

Awkwardly and with a lot of weird, throat-clearing fanfare, Steve opened the Byers’s front door and poked his head inside. Jonathan called him in from the kitchen without even needing to say hello, or being surprised by his walking in: In here, Steve! Dinner’s almost done .

Steve walked through the living room carefully, as if he’d disturb it. There was a tape playing softly-- some band Steve’s never heard of, but didn’t hate. He’d grown to like the way that every song played in the Byers house was always moody and melancholy. The music was always the opposite of how he felt stepping into the kitchen.

Jonathan was at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. He had what looked to be tomato sauce stains on the front of his shirt-- where he wrapped his hand up to open the sauce jar. Steve was able to hide his smile as he shouldered off his uniform jacket and toed off his shoes, claiming a chair at the kitchen table.

“How was work?” Jonathan didn’t stop stirring. He moved like the stove was turned all the way up and he was afraid of burning the food. He spoke that way too.

“It was fine. Not a whole lot.” Steve didn’t want to have anything seem bigger than whatever upset Jonathan-- and seemed to still be upsetting him now. “How was your day?”

“Fine. Will and Mike are in the other room.” He was checking things off his list. Steve stepped up to Jonathan and stood even with him at the stove. He was making one-pot pasta. It really did smell fantastic. Steve was so hungry, even after his lunch.

“How was… the other things in your day? Develop any good pictures?” Steve covered how stupid he sounded by placing his hand on Jonathan’s lower back.

Jonathan stopped stirring and looked at him. Steve tried to keep cool, tried not to show his motives-- his attempt to calm something he couldn’t believe he’d missed spinning out of control, even if he didn’t know what it was. “Nancy walked into the dark room today-- she’s actually the one who gave me the muffin-- and she exposed the photos to light too early. So no, actually.”

Steve really was a bad boyfriend. Even when he wasn’t one yet-- or at all.

“Okay… how was. Everything else?”

“You don’t have to ask about my day, Steve. It’s okay.” Jonathan sighed and spoke evenly. “I’m just a little tired. Really. We don’t have to do the whole… thing .”

The whole thing where Steve was explicit about how much he really cared about Jonathan and admitted he was sincerely and terrifyingly in love with Jonathan.

“I was asking because I was curious. Not out of obligation.” Steve clarified. His hand slid to rest on Jonathan’s hip. He moved closer, lips aiming to place a commitment-less kiss on his cheek.

“Steve! I said to keep it cool .” Jonathan ducked back, placing a hand on Steve’s chest. “I don’t want Will to see us.”

“Your brother?” Steve was surprised; of all people Jonathan explicitly wanted to hide from Will seemed kind and forgiving-- not that there was anything to forgive, but it was something Steve often checked for. Steve was sure that one of Dustin’s friends would be… like Steve. Or like Jonathan-- maybe. All of them seemed prepared to deal with any of their friends suddenly being different. Far more prepared than Steve ever was.

“Yes. My brother.” Jonathan snapped, banging the spoon against the edge of the pot. “I don’t want him to learn I’m not dating Nancy but instead seeing her ex-boyfriend in the same day.” he whispered.

“Wait, what? He thinks you’re with Nancy?” Steve wasn’t sure where they went wrong. They were trying to obscure the truth, not lead everyone to a different reality. “D-Do you think Mike does too?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t want to ask and seem weird.” Jonathan sighed again. He sounded tense again. “I told Will I’d tell him if I was seeing anyone… And he promised me the same.”

Steve knew not to press the obvious question-- well are you seeing someone, Jonathan? -- but also didn’t want to touch the obvious implication that Will needed to share a secret with Jonathan. Instead, he placed his hands into his pockets and turned to lean against the counter.

“Dinner smells really good, Byers.” There was another name that began with “B” that Steve wasn’t allowed to use, but always wanted to. Byers Byers Byers. Baby baby baby. “Thank you, again, for cooking for me-- for us.”

“You think I’m going to let you starve?” His stirring slowed; the stove cooled down. He nudged Steve’s arm with the spoon. “You coming home late and trying to cook? You mean half-drinking a beer and falling asleep face down on your bed in your uniform, half unbuttoned.”

“You picture that often, Byers?” Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Jonathan’s lips quirked into a smile again. “But, if you’d like a beer, I think there’s one in the fridge. No one in the house is going to touch it.”

“I can go ask Will if he wants it.”

“Shut up-- do you want it or not?”

“No.” Steve didn’t like drinking when they were together. He’d never really heard the full story about where Mr. Byers went, but he had a father of his own to make those blank spaces fill pretty fast. “But thanks. Don’t want the habit of needing a beer to forget how boring my job is.”

“I thought you liked your job?” Jonathan took a piece of pasta out of the pot and held it out for Steve to test.

He chewed and answered. “I do! It’s nice to have normal hours-- and I’m happy to help have replacements as Flo gets ready to retire but… I don’t know. Sometimes it feels boring .”

“Would you rather be chasing down a four-legged monster without a face?” Jonathan let out a bubble of genuine laughter, playfully glaring at Steve.

“Frankly, yes! At least we’d all have something to do. I feel like I don’t see everyone anymore.”

“Then throw a party. Don’t wish for anything bad to happen.” Jonathan said firmly. “Let the record show my brother is a very strange magnet for all this… weird shit.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Steve said solemnly. He put his hand on Jonathan’s forearm. “I wish we were all safely doing something exciting. It felt nice to be needed, even if no one knew it was us.”

Jonathan put the spoon down on the counter and pivoted to be looking only at Steve. There was something resting just on the tip of his tongue, just under the surface of their conversation. It would’ve been a digression-- Steve could tell by Jonathan’s tense and furrowed brow-- but he would’ve listened.

“Jonathan?” Steve squeezed his arm, lifting his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“I--” He clenched his jaw, trying to swallow his words. “I think--” Steve knew there was no end to Jonathan’s sentence; merely starting it meant there was trust between them. A careful admission through omission. Steve knew Jonathan was looking at his shoes and wouldn’t be seen as he took in the secret flinches of Jonathan’s face. The crinkle by his left eye, the twitch of his mouth, double blinking--

They both jumped apart as the phone started ringing, practically shaking on the wall. Jonathan stepped away from Steve and left everything unsaid. Again.

Jonathan tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder as he turned to lean against the wall.

“Hello? This is--” His face changed sharply, his eyebrows furrowing. “I told you to stop bothering us. You’re lucky she’s not here to pick up the phone-- I don’t care !” Jonathan cleared his throat and looked at Steve in a flash of uncertainty and anxiety. “I have the police here right now and if you don’t stop calling me I will send them to your house-- it’s not a threat if you’re the one bothering us. Stop. Calling.” He slammed the phone down and braced his weight against the wall with his other hand.

“Am I considered ‘the police’ now?” Steve said lightly. It was his way of letting Jonathan know he was listening, but not asking direct questions. “I’m not even allowed to have a badge.”

“It counts.” Jonathan said, letting his arms fall down by his sides. Steve stepped over and kept stirring dinner.

“Who was that?”

“No one. Can you go get the boys in the other room? Dinner’s ready.” Jonathan pushed Steve aside to hunch over the stove again.

“Sure.” Steve nodded, knowing he wasn’t seen. “Hey! You monsters hungry? Jonathan’s got dinner on the table.”

Dinner felt weird.

Will couldn’t help but feel like he and Mike had gotten into a fight. Talking about his dad made anything feel sticky, feel like it was violent or volatile. A second from snapping or tearing off, bouncing around the walls and echoing in Will's body. A small conversation between friends-- actually a little understanding between best friends-- felt like it had been a screaming match, all because it was cut off. There was no apology from Will. He didn't have the chance to tie it all up with an I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, forget I said anything.

His plea sat heavy on his tongue as he talked to Steve-- who had arrived without notice-- and let Mike make him laugh so hard he nearly shot water out his nose. Will let it all happen under the tremor, the ache, of an apology. And maybe, if he was the best brother and friend he should’ve been, no problems or therapy, it would be enough of an apology.

He wasn't hungry and only ate half his serving of pasta, even though it was usually his favorite of Jonathan's recipes. He did apologize for that though, and it felt right to say aloud. Even if it was misdirected and no one heard it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm so so sorry. Please come back--

Mike wasn’t tired, Will knew, but he still wanted to go to bed right after their horror movie ended. It was clear Mike hadn't been paying attention to the movie; the entire plot was that dreams were a new horror-scape for monsters to get teenagers. It wasn't too scary to Will; it just felt familiar. The villain looked different, more human, but Will knew what it felt like to dream while wide awake. To watch and be unable to do anything but scratch at the surface--

Convincing Will to get ready for bed, Mike said they’d have all day in the morning. He said that maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay over again if they don’t get all their fun in. Will knew Mike's mom probably would, if only because she felt bad for Will. But he would take the pity. A sleepover wasn't the worst thing to get from pity.

Will could still hear Mike fidgeting in his sleeping bag. He was rubbing his feet together like a cricket and twisting his wristwatch. The plastic scratched the sheer material of his sleeping bag rhythmically: back and forth. back and forth. backandforthbackandforth. It was like Mike was counting the ticks of his silent digital watch. Will began to play with his own watch, keeping it on in bed only because he'd noticed Mike hadn't removed it when they were brushing their teeth that night; apparently the watch was too good to part with.

Time though, was something Will wished he could separate himself from. He could hear the seconds scraping by now. Every moment he kept his friend awake and bored because Will was too weak or (rather and) too everything to stay up late again.

Therapy hadn’t even been that bad. Not really. Maybe it could be exhausting but it didn’t count because Will sat in the same spot for an hour. It wasn’t real work. It shouldn’t have counted. Will should’ve been able to hang out with his friend until sunrise, getting in trouble with his mom for being up so late. He should’ve still been a stupid, carefree kid, not a by-gone troubled teenager.

Maybe his dad had seen that from the beginning. Will's dad was always gambling, betting on baseball games he had these incredible "feelings" on. Sometimes he was wrong, but when he was right it was an amazing prediction; having the foresight no one else had. And maybe that was what it was, leaving them when he did. Maybe he saw Will wouldn’t be the second son he wanted after all. Maybe he knew of all the damage that would be done to him, the damage he would cause. Probably saw it from miles-- years-- away. And he left without a single warning to any of it.

What if his father had known? Could've known where he was when he came back into town two years ago? Not gone forever just in the lights. Just out of reach, just through the wall, Dad. What if he had known, been able to see, able to know, but wanted to leave Will Down there being possessed and enveloped and consumed and--

Will felt a chill scurry down his back. The feeling almost had legs. Too many. He felt ice cold, his body going blank-- not numb, but blank -- for a second. He couldn’t feel his fingers, but could still feel every inch of his body, suddenly pulsing and seizing.

"Will?" Mike asked, sitting up. He gripped the end of the bed and pulled his face closer to Will's. He squinted in the darkness, feeling for Will’s hand. Will couldn’t answer, his jaw tense and breath rattling out of him. "Will, what’s wrong?"

After a (thankfully) non-awkward dinner, Steve and Jonathan washed all the dishes and let the boys watch whatever movie they wanted. Steve didn’t pay attention to what tape he put in the VRC. He was too busy thinking about the hands hidden in the warm soapy water in the kitchen sink. Neither Mike nor Will seemed too bothered by the disgusting amount of blood or the scary blade man on the TV. He felt no regret letting them go to bed right after the credits rolled. Jonathan had looked exhausted after putting the last dish away, and dozed off during the climax of the movie-- even slept through the high-pitched screaming.

They waited for the sound of Will’s door closing over before they got into bed.

Jonathan flopped onto his back, a pillow resting between his chest and crossed arms. Steve laid on his side, bracing his weight on his elbow. He poked at Jonathan's furrowed eyebrow lightly.

"What's the problem, Byers?"

"Nothing."

"You are not a really great liar, you do know that right?" That and Steve could still hear Robin's blasé recounting of Jonathan's distress. Yeah. Crying, sniffling, snot-- the whole nine, man.

Jonathan sighed and turned to look at Steve. He hated being called out. "It's about Will."

"What's wrong with Will? He seemed alright at dinner."

"Yeah, but," Another sigh. "Steve, I think my brother’s gay."

Steve's first response was swallowed and he nodded. "Okay. Okay. And, um, what's the issue with that?" He adjusted himself on the bed, hoping there was more subtlety in that.

"I can't talk to him about it. I mean," Jonathan smiled and reached to touch his face. "This is a very different thing than being fourteen and confused."

"Who says he's confused?"

"I don't mean with himself-- the rest of the world is so confusing, Steve. You see the news... I can't talk to him. I didn't grow up like that. And being with you is... Different. We dated girls before. Will... I don't know. I think he knows already."

"You think he's got feelings for--"

"Oh absolutely." Jonathan nodded, closing his eyes. "Oh, I'm so glad it's not just me who sees it."

"Hopefully Wheeler does too."

"Hey, keep your voice down, he's only a few rooms over ."

"Sorry. Sorry. Me and my big mouth " Steve rested his head on Jonathan's shoulder. "Shut me up, maybe."

"Not until my mom gets back." Jonathan said, rolling up onto his side too. "If I catch her when she comes in the door, she won't come into my room to say good night. I can't have you distracting me until then."

"Your mom is on a date. She's an adult and so are you." Steve kissed Jonathan's shoulder. "You are a working man who just finished a long day at work-- I think you can cuddle up with your boyf--" Steve choked on his own stupidity, feeling his face go red and charisma die on impact. "With me."

"I will. Once my mom is back." Jonathan kissed Steve, as if a parting promise. Only to backtrack on his words immediately. He tucked Steve’s hair back behind his ear, his hands trying not to hold his face. “No-- no . Steve, not until my mom gets back.”

“I can keep an ear out--” As Steve spoke, the power in his bedside lamp dimmed. The power hummed quietly before flickering back up. Jonathan tensed and pushed himself up in bed.

“Did you see that?”

“Yeah, it was just the light, Byers. It’s windy out tonight, maybe a tree brushed a powerline.” Steve pushed Jonathan back down to his pillow-- and back into his own skin again. “It’s nothing . What if I turn out the light? Your mom won’t even see us in here.”

“No. No, I have to wait for her.”

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

“What!” Jonathan jerked upright again.

“I meant what if she’s at Hopper’s or something?” Steve shrugged. “She’s an adult.”

“Steve, that’s my mom .” Jonathan hissed, swatting at the hand resting on his shoulder.

“I meant because she drove there on her own. If she had some wine, maybe she stayed somewhere and is being a smart, responsible parent.” Steve soothed. “Something you don’t have to be right now. You’re not Will’s parent and you aren’t your own. Lay down, will you?”

Jonathan was reluctant, but let Steve ease him back down again. He pulled the pillow tighter to his chest and sighed, his crossed arms sinking deeper. Steve laid down beside him, nose gently touching the end of his shoulder. As he breathed, his short exhales tickled Jonathan’s skin and got him giggling. It was Steve’s secret trick; something that always worked because Jonathan didn’t know it was a pattern-- didn’t know he was ticklish.

“Sorry I was weird today.” Jonathan said suddenly. He wasn’t even grinning.

“What?” They didn’t apologize. There was no need. “You’re worried about stuff-- it’s okay.”

“No, I like our dinners. And I was so uptight. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Steve didn’t know what to do with the sentiment. “Apology accepted?”

Jonathan sighed again, blowing it out slowly between his pressed lips. “Lonnie called today.”

“L- your dad ? Is that who was on the phone?” Steve wasn’t sure what came over him-- or his body-- as he placed an arm over Jonathan’s waist and pulled them together. There was something unspokenly intimate talking about abusive fathers while being nearly sutured together in bed, but Steve pretended he was just having problems hearing Jonathan correctly.

“Yeah.” Jonathan turned, his nose brushing Steve’s. “Said he wants custody of Will. He doesn’t trust Mom, he said.”

“How is he-- He can’t do that.”

“He’s going to try. I don't know where it came from. He still thinks he can win a case because the news says Will just disappeared into the woods . Like he ran away from us or something.”

“Everyone knows that’s not true.”

“A court might not.” Jonathan sighed, ducking his head down. Steve resisted lifting his chin to hook it over Jonathan’s head, nestling him into his neck. He laid still, listening to his breathing and the gentle creaking of the house--

Jonathan's door was thrown open, both men sitting up quickly, ready to defend themselves and their actions. It was Mike, in his pajamas with his hair sticking out in wild curls. Will stood just behind him in the hallway looking far more awake. Stilted and untousled.

"Mike?"

"Jonathan, quick!"

"What is it?" Jonathan swung his legs around and motioned both boys to come in. "Will?" Mike pushed him into the center of the door frame, although he remained in the hallway, in the light. Will’s hand grabbed at the back of his neck. His face was blank and his eyes were distant.

"Something's wrong." Will said slowly, blinking to focus. "I feel him."

"Feel who?" Jonathan kneeled in front of Will, holding his shoulders. "Feel who, Will?"

"Dad."

#stonathan #jonathan byers x steve harrington #byeler #will byers x mike wheeler #byler #finally reposting in a way that isn't a random post with a link alksdja #prompts #my fics

69 notes · View notes

intheticklecloset · 3 years

Text

Nurse's Office (My Hero Academia)

Primary Universe

Summary: When Eri asks Deku to play doctor with her, things get a little out of hand when he pretends he hurt his ribs.

A/N: I've had this idea for a loooong time. I thought it was so cute, and I think it turned out well. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,458

~~~

Deku was in the nurse’s office again.

Well, kind of. He was sitting on the couch in Eri’s room, dutifully allowing her to pretend to check up on him per her request. He’d finally found time to break away from his studies and training to visit, and she’d been so delighted by his presence that she immediately asked if he wanted to play doctor with her, and how could he refuse? Plus, he made a good patient. He had been to the doctor quite a lot since inheriting One For All.

Mirio sat on the arm of the couch, momentarily forgotten by the little girl but smiling at the cute scene before him all the same. Eri used her play stethoscope to check Deku’s heartbeat, took his temperature, checked his blood pressure, and even told him to “open wide” so she could blind him with a flashlight as she tried to look into his mouth and throat.

Finally, Eri got to the “doctor” part of the exam. She grabbed a clipboard and hummed at it thoughtfully. It took everything in Deku’s power to stay in character as the hurt patient.

“Why are you in here today?” Eri asked seriously, looking at him.

He grabbed his right arm and winced. “I think I hurt my arm, doctor. Could you take a look?”

Eri nodded, climbing onto the couch cushion next to him and taking his arm gingerly, inspecting it closely. “Hmm…does it hurt when I do this?” She squeezed his upper arm, which didn’t really hurt, but he pretended that it did by yelping and doubling over.

“Oww,” he whined. “Yes, that hurts.”

“You may have broken a bone. Let me bandage it for you,” Eri said, sliding off the couch to get her first aid kit. Beside him, Mirio stifled a laugh. Deku bit his lip to keep from grinning. This little girl had no idea how accurate she was. After haphazardly wrapping his arm in a string of gauze, Eri looked at him closely. “Does your other arm hurt?”

“No,” Deku said, thinking quickly to keep the game going, “but…but my ribs hurt, too. I may have bruised them.”

“Let me see,” the little girl commanded. Deku lifted his arm to let her gently pat his upper ribs, occasionally poking but not hard enough to really tickle until she once again asked if it hurt when she squeezed, then proceeded to do just that.

Deku squeaked, jerking away from her and covering his mouth with his hand, blushing. “N-No, it doesn’t hurt.”

Eri looked confused. “If it doesn’t hurt, why did you jump like that?”

“Remember when we told you about tickling, Eri?” Mirio asked, chiming in for the first time.

Her eyes lit up with understanding. “Oh, yeah! Did I tickle you, Deku?”

“Y-Yeah, but that’s all right,” he replied, smiling a little awkwardly.

Mirio hummed in a thoughtful kind of way that immediately put Deku on alert. “You know, if he’s hurt, it would be a good idea to make sure he still has all his ribs, Eri.”

Deku shot him a pleading look. “Mirio…”

“All of his ribs?” Eri asked, confused again. “Is it possible to lose your ribs?”

“Not really,” the blonde hero stage-whispered, “but we’re playing pretend.”

She nodded in understanding. “How many ribs should he have?”

Mirio smirked at Deku’s blushing face. “Twenty-four, but if you count twelve sets that should be good enough.”

“How can I count them if I can’t see them?”

“Well…” Lemillion got to his feet, joining Eri at her seat on the couch. “If you poke hard enough, you’ll be able to feel them. Here.” He took her hand and guided it to Deku’s side. He whined, but lifted his arm anyway, allowing her to feel out where his lowest ribs were through his uniform. He did his best to keep his giggles at bay.

“I can feel it!” she exclaimed suddenly, using her own strength to dig into his lowest rib on the right side, making him jerk away from her again and sputter out a chuckle. “Sorry, Deku.”

“Uh-oh. Looks like your patient might be a little too ticklish for this examination. Let me help.” Mirio stood once more, moving to the back of the couch, then reaching over it to grab both of Deku’s arms and pull them up so his ribcage was entirely open. “I’ll make sure he stays still while you count, okay? Just start from the bottom and keep going until you get to twelve!”

“W-Wait,” Deku stammered, but it was far too late to start protesting now. He clenched his fists desperately when Eri found his bottom rib again, then reached across him to feel out its counterpart on his left side. Once she was latched on, she started counting, pressing hard into his ribs to make sure she knew where they were.

Deku burst into giggles. Being restrained as he was, there was no way he could stop himself from reacting. Still, despite how badly it tickled, he forced himself to stay still for her, to make her job easier and help this go faster.

“One…” Eri counted, gradually making her way up to the second set. “Two…” And the third. “Three…”

“Mihihihirio,” Deku whined, snickering, “I c-cahahahahan’t hold still!”

“You can do this, Midoriya,” his friend replied, grinning brightly. “Do it for Eri.”

“Four…five…six…seven…”

The closer she got to his upper ribs, the more Deku felt like he was going to explode. He needed to do something, needed to move. He started kicking his feet against the couch, hysterics rising with every set of ribs she found.

Eri looked at his face, saw his bright smile, heard his giggling, and giggled right along with him. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she started pressing in even harder.

“Eight…nine…”

Please hurry! He begged her in his mind. He started shaking his head just to have something else to do so he wouldn’t accidentally ask her to stop out loud. She was almost done, and clearly having fun. How could he put an end to that now?

“Ten…” This time Eri wiggled her fingers when she found the ribs instead of just pushing on them. She was tickling him on purpose now! “Eleven…” Almost there, almost there! “Twelve!”

“He’s got all his ribs?” Mirio asked, still holding him firmly.

“Yep!”

“That’s great! Buuuut…you’d better tickle him a little more, just to make sure he’s really okay.”

“No!” Deku pleaded instinctively, already giggling again even before Eri made her hands into claws and started tickling up and down his exposed torso. He kicked even harder, squirming against her touch. “Plehehehehease, it reheheheheally tickles! Erihihiehehehehehe!”

“You’re really ticklish, Deku,” the little girl giggled at him, tickling his belly and sides as well.

“I knohohohohohohow! Plehehehehehease! Eheheheheheheheheeek!”

Mirio chuckled behind him. “Get his underarms, Eri!”

“No! Nonono please not thehehehehehehehere!” Deku couldn’t help it. When she got to his armpits and scribbled crazily over them, he tossed his head back and let out a long round of loud, shrieking laughter. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! PLEASE, NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

Eri laughed with him, as did Mirio, who held on to him tightly as he started bucking and twisting on the couch, legs flailing everywhere.

“Get him, Eri! Tickle him! Tickle him good!” The blonde encouraged, and the little girl happily obliged.

Deku couldn’t lie – he was having a blast, despite how embarrassing this whole playing doctor thing had become. But he was also especially ticklish where she was getting him now, and he could only take so much.

“PLEASE!!” He cried, laughing openly despite himself. “PLEASE, ERI, STAHAHAHAHAHAP TIHIHIHIHICKLING ME!! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Without any prompting from Mirio, Eri did exactly that, pulling her hands away from him and sitting back on the couch. Mirio let his arms go, and he immediately shot them down to his sides protectively, still giggling.

“T-Thank you,” he breathed, turning to look at her.

She bit her thumbnail, looking happy but a bit nervous at the same time. “One of the rules is to stop when you say to, right? Did I do good?”

Deku’s heart swelled. He reached out to pat her head affectionately. “Of course! You did great. You stopped as soon as I asked you to. You did awesome, Eri. I’m proud of you.”

Eri beamed, eyes shining as she wrapped her arms around his neck to hug him.

He mock-choked, pretending to gasp. “Can’t…breathe…!”

She let him go, smiling as she reached to unwrap the gauze around his arm. “Your arm isn’t broken anymore, Deku! I tickled you and it made you happy, so you’re all better now!”

The green-haired hero exchanged beaming smiles with Mirio and nodded. “You’re right, Eri. Laughter is the best medicine, after all!”

#fanfiction #tickle fic #boku no hero #my hero academia #bnha #mha #izuku #midoriya #deku #eri #mirio #playing doctor #counting ribs #tickling #ticklish #tickle

212 notes · View notes

notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy.

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies.

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case.

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him.

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls.

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets.

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured.

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.”

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter.

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.”

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns.

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen.

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!”

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt?

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this.

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“

“Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what?

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude.

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled.

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated.

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere.

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed.

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with.

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for?

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands.

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages.

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude.

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her.

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler.

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second. She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now.

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening.

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be.

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond.

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin.

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life.

“I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care.

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about her ass.

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face.

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks.

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough.

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling.

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action.

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people.

Alive people.

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done.

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain.

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg.

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids.

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway.

#no editing lads #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

351 notes · View notes

your-average-weeb-dealer · 3 years

Note

hii! can I request headcanons for todoroki, deku, and bakugou (separate) for having a fight w there s/o before they go to work, but then later that day get called for an emergancy mission and the reader happened to be involved in the emergancy. extreme angst please- you don’t have to but can you make the reader extremely hurt, or might not even make it? thank you!!

(A/n: I didn’t need a heart anyways)

Bakugo, Totoroki and Deku having a fight with their s/o before they die

anime: my hero academia

style: headcannons

genre: MEGA!! angst

Warnings: fighting, blood, breaking things, death, cheating and my heart slowly breaking as I wrote this

Bakugo (This post is too sad for happy nicknames)

You guys fought a lot, but never like this

He got so angry you were afraid he’d use his quirk on you

He has seen you talking with another guy and laughing

“JUST TELL ME THAT YOU’RE CHEATING” (Bakugo)

“BUT I’M NOT! WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT ME TO SAY?!” (you)

“YES YOU ARE. I SAW YOU YOU! STOP LYING” (bakugo) he had started breaking plates at this point

You ran out of the house before more could be said

running to (train station) so you could talk to your (mother/father/guardian) about what just happened

A few hours later

when he was at work, he was feeling guilty. maybe you weren’t cheating.

just as he was about to call you to apologize one of his secretaries came up to him.

“Mr. (I couldn’t find his hero name)!!”(secretary)

“huh? what is it?” (Bakugo)

“It’s Y/n, your s/o. they were attacked at (place) and were taken to (hospital)”

Bakugo rushed past the secretary. Every single thought of what could’ve happened to you stinging his eyes. Almost making him blind

When he got there, seeing you with machines strapped all along your body

he broke, the sting in his eyes became full tears

The doctors stood over your body, as if desperately trying to save you

“I’m sorry sir, but you can’t be in here right now” one of the doctors told him

“n-no. let me see y/n! LET ME TALK TO MY Y/N!” Nurses quickly rushed bakugo out as your heart monitor started beeping faster, and faster and...

silence.

Todoroki

one day Todoroki was talking about how much he his dad, Endeavor

and you were honestly fed up with it, it felt like he only ever talked about his dad

“Shoto, baby, I think you should try and move on,” (you)

He just started at you, “What..?” (Todoroki)

“I-it’s just, there are other things that are more important then your dad. Like us! I was thinking this year we could start a family,” (you)

“Y/n, he beat my mother, he abused me for years... And you want me to just throw that aside... for you?” (Todoroki)

“No! no thats not what I was saying, its jus-” (you). He left the house before you could finish

Later that day...

Todoroki was pissed. I mean how could he not be? Still, you mentioning raising a family together, did seem nice

so he called your phone, but no answer. Maybe you were in the shower?

Then he saw you, laying in the street

it looked like you’d been hit by a car

Just as he rushed over to you his phone rang, later he would find out it was one of his colleges calling to tell him about your crash

he clumsily picked you up in his arms. desperately trying to stop the blood that covered the hood of a distant car

“Y/N!! Y/N please!” he breathlessly looked around “SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!!” (shoto)

“please... please you can’t die! come on! We still have so much to do!”

your eye felt heavy, the pain didn’t even hurt anymore.

“we still have to go to Italy, a-and see the grand canyon, go t-to a crappy B movie and make fun of it for the whole week. S-start a f-family-” (shoto)

everything started to get blurry, shifting in and out of consciousness, the last thing you heard was

“please... please don’t go”

Midoriya (Deku)

You and Deku both work as the same hero agency... his agency

You know he has a lot of work to do but it felt like he didn’t even try to talk to you anymore

So you decided to confront him

“Hey.. Izuku?” (You) “I think we need to-“

When you walked in you saw Midoriya, making out with Ochako Uraraka

Their tongues were down each other’s throats, she was on top of his desk, her legs wrapped around his waist

“B-babe?!” (Deku)

Standing there, frozen like ice, You got a phone call. It was from your manger

You knew they’d be mad if you didn’t pick up so you answer while looking at them

“Y-yeah. What’s up (manger name)” (you)

Your fists clenched as you walked out of the room. Not wanting to cause a scene

“(Villain name) has been spotted at (location)” (manger)

“Yeah, I’m on my way” (you)

Deku was so confused, he pushed Ochako to the side and ran after you

“Y-Y/N wait!!” (Deku)

But to his surprise, you were already gone

40 minutes later

He was walking around town thinking about what he had done

God, he felt so guilty

Just then he saw it on the news

“ The hero (your hero name) also known as y/n was brutally murdered by the villain (villain name) today at 3:10. Suspect of th-“ (reporter on tv)

Everything went silent after he heard that...

No it couldn’t be real. It’s just fake news, not real just pretend-

That’s what ran through his mind until they showed a picture of you..

Your beautiful face

It took a minute for it to really sink in but then it hit him

You really were dead, and he couldn’t save you

His eyes exploded with tears every inch of his body ached with sorrow

No, no, no, no, no please! Please say it isn’t true he thought as he shakily picked up his phone to call you

It rang...

And rang,

But no one answered...

Ahhh, this post took forever!! And sorry it’s so long

Asks/Requests are open!!

504 notes · View notes

sarcasmandships · 3 years

Text

how to save a life part 2︱spencer reid

word count: 8.7k

spencer reid x slight oc

spencer and veronica argue over him keeping their relationship from the team, but when spencer sustains a life-threatening gun shot wound it puts everything into perspective

angst + hurt/comfort with a n eventual happy ending

this is not an x reader because i hate writing y/n in place of a character name and it often forces you into writing in second person which i also hate - however I have avoided giving specific descriptions of hair/eye/skin colour, height and body shape so feel free to imagine it like an x reader

this is also heavily inspired by greys anatomy and ive taken characters from the show to be side characters, however you do not need to have watched a single episode of greys to follow the story

warnings: spencer being shot, descriptions of blood, descriptions of surgery

read part one here!

Veronica readjusted her dress for what felt like the 100th time that evening. The green, silk bodice was too restrictive; her feet ached from the stiletto heels April had picked out for her. She grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"That is for the guests!" April hissed, smacking her arm with her tiny clutch bag.

"And the hostages," Veronica said, raising her glass to an imaginary toast.

"Amen to that," Cristina agreed, taking a long sip of champagne from her own glass.

"You two are hopeless," April said, shaking her head before storming off.

"I like angry Kepner," Cristina chuckled.

"God, I can't breathe in this thing," Veronica gasped, pulling at the top of her dress again, "I think I've got a tension pneumothorax."

"Unfortunately, if I had a needle big enough to help you, I'd have stabbed myself in the eye hours ago," Cristina said, deadpan.

Veronica gave her a shaky laugh.

"Ooo, is that Kevin Gibbs?" Cristina said, suddenly filled with a burst of newfound energy as she spied a man at the next table, "oh, he is rich rich, I'm so getting a donation from him," she grinned before dashing off to take Kevin Gibbs' arm.

Veronica rolled her eyes as she watched Cristina twirl her hair and flutter her eyelashes; she was far too good at this. Veronica was left alone at the table, tired of pretending she was interested in anything these rich, old men had to say; she pulled her phone out to scroll through Twitter.

However, as she unlocked it, Spencer's name popped up on her screen, and her shrill ringtone cut through the low-level chatter and ambient music in the room. She hastily switched the phone to silent after receiving a few pointed glares but continued to stare blankly at the screen as it rang.

She did not want to speak to him.

But she had told him to keep in touch.

Via text, not a phone call.

But what if something was wrong.

Eventually, she clicked 'accept'.

"Spencer, I told you-"

"Hi, Veronica," the voice on the other end cracked, "it's Derek Morgan. We met earlier today..."

Veronica's blood ran cold as Derek spoke to her through the phone. She could hear the piercing wail of the sirens; it harmonised with Cristina's shrill laughter as she flirted with Kevin at the next table.

Blood was pounding in her ears. Her entire body was in free fall like she was being hurled down the drop of a rollercoaster that seemed to never end.

"... they're taking him to Stafford Grace Mercy West Hospital, meet us there when you can - I gotta go."

Derek hung up the phone.

Veronica stood frozen, her body trembling and mind spinning.

"Veronica!" Jackson snapped as he strutted towards her, "you're supposed to be getting donations, not standing in a corner drinking all the champagne…."

Veronica was staring straight at Jackson's face as he ranted, but she couldn't focus her eyes enough to see his furrowed brows or flared nostrils. Her mind was spinning at hyper speed, but everything around her moved in slow motion; she gripped onto the edge of the table.

"…are you even listening to me?" he snapped his fingers in front of Veronica's glazed eyes.

"Spencer was shot. In the chest, he's on the way to the hospital now," she said in a monotone, "I have to...I have to go...I..." Veronica clutched her head in her hands; the room would not stop spinning.

"Oh my god," Jackson gulped, "of course, go, go. Do you want me to come?"

Veronica stumbled away from him and towards the door. Why was the floor moving like that?

"No," she called back to him, "this is your event you can't leave, I just- I need to go," she turned on her heel and dashed out of the door.

The hospital was just up the street. Jackson had picked a venue close by so the doctors who didn't have the day off could get there quickly after work. Veronica pushed people out of the way as she staggered up the street; her feet didn't hurt anymore. Her whole body was just pins and needles.

She burst through the doors of the ER, in her floor-length, green dress and dazzling emerald necklace, with tears streaming down her face. Sections of her neatly pinned hair had broken free; she clutched her chest as she gasped for air. It was only a matter of time before someone called for a psychiatric consult.

With most of the other attendings at the gala, the interns and residents had swarmed like locusts to get their hands on a surgical case. Veronica pushed through the sea people, looking for someone she knew – why did all the residents look the same?

Veronica scanned the trauma rooms, hoping to catch sight of his messy hair. They were full of bloodied and beaten-up people, but none of them were Spencer. She had just stumbled through the double doors to the waiting area when she heard someone call her name.

"Veronica?"

She whipped her head around to see Derek Morgan standing in front of her. Several steps behind him, she noticed Penelope Garcia, who she recognised from this morning, and several other anxious FBI agents.

"Derek," she gasped, gripping onto his outreached hands, allowing herself to stabilise slightly, "w-what happened?"

"We were chasing down the unsub and Reid...he fell and just when he was getting back up, he got hit. It was bad luck. It caught him just above his vest."

"And he's in surgery now? I didn't see him in any of the trauma rooms?"

"They just took him up; come with us. You need to sit down," he said kindly, and Veronica allowed him to guide her over to the seats.

"Hi again," Garcia squeaked, but Veronica stared straight ahead and didn't answer her.

The others tried to introduce themselves, Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. They were names she knew well from Spencer's last night rants about work, but she couldn't bring herself to look at any of them long enough to put a face to the name. Derek was trying to reassure her when Veronica caught sight of a familiar resident walking past with a tablet in her hand.

"Murphy!" she barked, "get over here."

Murphy's head snapped up, and she looked around rapidly to see where the voice had come from; when her eyes finally landed on Veronica, she looked at her quizzically but shuffled over.

"Dr Grey, I thought you were at the gala-"

"I need you to look up a patient for me, Spencer Reid - came in with a GSW to the chest and should be in surgery now."

"Dr Grey, what's going on?" Murphy said slowly, her eyes darting between Veronica and the team of agents behind her.

"Just do it, Murphy!" she ordered, and Spencer's teammates looked slightly taken aback.

"Okay, okay!" she said, typing rapidly on her tablet, "he's in surgery with Dr Hunt and Dr Altman for an exploratory thoracotomy...chest x-ray showed a GSW to the chest with the bullet lodged near the thoracic aorta...he was tachycardic and hypotensive when he came in, with substantial blood loss-"

Bile bubbled up in her throat, "what OR are they in?"

"Dr Grey, I can't-"

"What O.R, Murphy?" she snapped; she gripped the edge of the plastic chair to prevent herself from strangling the resident.

"OR one!"

"Okay... OR one. OR one has a gallery," Veronica mumbled to herself, she tapped her foot against the floor and her stiletto clacked against the linoleum.

"Dr Grey, you know you can't go up there when you aren't working-"

"Murphy, do you want a medical career?"

"Y-yes," she stammered.

"Then you'll get out of my way before I have the AMA strip your medical license," Veronica snapped; she stood up and gathered up the skirt of her dress as she began to power walk towards the elevator.

"Wait, where are you going?" Derek called after her.

"Spencer's in OR one, that OR has a viewing gallery... I'm going to watch his surgery," she said flatly before turning away and continuing along the hallway.

It wasn't until she was in the elevator and ready to push the OR floor button that she realised that Spencer's team was directly behind her.

"What are you guys doing?" she sighed as they piled into the elevator after her.

"He's one of us. We aren't gonna hang around a waiting room if we can be there with him," the blonde woman that Veronica thought was called Jennifer, retorted.

She was ready to argue. To protest that they weren't allowed in the gallery, that surgery wasn't for the faint-hearted. But then she looked at all their faces, desperate and distressed; they looked how she felt.

So, she closed her mouth and jabbed the button for the fifth floor.

The elevator seemed to take forever to reach the fifth floor. It stopped on three, and a huddle of surgical interns tried to cram in, but Veronica snapped at them before they had the chance.

"No. You get the next one," she glowered at them, and they could only give her nervous stammers and shaky head nods in response.

Veronica rolled her eyes at them as the doors crept shut again, with her arms folded tightly across her chest and tapped her foot against the floor.

"You seem to have a lot of authority here," Hotch commented.

"I'm an attending," she said bluntly, "they're interns - bottom of the surgical food chain, their only job is to stay out of our way and try not to kill anyone."

"That seems...harsh," Garcia whispered to Derek.

Veronica whipped her head around, "a hospital like this doesn't work without a hierarchy; it's how we learn. If we don't treat them that way, then they get too confident. Would you rather have an intern perform Spencer's exploratory thoracotomy or two surgeons with years of experience who are chiefs of their respective departments?"

Garcia gaped at her, but the elevator doors creaked open, saving her from trying to respond to Veronica's scathing comment.

"The gallery is this way," Veronica grunted under her breath as she exited the elevator and crept up a short flight of stairs.

"That wasn't very nice; Garcia was only making an observation," JJ whispered to Emily as they followed Veronica.

"Who is this woman?" Emily responded, equally as confused as to why they were following this random woman around a hospital.

Derek turned round to face them, "she's Spencer's girlfriend-"

"Girlfriend!" Emily gasped, "did he ever mention a girlfriend to any of you?" she asked, looking between JJ and Derek.

"No, not once…." JJ frowned.

"He didn't tell me as much as he was forced to, that's why he's been acting so off recently, but I couldn't really get many details from him about her, so don't ask me anything - she's just worried about him like we are, she's on edge too."

Veronica burst into the gallery, which was thankfully empty. She pressed her forehead up against the viewing window and saw Spencer lying on the table. The glass was cool against her forehead, which seemed to somewhat soothe her pounding headache.

Spencer's face was draped, she couldn't see his eyes, but she could see his half of his rib cage. That unsettled her; she wasn't supposed to be able to see into her boyfriend's chest cavity. Veronica clung to the glass as she staggered to the intercom on the wall; she pushed the button that allowed them to hear what was being said in the OR.

"... there's a lot of bleeding here, more suction!" Dr Altman demanded.

"Right away, doctor."

Veronica flicked the switch that allowed her to be heard in the OR, "Owen," she said slowly, and he looked up at her in shock, "I need you to save him."

"Veronica, you're supposed to be at the fundraiser. What are you doing here?"

"Owen, listen to me," she pleaded, her voice cracking, "I need you to save him."

"Well, of course, I'm gonna try and save him, Veronica I don't understand-"

"Oh god," Dr Altman said as she suddenly realised what was happening, "Spencer Reid... he's your Spencer. I met him at Owen and Cristina's wedding; we talked so much about the Mechanical Complications of Acute Myocardial Infarction I thought he was a surgeon too…."

Veronica nodded silently.

Her Spencer.

She couldn't control the sob that wracked her body. She was vaguely aware of Garcia placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, so I need you to save him," she sniffed, "because if he dies, I will literally go out of my fucking mind, and I won't be much of a neurosurgeon from the psych floor."

"Veronica, you should be up here," Owen said as he forced another clamp into Spencer's chest, "how did you even know where he was?"

"Murphy told me," she said, "but it wasn't her fault, so don't go and yell at her; I told her I'd have her medical licence taken away."

Owen paused, "you can't do that, though."

"She doesn't know that! Please just save him. I need you to save him."

"I-" Dr Altman hesitated, "we'll do everything we can, V, I promise you."

"Thank you, Teddy," she whispered through her tears; she flicked the button off again so they wouldn't be distracted by her sobs.

Veronica collapsed into a chair in the middle of the front row and kicked her heels off. Spencer's team had shuffled into the rows behind her and sat, whispering quietly among themselves and clutching onto each other.

"V-veronica," Garcia finally spoke after around an hour of near silence, "I know you're a different kind of doctor, but what are they doing? I don't understand any of these medical terms. Can you explain it?"

Veronica twisted slowly in her seat to face her, revealing her mascara coated cheeks and puffy eyes. She nodded slowly.

"They're doing a surgery called an exploratory thoracotomy; they're trying to remove all the bullet fragments from his chest cavity. Their main concern is that the bullet hit very close to the thoracic aorta, which is a major vessel that carries blood from the heart to the rest of the body."

"B-but it didn't hit his aorta, so that's good, right?"

"Right, cos' if it had, then he'd have bled out seconds after he was hit," Veronica paused to swallow the vomit creeping up her throat as she imagined Spencer's bloodless body lying in the morgue, "but the impact of the bullet creates shock waves when it enters the body. Considering the proximity to the thoracic aorta, it could weaken it and cause an aortic dissection."

"And that's bad?"

Veronica nodded gravely, "they're almost always fatal, the blood loss becomes too uncontrollable, and even the best surgeons, like Dr Altman and Dr Hunt, can't do anything," she turned back around to face the OR as a fresh set of tears threatened to spill over.

"Oh," was all Garcia could muster up.

"Those doctors, are they really the best?" Emily asked.

Veronica nodded, "Owen, Dr Hunt is head of trauma surgery, and Teddy, Dr Altman, is head of cardiothoracic surgery. They served together in Iraq; they've put soldiers half blown apart by bombs back together, if anyone can save Spencer - it's them," she reassured.

"Good to know..." Emily said in uncertainty, wrapping a comforting arm around JJ, who was silently sobbing into a tissue.

"What you need to understand is that every GSW is different, which is what makes them so difficult to fix, and when a bullet enters the body, it not only tears through structures, but the transfer of kinetic energy can cause damage to nearby tissues, like what I was saying about his thoracic aorta," she explained slowly, "that's why GSWs are so dangerous because the damaged area can ripple out around the entry wound."

"But you think he'll be okay, right?" JJ sniffed.

Veronica hesitated; she glanced back at Spencer's motionless body on the table. Her eyes scanning the monitors he was hooked up to, the constant stream of O neg he was being replenished with, the rip spreaders and clamps in his chest…

She felt sick again and had to turn away.

"I don't know. He hasn't been in surgery very long… it's just too early to say."

"There isn't anything more we can do for him now," Hotch spoke gravely, "he's in the hands of the people who are best trained to help him; we just need to trust that they are doing everything they can to save him."

Hotch's words had a sense of finality, and the room fell close to silent again with only Veronica, Garcia and JJ's sniffles and sobs echoing around the dimly lit room. Derek help Garcia's hand tightly in his own, JJ rested her head on Emily's shoulder, Hotch and Rossi sat next to each other, their faces stoic and stony. Veronica sat alone, tugging at the restrictive bodice of her dress every few seconds.

They sat like that for at least another two hours.

Suddenly, the monitors attached to Spencer began beeping rapidly, Veronica's heart seized, and she jumped to her feet to get a better view.

"What's happening to him?" Garcia whimpered; she clung onto Derek's arm as he also stood up and strained his neck to see.

"He's in DIC!" Teddy's voice echoed through the intercom, "push heparin," she ordered.

"Veronica, what's going on?" Derek asked; he tried to keep his voice steady, but it wavered slightly.

"He's in DIC, disseminated intravascular coagulation - it means that proteins in the blood that cause clotting go into overdrive, which actually causes excessive bleeding. If they don't control the blood loss, it's fatal."

"Lap pads! And more suction! I can't see a thing," Owen demanded as he packed Spencer's chest cavity to absorb the excess blood.

"And hang another unit of O neg, he's losing too much blood," Teddy added, "there was nothing in his medical history that indicated he was at risk of DIC...Veronica! Is he on blood thinners?"

Veronica dragged herself over to the intercom and pushed in on the button, "n-no, nothing like that, he takes zolpidem sometimes, but that wouldn't cause DIC..." she muttered.

Something clicked in her brain, and she spun round to face Derek, "you said he fell before he got shot."

Derek nodded, "that's right, the woman the unsub had abducted pushed past him to escape, and he fell down the full flight of stairs. That distracted me long enough for the unsub to get a shot in at him...."

"Teddy! He fell before he was shot, he fell down a flight of stairs, he could have a splenic injury or a laceration on the portal vein or hepatic artery- it wouldn't have been picked up on a chest x-ray. You have to do an ex-lap!"

"Veronica, we've already cracked his chest-" Owen began to protest.

"Pressures dropping, doctor!"

Veronica banged on the glass, "he'd rather be alive with two incisions than dead with one."

"Dr Hunt, you're the trauma surgeon this your call," Teddy said calmly, "but we need to do something and fast."

"We don't even know if he has a splenic injury! We can't take medical suggestions from our patient's hysterical girlfriend; that isn't how it works-"

"He's dying," Veronica wailed, "and he's going to die if you don't do something. If it were Cristina on my table, you would be begging me to do whatever it takes to save her. Teddy – you promised me you would do everything you could, and you're not doing anything! He's bleeding to death, and you aren't helping him," she sobbed against the glass.

Teddy and Owen exchanged a look.

"10 blade," Owen grimaced, and Veronica breathed a sigh of relief, "you better be right about this Grey – convert drapes for an ex-lap!"

"Oh God, I can't watch this," JJ said; she flopped back into her seat as Owen made a deep incision into Spencer's abdomen.

Despite dealing with horrific crime scenes daily, everyone else in the team had to follow JJ's lead as floods of blood gushed from the incision site. Garcia, who had screwed her eyes shut the minute the monitors started beeping, was rocking herself back and forth and mumbling under her breath.

"Okay, I need more suction! I'm seeing some damage to the hepatic artery," Teddy said, "can you ligate it from your side?"

"Yeah, I think so, clamp!"

Veronica wished she could be like Spencer's team. She wished she didn't have a medical degree; she wished she didn't know every possible thing that could go wrong from this point forward. She wished she could close her eyes or at least tear them away from the scene that would plague her nightmares for years to come.

She could hardly believe it when his pressure finally stabilised; she embraced the smile that crept onto her face as she watched the readings on the monitor slowly begin to climb up.

"You can open your eyes now; they ligated the artery and stopped the bleeding, combined with the heparin that should be enough to keep him stable for now."

"For now?" JJ questioned.

"He's doing well; that injury could've been fatal, but he pulled through, and that's good; it's just that I don't want to tell you he's out of the woods when he's far from it."

"It's been hours," JJ said, "how much longer before we know if he'll be okay?"

Veronica shrugged, "probably a couple more hours; they need to make sure the wall of the thoracic aorta is strong enough before they close and remove all the bullet fragments; they need to take their time."

"You'll have to forgive us, Dr Grey," Hotch spoke quietly, "we don't have the patience for this kind of thing like you do."

"It's okay, and you can call me Veronica," she smiled nervously and picked at her nails.

This was what she'd wanted all along, to meet Spencer's team. But now, she was standing in front of them and couldn't think of a single thing to say. She had imagined this moment every night for months, but never in her wildest dreams did it go like this.

"Veronica then," he said stiffly, "so you said you're a neurosurgeon?"

"Yeah," she said, tearing her eyes away from the surgery in front of her to face him, "that's how Spencer and I met; he came to a lecture I gave on the Endoscopic Fenestration of Arachnoid Cysts Through Lateral Pontomesencephalic Membranotomy, cos' that's just the kind of things he does for fun," she snorted.

"Sounds like him," Hotch said, smiling fondly.

"I just can't believe he never told us about you," Emily commented, "and I can't believe we never figured it out; I mean, come on, guys, we're meant to be profilers."

Veronica gritted her teeth, "Yeah, me neither..."

"Veronica!" Jackson said, bursting through the door to the gallery, "I just got away from the gala; how's he doing?" he asked, rushing over to embrace her in a tight hug.

"He's stable for now; his temp has come up a lot since he got here, but he did go into DIC, and they had to convert to an ex-lap..."

"Owen and Teddy will be doing everything they can; he'll be okay."

She nodded, "I know...I just want it to be over; even if he was in the CCU, I could handle it, but he's lying open on an operating table, and I can't help him."

He rubbed circles on her back soothingly, "it'll be over soon. Can I get you anything?"

"Something to change into. I don't think I have any clothes in my locker, but just grab me some scrubs... I'd take a patient gown if it meant I could get out of this dress," she said, tugging again at the restrictive top.

"You got it," he said, breaking away from their hug, "April wanted to come and be with you, but Harriett's with the sitter and she had to-"

"Don't worry about it, just get me something to wear. I can't breathe in this thing."

"Yeah, I'm on it," he said, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead, "Cristina's on her way; she'll be here soon."

Jackson shuffled out of the gallery, giving a nod and a tight-lipped smile to the others as he passed them. Veronica retook a seat.

"That was Jackson," Veronica explained, noting the confused faces of the BAU team members, "Dr Jackson Avery, he works here too, but he was stuck at the gala - we were having this fundraiser for this hospital...stupid...."

"V! I just heard; why didn't you tell me?" Cristina burst into the gallery in a similar fashion to Jackson, "I had to hear from freaking Avery that your sexy FBI boyfriend got shot?" she berated as she sat down next to Veronica.

Veronica shrugged, "Jackson was there when I got the call. You were busy turning up the charm for that rich old sleaze."

Cristina shoved her lightly, "I'll have you know that rich old sleaze donated 1.5 million dollars to this hospital," she said smugly.

"Show off," Veronica grunted, folding her arms over her chest.

Cristina stood up to peer through the glass, "supervisory sexy agent, has Owen and Teddy working on him? You need to calm down and stop chewing your nails; he'll be fine."

Veronica rolled her eyes, "you need to stop calling my boyfriend supervisory sexy agent, or you'll be the one on the table."

"Aw, come on, I'm kidding! My husband is right down there...oh my god, my husband saves your boyfriend from a GSW? That'll be such a good story for me to tell your kids."

"Can we wait to see if he makes it off the table before we start discussing our hypothetical children?"

"Boring."

Jackson returned at that moment, "sorry, I didn't know your scrub size, so I just guessed. And you didn't have any shoes in your locker, so I stole some sneakers from April, you're the same size, and she won't mind - I also brought you some of her makeup wipes," he rambled, handing her the pile of clothes.

"Stealing shoes from your ex-wife now?" Cristina teased as Jackson sat down on the other side of Veronica, "I thought pretty boy Avery was rich enough to buy his own," she cooed.

Veronica stood up and slid the scrub pants on under her dress, and pulled the scrub top over the top. Cristina unzipped her dress, and she let out a deep breath as the pressure on her rib cage was released; she shimmied the dress off and threw it over an empty chair.

"Shut up, Yang," Jackson grunted.

"Children, behave," Veronica said warningly as she slipped on the socks and shoes she was borrowing from April.

Veronica sat back down and finished wiping off the makeup that hadn't been flushed away by her tears. Jackson gripped her hand tight in his, and she smiled appreciatively at him; Cristina gave her a pat on the shoulder.

"Guys, what if he dies?" she whispered as they watched Teddy and Owen work away on Spencer.

"He won't," Jackson protested, "he didn't code in the field, and the majority of GSW victims without penetrating vascular injuries survive if they get to a hospital on time."

"There is a bullet in his chest cavity! That is a penetrating injury," she blubbered.

"But it didn't directly damage his heart or any major arteries; yes, they could be weakened by force, but he's been in surgery for hours, and nothing has ruptured – plus after they close him up, we'll monitor him closely, and he will be okay," he said with a squeeze of her hand.

"Avery's right. It's far more likely he'll be a vegetable or something," Cristina shrugged.

"Yang! His best friends are right behind you," Jackson hissed.

"They are?" Cristina said, whipping her head around, "oh, hi."

Cristina gave them a wave, and they stared back dumbfounded.

"Who the hell are these people?" Emily hissed.

"I don't know, but they seem to think that Spence is gonna be okay, and that's all that matters to me," JJ answered.

"He could still die; people die from GSWs all the time. There could be complications, he could get an infection-"

"Look, Veronica, if the worst happens, then we can cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? And you know we'll all be here for you, no matter what," Jackson said, and Veronica smiled appreciatively at him.

"Thank you," she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Y'know, you should've married him when you had the chance - cos' if he dies and you were his wife, you'd get that life insurance. If he dies now, you'll just be poor and sad."

"Cristina!"

"No, it's okay," Veronica said with a slight smile, "it helps."

"God, talk about a dark sense of humour...."

"I think I'm just still drunk," Cristina shrugged.

"I think I'm hungover already; my head is killing me," Veronica groaned, massaging her temples.

"Want me to get you a banana bag?" Jackson asked.

"Yeah, why not."

Jackson stood up and made his way across the gallery and to the door; he turned back to face the BAU team members, "can I get anything for you guys? Coffee, water…I wouldn't recommend the food, but we got vending machines."

"No, thank you," Hotch answered politely, "anyone else?"

The rest of the team shook their heads or mumbled no thank-yous in response. Jackson gave them a sympathetic smile before leaving; JJ's stare was still firmly fixed on Veronica.

"What did she mean? You should've married him when you had the chance?" she asked.

"It means that supervisory sexy agent-"

"Cristina!"

"Fine, Spencer, asked V to marry him, and she said no cos' she can't let herself be happy."

"That isn't why I said no, and you know it."

"Well, no. But your real reason is stupid, so I'm gonna say it's your self-destructive tendencies instead. Do you know what I've give to never have to interact with Owen's dumb work friends? You're getting the best of both worlds here."

"You work in the same hospital! Owen's dumb work friends are your colleagues."

"Ugh, whatever."

"You turned Reid down because of us?" Rossi questioned, speaking for the first time since they had entered the gallery.

"It's a bit more complicated than that-"

"What's wrong with us? You didn't even meet us until today?" JJ snapped.

Veronica sighed and picked at her nails; her first interaction with Spencer's friends already wasn't going very well, and now she had to tread lightly as to not offend anyone.

"That's the problem; it took Spencer getting shot in the chest for us to meet because he refused to tell you about me; how could I marry someone when I'd never even met his friends? It's what we argue about more than anything else. We argued about it this morning actually...."

The blood drained away from Veronica's face as the events of the day flashed through her mind.

She turned to face Cristina, "oh God, we were arguing this morning about it, and again when I dropped his phone off at work - the last conversation we ever had was about that stupid argument. What if he dies thinking that I'm pissed off at him? I didn't even tell him I loved him before I stormed off," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Well, he's a profiler, right? Even if you didn't say it, he would be able to tell...."

"He's a genius, not a psychic, Cristina."

"She's right," Derek interjected, "before he lost consciousness, he told me to call you and tried to say something else; he kept saying tell her... he never got to finish, but I'm sure it was just that he loved you."

"He really said that?"

Derek nodded, and a weight was lifted from Veronica's shoulders, although she quickly felt uneasy again when Jackson returned, IV kit and banana bag in hand.

"Okay, I know you don't like needles, but it'll make you feel better, so give me your arm," he demanded.

Veronica huffed and begrudgingly gave him her arm; she winced as he pushed the needle through her skin, "ow! I thought plastic surgeons were supposed to have a gentle touch."

"Plastics is barely even a real speciality; Avery gives boob jobs on the daily – we do real surgeries and save lives."

"Hey! I'm also a qualified ENT, and I practically run the burn unit-"

"Guys," Veronica groaned, "can you have your little dick-measuring-contest another time? Maybe like when my boyfriend isn't lying open on an operating table?" she said, gently massaging the tender skin around her IV.

"You said you liked my dark humour!"

"Only when it's funny," she sat down again and massaged her temples "hey, I think they're nearly done," Veronica cheered.

She dashed over to the intercom, "Are you guys closing him up?"

Teddy nodded, "yeah, and then we'll be taking him up to the CCU. You should get some rest before he wakes up," she advised.

"He's going to be okay, Veronica," Owen said; she couldn't see his face under his mask, but she could tell he was smiling.

Veronica couldn't fight the grin spreading across her own face; Spencer was going to live. He was going to make it off the table. Now all she had to do was pray that he woke up because Veronica didn't know how she would cope if she never saw his eyes again.

"He's really going to be okay?" JJ whispered; she held her hands up to her lips in a prayer formation as fresh tears spilt over onto her cheeks.

Emily pulled her into a tight embrace and stroked her hair, "Hey, don't cry. The doctor said he's going to be okay."

She nodded against Emily's chest, "I know, these are happy tears – it's just I've been sitting here for the past four hours wondering what I would tell Henry if his Uncle Spence died and now, he's going to be okay, and I'm crying more than when I thought he was going to die…stupid," she mumbled.

"It's not stupid," Veronica offered kindly, "your body has been in panic mode and how that you're finally able to relax a bit, you get an emotional outburst that makes you cry – it's totally normal," she said, tentatively reaching out her hand to take JJ's.

She nodded and gave Veronica's hand a squeeze, smiling at her for the first time since they had met. The mood in the room had shifted as the BAU members slowly began to accept that their teammate was going to live, and the nervous tension began to dissipate.

"Teddy's going to close him up and then wheel him up to the CCU, Cristina are you staying or coming home?" Owen's voice echoed through the intercom.

"I'm staying obviously!" she said indignantly.

Veronica shook her head, "no, it's okay, you go home."

"V, I can't leave you here-"

"It's fine, Cristina. You're working in the morning, and you'll need to be here for rounds at 6am, and you won't be any use to anyone if you're sleep-deprived. So, go home. Besides, I've got Avery to keep me company."

Cristina gave her an appreciative smile and squeezed her hand one last time before she left the room. A wave of jealousy surged in Veronica's chest as Cristina disappeared from her line of sight; it wasn't her fault that she was going home with her husband whilst Spencer was being stitched back together. But that didn't make it hurt any less.

"I'm so sorry, V," Jackson said, holding up his phone, "it's one of my burn patients, she's got an infection, and I think I'm the only sober attending after the gala…I can send a resident-"

"No, no, it's okay," she smiled sadly, "go and help your patient; she needs you more than I do."

"Page me if you need anything," he said, kissing her forehead gently before leaving her alone with the BAU team.

She was in a room with seven other people, but she had never felt more alone. They were clutching onto each other, whispering amongst themselves and smiling; Veronica didn't have anyone.

She shuffled away from the displays of affection and picked up her dress and shoes, "I'm going to put this stuff in the attending's lounge, there's coffee in there if you want anything – and on-call room seven is always empty if any of you need to sleep. He won't be awake for a while; you should get some rest," she said, giving them a tight-lipped smile.

"Thank you, Veronica," Derek said; he nodded over Garcia's head as he held her in his arms, "I don't think any of us will get much sleep until pretty boy wakes up, though."

Veronica laughed, "pretty boy, I always thought he was exaggerating when he said you called him that. If you don't want to sleep, that's fine, but you can't stay in here – the interns like to hang out in here before pre-rounds, and they'll be here soon," she said before gripping onto her IV pole and swiftly exiting the gallery.

Tears burned in her eyes as she made her way to the attending's lounge, grabbing a replacement banana bag from the nurse's station on her way; Spencer was going to be okay. He was going to wake up and have his team to comfort him, fetch him jello, keep him company through the recovery and bring homemade meals to his apartment. What else could she do for him that they couldn't?

She burst into the attending's lounge and slammed the door shut behind her. She let out a heart-wrenching sob as she shoved the dress into her locker, growing frustrated and kicking it when the poufy, underlayers of the skirt wouldn't fit.

Maybe that's why he had never introduced her to the team because he already had seven people who loved him unconditionally and could give him all the love he needed. And Spencer didn't want her to know that; what could she do for him that they couldn't?

Veronica darted into the bathroom and held her own hair bag as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl. Maybe she was just a fuck to Spencer, an outlet to release his frustrations after a hard day. Assuming he wasn't fucking any of his teammates, that was the only thing she was good for that they couldn't give.

Derek said that his last words before he passed out were about her; he asked him to call her. He tried to give her a message – why did Veronica not share Derek's confidence that the message was I love you?

She flushed the toilet and washed her mouth out with water from the tap. Her headache was beginning to subside, but she still switched out her banana bag before she limped out of the bathroom, using the IV pole as a support.

Veronica threw herself onto the couch. She wanted to scream, or kick something else or rip her own hair out, but she simply didn't have the energy to do anything except shut her eyes and drift off to sleep. The image of Spencer's open chest cavity and the knowledge that his team were everything she was and more burned into her brain.

***

Spencer's brain was awake before his body was. He was acutely aware of people moving around his room, but their voices were muffled, and he couldn't bring himself to open his eyes to see who they were.

There was a tight sensation in his throat, and suddenly, Spencer started gagging violently.

"He's fighting the intubation!" a voice called out, "page Dr Altman."

Dr Altman. He knew that name, he thought to himself. But his brain was still too hazy from the anaesthesia to think straight. Dr Altman…something to do with cardiothoracic surgery – probably one of his doctors. But where had they met before?

He felt hands all over him, grabbing at his neck and face; there was a horrible scraping sensation in his throat, and then he could breathe freely again. He's fighting the intubation, the voice had said. That was good; that meant he was breathing on his own.

However, he couldn't appreciate the joy of knowing he wouldn't be hooked to a ventilator for the rest of his life whilst his throat ached like that. The tube had been removed, but he still felt his gag reflex at the threshold of triggering.

He really needed to get Veronica more credit for that.

His limbs were heavy, he tried to at least wriggle his fingers, but they wouldn't move. The muffled voices which echoed around him were beginning to become clearer; he could make out what sounded to be JJ's voice by his head.

Finally, his brain allowed his eyes to flicker open. But he immediately wanted to screw them shut again when the blinding fluorescent glare of the ceiling lights shone down on him.

"Oh my god," JJ gasped, "he's awake!"

He couldn't move his head to see her, but her worried face quickly appeared in front of his, "Spencer? Spencer, can you hear me?" she asked frantically.

"Ow," he mumbled in response.

"Thank God you're okay," she said, stroking his hair as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"You gave us a scare, pretty boy."

Spencer strained his eyes enough to see Derek standing in the corner; he leant against the wall with his arms folded tight across his chest, but Spencer could clearly see the grin he was fighting.

"What happened?" he groaned, trying to readjust his body into a more comfortable position.

"Hey, don't try and move," JJ scolded lightly, "the nurse said that you'll be groggy from the anaesthesia for a while," she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently.

"Did we get him? The unsub?"

"Yeah, don't you worry about him, kid, he's going away for a long time," Derek reassured, "he got a shot in at you before we could take him down… I'm so sorry, kid, you fell, and it distracted me long enough for him to shot you before I could shoot him."

"Hey, it's not your fault," JJ said, "it could've happened to any of us."

Spencer nodded in agreement but didn't try and speak again; his head was throbbing, and he closed her eyes again, the darkness providing some brief relief from the brilliant light above his head. But with every passing second, Spencer became increasingly aware of the dull aches in his chest and abdomen, the pain growing sharper with each intake of breath.

"How many times did I get shot?" he groaned, "I can't remember anything…but my whole body hurts."

JJ bit her lip as she continued to stroke his hair, "just once, Spence, but you fell down the stairs just before you got him and it injured…something, I don't know what – I can't remember what she said," JJ looked over to Derek for a prompt, but he shook his head in response.

"Hey, don't look at me; I didn't understand a single word any of those doctors said," Derek shrugged, "Dr Altman is coming to check on you, though, kid. I'm sure she'll explain it all to you."

Dr Teddy Altman!

They met at Cristina and Owen's wedding; Spencer could tell she was in love with the groom and distracted her with a rant on Mechanical Complications of Acute Myocardial Infarction. She was Veronica's friend.

Oh god, Veronica. She must be so worried – if Derek had even called her that was, she might be oblivious to his condition. Spencer was ready to open his mouth to as about her, but JJ was already speaking again before he had the chance.

"…and our resident genius will definitely be able to understand better than us," she said, pressing a gentle kiss against his forehead, "I've never been so nervous as when we were sitting in that gallery, thank god those doctors fixed you up."

"Wait, what gallery?" Spencer asked, opening his eyes to squint at her, her words distracting him long enough to forget to ask about Veronica.

JJ paused and exchanged a look with Derek, "we hoped you wouldn't mind – we were in the OR gallery during your surgery, but we didn't actually see anything," she reassured, "none of us could actually bring ourselves to watch, but we just wanted to be there, in case anything happened to you."

"Not that we'd have been much help," Derek chuckled, "but I got you to the hospital in one piece. I wasn't about to let you out of my sight until you were stable."

Spencer nodded slowly, "how did you even get in there?" he mumbled.

"Veronica," Derek said, "you asked me to call her, and she came straight over, but she wasn't about to sit around in any waiting room, so she found out where you were…we just followed her up there."

Spencer tugged on his blanket, "so…you met her then?"

JJ nodded stiffly, "we did."

"Oh. Suppose I did ask you to call her, I don't know what I expected…."

"We didn't get a chance to talk much," Derek said carefully, "you were touch-and-go a bit in surgery, so it was a bit too tense for small talk."

JJ moved away from him and sat back in the chair next to his bed; she picked at her nails, "I don't get why you never told us about her, Spence?"

Spencer didn't answer her. This was not how he wanted this conversation to go; in fact, he was hoping he'd never have to have this conversation at all. The rational part of his brain knew that was unrealistic, but the rational part of his brain didn't seem to exist when it came to protecting Veronica.

He shrugged, "I didn't think you guys needed to know."

Derek unfolded his arms and moved out of the corner, coming to rest at the end of Spencer's bed, "didn't need to know? You've been making excuses about this to me all day, kid. And I'm not buying the - you wanted to have something to yourself - bullshit anymore-"

"You asked her to marry you," JJ said, her voice cracking slightly, "you wanted her to be your wife, but you didn't even tell us about her? Were you just going to get married without any of us there?"

"She told you that?"

Spencer had the strength to ball one of his fists; this was going horribly. The tension he had created in his hand spread up his arm and along to his chest. He grimaced as another sharp stab of pain rippled across his body.

JJ shook her head, "no, her friend mentioned it, and we overheard. I don't get it, Spence, we're supposed to be like family, and she…we didn't get to talk, but she seems nice. And she's a doctor – she's smart like you, and she obviously loves you. Did you think we wouldn't like her?"

"No, and she said no to me anyway, so it doesn't matter…."

"She only said no because you wouldn't introduce her to us," Derek stated bluntly, "that's what she said when we asked her about it and considering I didn't even know she existed till this morning, I can't say that I blame her."

"Guys, I will explain later, I promise," Spencer began as he tried to sit up in the bed, "but I need to talk to Veronica. Right now – where is she?"

"She is in a patient room down the hall," Dr Altman said as she waltzed into the room and picked up Spencer's chart from the end of his bed, "nice to see you awake, Dr Reid."

"A patient room – i-is she okay?" Spencer stammered.

Teddy peered over the chart to look at his concerned face, "she'll be fine, she's just dehydrated and a bit hungover – we've got her on an IV. Besides, the couch in the attending's lounge is not the place you want to sleep unless you want to give yourself scoliosis."

Spencer tried to move one of his legs, "I need to go see her, I need to explain everything, I-"

"You need to lay back down," Teddy said as she moved over to his bedside and pressed her stethoscope against his chest, "I need to listen to your chest, take a deep breath for me-"

Spencer begrudgingly breathed in.

"-breath sounds are clear and equal, that's a good sign," Teddy said, hanging the stethoscope back around her neck, "and your latest round of labs are all within normal limits. Dr Hunt and I were able to remove all the bullet fragments during surgery, we were concerned that the impact could've weakened the wall of your thoracic aorta, but it seems unaffected."

Spencer nodded, "okay."

“We had to convert to an exploratory laparotomy mid-surgery; you had some bleeding in your abdomen which we needed to repair; that's why you have two incision sites. They will likely leave scars, I'm afraid, but the abdominal bleeding triggered a condition called DIC and would have been fatal had we not caught the bleeders."

Spencer's brain was spinning. He knew he had been in bad shape, but he really nearly died. He needed to talk to Veronica, and fast.

"…it was actually Veronica who made the connection between your fall and the bleeding. She wasn't even operating, and she saved your life," Teddy smiled at him, "I just need to take a peek at your incision sites, and then I'll be out of your hair."

Spencer winced as she lifted up his bandages to take a closer look.

"Okay, they look all good and no signs of infection. You will need at least another day for observation; I'll get the nurse to administer your post-op antibiotics, so let her know if there's anything else you need."

"He won't admit it, but he's in pain. Can he get any more morphine or something?" JJ asked, biting her nail.

"What? No, I'm fine. I don't need any more painkillers; I'm all good!"

Teddy raised an eyebrow at him, "you just had major surgery, but you don't want more pain meds?" she asked sceptically, "you aren't maxed out on anything; I can order more-"

"No," Spencer snapped, "I mean…no thank you, Dr Altman. They make me too disoriented, and I need to be clear-headed when I talk to Veronica," he said, adjusting his tone.

Teddy gave him one last suspicious look before she moved back towards the door, "okay, no more pain meds. I'll let Veronica know you're awake," she said before exiting the room, closing the sliding glass door behind her.

Spencer let out a deep sigh of relief and relaxed back into his pillows slightly. Even the brief conversation with Dr Altman had left him exhausted, so he wasn't sure how he would manage when the rest of the team flocked to his bedside to question him about his condition and Veronica.

Veronica.

That was going to be a long conversation.

JJ and Derek stayed by his side as the nurse came in to administer his antibiotics, just as Dr Altman had said.

"Hotch and Rossi had to go sort some things out with the arrest," Derek had informed him, "they said they'll stop by later when they can."

"And Emily and Garcia are in the cafeteria, we've let them know you're awake, but we didn't want to overwhelm you with too many visitors at once," JJ explained, "and Garcia really needed some sugar. She's been freaking out, Emily's trying to get her to eat something," she chuckled.

"I feel bad I caused all this stress…." Spencer mumbled.

"Course we're worried about you, Spence; we're a family. But you didn't cause us stress; it's not your fault," JJ reassured; she leaned closer to Spencer to grip his hand in hers.

"Exactly, it's the unsub's fault. You didn't choose to get shot," Derek added; he shuffled over to the bed from his corner and took hold of Spencer's other hand.

The three of them sat in comfortable and heartfelt silence for a few moments with their hands intertwined until they were interrupted by a hesitant voice in the doorway.

"Uh, sorry, I did mean to interrupt. I'll come back later…."

part 3 coming soon

sorry there’s not too much spencer in this part, i promise there will be more in part 3 when veronica and spencer have their confrontation

if you enjoyed this please consider leaving a comment as it really keeps me motivated, and reblogging! i really appreciate likes but on the tumblr reblogs are the only way to get my work out there x

tagging anyone who commented on part 1, message me/ comment if you want to be tagged for part 3:

@dilaurantisbitch

masterlist

i also take imagine requests!

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #soencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x oc #hurt and comfort #angst #derek morgan #greys anatomy #cristina yang #jackson avery #april kepner

134 notes · View notes

janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

“If we get caught I’m blaming you” dot Wakko

Dot liked Doctor Scratchnsniff.

He was very nice, and even when not in a session, he was always willing to lend a helping hand and talk to her. Plus, he helped her with her "PTSD" he called it, though she knew it more as her nightmares and chest pains. They weren't exactly gone yet, but they were far less often as they used to be (she used to not be able to not sleep without her parents but now she was doing pretty good).

She knew her brothers didn't feel the same, but she had a feeling they'd warm up eventually. After all, it was undeniable the stuff he did with her helped her feel better with time. Sure- she wasn't exactly cured, but he said it would take time and she believed him.

However, that didn't mean she told him everything- especially if she wasn't sure if it even was a problem.

The problem was Max.

Dot hadn't ever seen him since the party, but for a while, it was all Yakko talked about. Her parents and Scratchnsniff said it'd slow with time, but it was easy to say it didn't. Yakko was... almost unrecognizable with how much he focused on Max. He never talked to her or Wakko about anything other than him. There was something about him that was just... better than them. Yakko described him as a "good different". Did that mean they were a "bad different"? Yakko used to swear and promise he'd die for them and protect them against their grandmother at all costs- but if Max had always been in the picture would that be the same? Was Max really that much better than them? Heck, Yakko basically admitted he didn't think they were friends...

That was why she was willing to team up with Wakko. She didn't like feeling like that, and if she could get rid of Max things could go back to how they were before. Except without their grandmother too.

Once Yakko returned from his day trip in Disneyland it was soon thereafter announced that Max and his father would be visiting Warnerstock within 2 weeks, so Wakko and Dot quickly began to plan ways to sabotage the two as much as they could.

With Wakko intercepting most of Yakko's and Max's letters to each other, they were able to figure out a game plan. They knew Yakko and Max would mostly be hanging out in the study, but that they'd then be eating lunch (something that they used to do as a family, but Yakko clearly didn't mind dropping that for him).

In preparation, they stole backup keys to the cupboard where all the spices were kept, and to the cleaning supply storage room, and they also stole many buckets of waters from the maids who were too busy to notice two children dragging their buckets away (they only told half empty ones because if they were full they were too heavy).

What they planned to do was set a few buckets of water over doorways so when they stepped through, they'd get soaked. Wakko wanted to make it hot and soapy water, but that was a little too hard to figure out and they already knew it'd be a challenge to get them up there. They also planned to put spicy powders on the handles of the doors to the study so that if they ever touched their face they'd get a painful reaction (something Wakko had experienced numerous times). They also planned to improvise throughout the day, but they'd need to see how things go with Yakko and Max at that point. Who knows? Maybe Max would realize they don't want him and that he should just leave and never come back.

Finally, the day arrived.

Wakko and Dot figured it was best to play along until the boys broke off, and then they'd set the buckets up. However, they still put the powder on the door knobs, figuring that one could take awhile before either realize.

Good thing the two of them had years of pretending to be good little children for their grandmother, otherwise it would've been harder to be "on their best behavior" for their guest.

"Goofy, Max, it's such a pleasure to welcome you two into our home," Lena said as she greeted the guests.

"It's a pleasure to be here. And might I say, you have a lovely home," The king gave an over the top bow and had a big smile on his face. Wakko and Dot exchanged a look.

"Yeah, it's nice," Max said, clearly embarrassed by his dad's antics. Lena laughed.

"Thank you," She nodded at him. "Goofy, these are my children and husband, William. Yakko you know, then there's Wakko and Dot," Lena gestured to each of them. They all bowed when their name was spoken.

"Well it's a pleasure to meet ya too," He bowed again. Max and Yakko shared a look too.

"Uh... Mom? Can Max and I..?" Yakko silently asked her. Lena nodded.

"You two are free to go while we sort out some more business. You two can go as well if you want," Lena said to Dot and Wakko. Gladly, the children all left the throne room, with Yakko and Max heading off to the study, but Wakko and Dot dashing into another hallway so they'd believed they were safe and by themselves before they could begin stalking and prepping the buckets.

"I hate him... and his dad. They're dumb," Wakko scoffed, once they knew they were out of ear shot.

Well... that was a little rude.

"I dunno, he seemed nice," Dot shrugged, peeking around the corner to find Max and Yakko laughing.

"Please, Prince Snooty couldn't even say hi to us," Wakko rolled his eyes before looking at what Dot was looking at and scowling.

"Remember: He's just here to take Yakko away from us, just like grandmum," He reminded her.

"Right. We have to stop them no matter what," Dot agreed. The pair continued to spy on the two until Yakko and Max disappeared down the hallway.

"C'mon, we have buckets to set up," Wakko said, and they headed off to set up their pranks.

After grabbing the buckets needed, it occurred to Wakko and Dot that they were rather short to attempt to place them atop the door, even if she stood on his shoulders. So they went to the nearest room with chairs and dragged one over, and Wakko stood on that, and Dot atop his shoulders.

As Wakko passed her the bucket though, she nearly dropped it.

"If we get caught, I'm blaming you," Wakko panicked, checking their surroundings. Dot blushed, deeply embarrassed, before trying again.

Luckily, she managed not to drop or spill any water, and soon enough they successfully got it atop the doorway Yakko and Max would have to go through.

Now all they had to do was wait.

Dot sat on the stairs next to the study, but Wakko continued on, much to Dot's confusion.

"Where are you going?" Dot asked.

"I'm going to find mom. I don't wanna stay here to wait," Wakko said.

"And sit through a boring meeting?" Dot tilted her head.

"Mom thinks I'm useful in meetings," Wakko crossed his arms.

Struck a nerve there...

"You can stay- whatever. I'm sure we'll hear their screams soon enough," Wakko said, and he walked away, leaving her alone.

Was hanging out with Dot really worse than a boring meeting? Was Dot really becoming uninteresting?

Was this what her grandmother meant when she said unladylike behavior was "unbecoming"? Was she right about her all along..?

"Dot? Is that you?" A familiar accented voice spoke. She looked behind her to find none other than Doctor Scratchnsniff. She hushed him, but scooted to the side to allow him to sit next to her.

"What's going on?" He said in a hushed tone, taking her invitation and sitting next to her.

"Yakko's hanging out with a prince and me and Wakko set up a prank," Dot said, confident she could trust the good doctor.

"A prank? What kind?" He asked.

"We put buckets of water on the doors so when they try to leave they get soaked, and we put chili powder on the door handles so if they touch their face it'll burn and they'll hurt really bad," Dot grinned.

"That's a little mean, no?" He said. Dot glanced at him.

"N-no. He deserves it. He's trying to take Yakko away," She said.

"What makes you say that?" He asked softly. Dot's tail twitched nervously as she thought.

"W-well... Yakko used to always promise that everything would be okay if we stayed together... and he promised that when we came home we'd be a big happy family but now all he wants to do is hang out with Max and talk about Max and be with Max," Dot folded her arms and rested on her knees.

"And that makes you feel..?" He inquired.

"Like-... Like I don't matter to him anymore... like he's sick of me..." Dot confessed with a sigh.

"I'm not annoying, am I?" She turned to the doctor.

"Of course not. You're very witty and fun to be around," He comforted her. "Does that thought, by chance, have anything to do with your grandmother?"

He always knew when something was related to the old queen, even without mentioning her name once.

"Yeah," Dot admitted.

"Remember, you're a lot more than what your grandmother thought. Remember those positive affirmations we went through," He said.

"The ''I'm home, I'm safe?" Dot tilted her head.

"No, those are the grounding ones. These are your self-affirmations: You are kind, you are brave, and you are loved. Remember?" He said.

"Oooh, right!" Dot recalled, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. "I am kind. I am brave. I am loved."

"Very good Dot," Scratchnsniff smiled. Dot smiled too.

"Now... I know you may not want to yet, but I think it best you give this Max a shot before pushing him away. While Yakko shouldn't be pushing you away, it's clear this boy means a lot to him and it would probably mean a lot to him if you liked him too, ya?" Scratchnsniff said, standing up.

Dot thought for a minute.

"Okay... I'll... give him a shot," She sighed.

"Good," He patted her head softly, but she quickly stood and gave him a hug.

"You're really nice," she said. He laughed a little.

"Thank you, Dot. You're really nice too," He said back, before she broke the hug and he continued on his way.

Dot continued waiting on the stairs for quite a while, before (out of boredom) she decided it might be interesting/fun to listen in on whatever it was Yakko and Max were talking about. Quickly and quietly she crept to the doors, carefully not to touch it so as not to knock over the bucket of water, and began to eavesdrop.

"Yeah, I'd imagine having siblings is different from 'not even blood related 'cousins.' Must be nice," Max said.

Yakko laughed. "Yeah, though Wakko and Dot can be just as chaotic. Still, they have their moments and I'd still do anything for them."

"They must not like strangers though, huh?" Max sighed, and Dot felt a pang of guilt.

"No, not really... They're so used to only being able to rely on our family, it's hard for them to branch out-- especially Wakko. Grandma really messed us up."

"She must've really, really sucked, huh?" Max half -oked.

"Yeah..." Yakko half-chuckled.

A pause.

"I wish we had known sooner- I'm sure my dad or Uncle Mickey or Donald would've done something. They hate people like that- can't stand child abuse," Max swore.

"I don't know how much could've been done, but... thanks. I really appreciate it- but know you being here... it's enough. Really," Yakko reassured.

Another pause.

"Wait, don't touch my face- there was powder on the door handles when we went in," Max said.

Dang it, they were caught.

"What? Seriously?!" Yakko groaned. "I'm sorry- they're usually much better than this. How did you know?"

"I'm used to prank wars from Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Trust me- this is tame compared to the stuff they'd pull," Max chuckled. "Oh, and there's a bucket of water on the door. We're stuck until someone notices and removes it or else we'll be soaked."

Double dang it, they were caught again.

Yakko chuckled.

"Your sibs don't sound half bad- other than the clear hostility, but I guess with how much of a nightmare your guy's lives have been so far I can see why," Max said. "Just wish I could fix it somehow."

Dot once again felt guilty.

"Me too... you're... well... you know... important to me," Yakko said.

Dot decided she couldn't listen to it anymore. Instead, she went and got the chair out again and began trying to remove the bucket as best she could. However, being several inches shorter now that she wasn't on Wakko's shoulders, she failed, and the bucket fell, soaking her in cold water that caused her to yelp and fall off the chair onto the floor.

Knowing she couldn't stay lest she be caught, she bolted away as fast as she could, ignoring the throb in her head from where the bucket hit her.

however, she was caught by her father, who had heard the loud crash, and went to investigate.

"Dot? What's the matter- why are you soaking wet?" William asked. Dot pondering lying, but realized Max and Yakko already knew what was happening so she may as well.

"Welllllllll, I didn't like Max so I wanted to prank him with water and chili powder, but that failed and now I'm soaking wet," Dot confessed.

"Dot, I thought we told you to be on your best behavior while we had guests over," William sighed. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

"I know, dad. I'm sorry," Dot apologized, glad he believed she did it alone. She didn't want Wakko to get into trouble.

"It's fine- so long as you learned your lesson," William said. "Pranks like that aren't very nice- especially to Max because he doesn't have a change of clothes. Imagine how it'd feel if you had to stay like that all day," William said.

That was a good point... these pranks were mean, just like Scratchnsniff said.

Eventually, they made it to her room and she changed into a clean and dry dress, and William helped dry off her fur and brushed it back to perfection, tying her ears back with her favorite yellow flower ponytail.

"Much better," He smiled at her through the mirror. Dot smiled back.

"However... I think it's probably best you stay with us for the rest of the meeting as a fair punishment," William said. Dot wanted to fight it, but alas, she knew he was right. She nodded, accepting her fate.

As she walked back with her father to the boring meeting she was now going to join apparently, she couldn't help but feel guilty. Max really didn't deserve any of the dirty looks or hostility she and Wakko had been giving him- he seemed really nice. Plus, he was important to Yakko. While it sucked that he wasn't hanging out with her as much, it didn't mean she was unlovable or annoying. It was wrong to take all that out on Max.

Now all she had to do was convince Wakko of the same.

.o0o.

The boring meeting thankfully didn't last much longer, and Dot was able to meet up with Wakko once again, who naturally had a lot of questions. However, they both decided it was best to go into the playroom, away from the other adults, to continue their conversation.

"What happened? I heard a crash but I don't see Yakko and Max- were you wearing that earlier?" Wakko tilted his head.

"It didn't work- Max apparently lives with really good prankers and what we did is considered 'tame'," Dot shrugged.

"Seriously? Ughhhh," Wakko groaned. "I guess that means we'll have to seriously step up our game..." he stroked his chin.

"Wait- maybe... maybe we shouldn't," Dot said. Wakko raised an eyebrow.

"But Max is taking Yakko away from us. We have to stop him," Wakko crossed his arms.

"I don't think he is... he seems really nice," Dot bit her lip.

"What? Are you insane?" Wakko accused.

"I'm not insane. Those pranks were mean and could've ended badly. Max seems nice- he says he wants us to trust him but doesn't know how," Dot defended herself.

"Then he should leave us alone and never come back! I don't want him here! He doesn't belong here," He growled.

"Wakko, stop. Yakko really seems to care about him, don't you think we should give him a chance?" She argued.

"Yakko is our brother. He said he'd never abandon us, but now he is and it's because of him. I have to stop him to make Yakko come back to his senses," He put his foot down.

"Just because he has a friend doesn't mean he doesn't care about us. Doctor Scratchnsniff said-"

"Of course you talked to him," he shook his head. Dot looked down in shame. She knew he didn't really like him, though she really didn't understand why.

"He just said-"

"I don't care what he said! I don't like Max! I will never like Max! He's taking Yakko away and if I'm the only one who sees it, I don't care. Leave me alone," He spat.

"Wakko-"

"I said leave me alone!" He growled at her. Dot stepped back, before realizing it was probably best she listen and leave him alone. She quickly left the room.

Once out, she sighed. Hopefully, she could change his mind before he did anything drastic... for now, she'd just have to wait.

Hopefully, it wouldn't be too long, for Max's sake.

Goodness knows where Wakko would go to next if painful chili powder was level one.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

#my fics #angelina 1 lives au #yax #dot warner #wakko warner #doctor scratchnsniff #william warner #sir william the good #yakko warner #max goof #goofy goof #yax epilogue #what did the powder interrupt *side eye emoji*#lol #sorry this took forever to write lmao #i was tired and brain dead

100 notes · View notes

kakiwrites · 3 years

Text

astronomy

Genre: angst

Hajime iwaizumi x reader

Warning: cancer, y/n death

Synopsis: when you get diagnosed with cancer, you wanted to spend what little time you had left completing your bucket list with iwaizumi.

a/n: blame @tendousfingerbandagess for this idea. I was just listening to conan gray's new song 'astronomy' then prompted this idea. I want to share my pain with you all hehehe! Let's get started.

"we found that you have acute lymphocytic leukemia…" were the first and only words you heard from the doctor before blood suddenly rushed to your ears.

You were rushed to the hospital by your boyfriend, Iwaizumi, when your very high fever kept coming back every few hours. Hajime sat next to you as the doctor broke the news to you, trying to comfort you by running his thumb over your clenched knuckle. He hoped to ease you into the harsh reality that was brought upon you but you couldn't feel anything then. All you felt was the piercing cold. You didn't know if it was a symptom of your new diagnosis or because of the news itself.

"w-well, can you still treat it?" Iwaizumi asked for you, squeezing your hand to attempt and bring you back into this conversation.

"we can but it'll be painful-"

"what if I don't want to be treated?" you suddenly chimed in. that caused Hajime to turn to you with a shocked expression. No. You have to get treated. He can't lose you.

"w-what are you saying, (y/n)? Y-you can't be serious." Iwaizumi let out a humorless chuckle, praying that you would laugh along and reassure him that you were kidding. But you didn't do that. You sat straight in the uncomfortable chair, waiting for the doctor's response.

"Well, though it is not ideal, we can delay putting you on the transplant list but that will lessen your chances to survive. Chemo therapy is also on the table." the doctor replied professionally, his clipboard opened on your file to take note of your wishes.

"I want to delay both as of now. I-I just need time to think…" your voice cracked. You wanted to be strong. To show your boyfriend that you could handle it and that you'll be okay. But from the looks of your face, how you trembled beside him, iwaizumi knew that it was the exact opposite of what you were trying to portray. The doctor nodded his head before he left you alone with a confused and distraught Iwa.

"why?" Iwa's voice was barely above whisper as his glassy eyes looked into yours in sorrow. He wanted you to live. He already planned his future with you. How you would have two kids running around the small house you two would purchase to accommodate your family. But now, he wasn't so sure if that same dream of his will come to life. The only thing he could do now was pray that you'll survive and live through this.

"I want to live my life, haj," you replied. You shot him a sad grin before you took a deep breath and spoke once more. "I want to live my life to the fullest before I grow weak and have to sit in a hospital room and wait impatiently for the small chance that I'll find a donor or see any big progresses." you let out a watery laugh. Damn, this was harder than it looks. "I want to live my last stronger moments with you." tears ran down your cheeks at the end of your little speech. You looked back to see iwaizumi's tears flowing down just like yours did.

Iwaizumi brought your hand up to his quivering lips and placed a soft kiss on them. "then I'll help you. I'll help you live your life to the fullest." he placed another kiss on your knuckle, a sign of a promise he was willing to do anything to keep.

"okay, I'm done!" you called Iwa. You placed your pen down and waited for him to pop out from your shared bedroom.

Iwaizumi smiled and sat next to you on the couch, reaching a hand out to take the slip of paper from you. You gave it to him willingly. "have a road trip around Japan, adopt a puppy, try delicacies in each city we visit, bungee jumping, and star gazing. Wow, it looks like we have a lot of things to do~" he said, wrapping his arm around you and bringing you closer as his eyes skimmed through the list once more.

You nodded your head in agreement. Iwaizumi explained to his team that he wouldn't be there as often because of your diagnosis. They all agreed that your health came first and that they'll be fine hearing his critiques on their forms and diet from home. Just like that, he already sacrificed so much for your sake. He now asked you to write down a small little bucket list you could do together before you decide to settle down and get better. He promised to help you live your life to the fullest after all.

"When do you think is the best time to start working on this?" he asked, waving the list in his hand. You shrugged. You didn't want to rush him into finishing this and risk burning your boyfriend out. This was his time to relax and have fun beside you. "We should get packing then!" he took both of your hands and pulled you up from your seat, causing a giggle to bubble up from your throat. You tilted your head when his words sank into your brain. Pack? Right now?

"You want me to pack? Right now?" you asked skeptically. Iwa chuckled before leaning in and pressing a quick kiss on your soft lips.

"because we're going on that road-trip tomorrow, you idiot." Hajime watched your eyes lit up with glee before you skipped into your bedroom and packed your shared luggage.

Even in the devastating predicament you were in, you didn't stop being so positive and happy. That was one of the things he loved about you.

"We drive through the woods

Rich neighborhoods to watch

We joked as we looked

That they were too good for us

Cause socially speaking we were the same

With runaway fathers and mothers who drank

A tale old as time

Young love don't last for life"

You sat in the passenger seat of Hajime's car, a blanket keeping you comfortable while Conan Gray's astronomy blaring through the speakers. Iwaizumi couldn't help but bop his head behind the wheel while you sang along.

"damn, your voice sounds amazing." he complimented, causing your cheeks to feel hot. Iwaizumi chuckled before he turned and parked in the wide parking lot of the animal shelter.

"wait! Are we getting the puppy now?!" you squealed excitedly. Iwaizumi clicked his seatbelt off and hummed in confirmation. You never got out of the car that quickly before.

Fortunately, this was only the beginning.

For the next few days, you traveled around Japan with your new puppy, iwaizumi named (y/n) Jr., went bungee jumping together, and tried delicacies in each town. you had the time of your life.

But fun had to end.

On the last day of your third week, you started to feel waves on waves of fatigue wash over you. You just wanted to rest with Iwaizumi but you felt like giving in was only admitting that you can't handle it anymore.

So you forced yourself to get up.

It was hard to hide things from iwaizumi. He was always perceptive, especially now. He was there to help you live.

He needed you to live. Because he knew that he wasn't anyone without you.

"you okay? We can rest today if you want." he asked worriedly, walking over and assisting you to a seat. He went into the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water.

"no, I'm fine." you replied, trying to reduce your shaking as you take the glass and chugged the water. You could only hope that your headache will subside soon. "do you have anything planned for today?" you asked, feigning cheerfulness. Iwaizumi glanced back at you worriedly before he sighed, flashing you a small smile.

"well, we have stargazing on your list so I was planning to do just that." Iwa sat next to you and stretched his arm over your shoulder. You giggled before you closed your eyes and nuzzled into him, wishing to store the last bit of your energy that you felt was seeping out at a rapid pace.

Iwaizumi could hope that it wasn't what he suspected. That you were just having an off-day. That you were okay, just like the last few weeks.

But that was all he could do. All he could do was hope.

The night air was colder than usual.

You pulled your thick cardigan closer to your chest and squeezed iwa's hand, hoping that his warmth would seep into you. Hajime looked back at you worriedly. "you okay? Dammit, we should've stayed home-"

"i'm fine, haji, it's just colder than usual." you lied, nudging him, telling him to keep walking.

You felt like you used up all of your energy climbing up the small hill where a picnic blanket was set-up on the very top, a small stereo playing Astronomy softly. You couldn't help but gasp in surprise. Maybe that wasn't a good idea, the lack of air in your lungs already making you dizzy. The gasp hid the shallowness of your breath from your already anxious boyfriend who helped you get settled on the blanket under the stars.

"just... Sit tight." iwaizumi took a deep breath before he stood in front of you, made a fist and pretended he was holding a mic as he sang along to Conan's soft voice.

"We've traveled the seas

We've ridden the stars

We've seen everything

From Saturn to Mars

As much as it seems

Like you own my heart

It's astronomy

We're two worlds apart"

He took your hand and pulled you up on your shaking feet. he got down on one knee then took out a velvet box. Your hands flew to your mouth. This can't be happening.

"(y/n), it might look like we don't have time but i know you can fight back and win. I can wait until then. So (y/n) (l/n), will you marry me?" he muttered to keep his voice from cracking. Your smile reached from ear to ear, nodding your head rapidly at a loss of words. Iwaizumi slipped the ring onto your finger and was about to pull you close into a hug when the unthinkable happened.

Your feet buckled under you, unable to support your weight anymore. Your breath was ragged and loud. You tried to suck in air to no avail. What was going on?

Your ears ring while black dots start to spread through your vision. The last thing you remembered was your now fiance's blurry figure in front of you, desperately trying to bring you back to him.

Cold. The cold just seeps into you, suffocates you until-

You woke up to the blinding lights of the hospital. Your tired eyes moved to observe the room. You felt someone squeezed your hand. You turned to see a sleepy iwaizumi slouched in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, his hand gripping yours tightly. Hajime jolted awake the second you squeezed his hand back.

"(y/n)!" he exclaimed in relief, bringing his head down and kissing the ring on your finger repeatedly. Little droplets littered your hand. Iwaizumi was crying. "i-i thought i lost you... You wouldn't wake up for days a-and-" he sobbed. You pulled him into your chest, letting him nuzzle into your weak figure.

That small reassurance that you still had that small fight left in you helped iwaizumi sleep that night.

It was only the beginning of hell for you.

For the next few weeks, iwaizumi couldn't do anything but watch as your once strong figure rapidly grew weaker by the day. He had no idea had to stop it.

He needed a miracle.

He picked up his phone, dialed a certain number and waited for them to answer. If iwaizumi needed a miracle, this was the guy to call.

Another week went by, you were looking out your window in boredom when your hospital room door opened. thinking it was another nurse, you used all your strength to crane your neck to look at the person who entered. Your eyes lit up when you saw Iwaizumi enter with the Argentina setter, Oikawa.

"tooru!" you cheerfully yelled. Oikawa immediately rushed toward you. The man was about to pounce on you but iwa came to the rescue just in time and pulled the setter away from your bed.

"what are you doing here?" you asked, wiping away the stray happy tears that accumulated in the corners of your eyes.

"simple!" oikawa said as he skipped back to the door and opened it to reveal matsukawa and hanamaki with an officiant. "i decided to provide a little bit of a miracle." You turned to iwaizumi who glowed pink beside you. Was this really happening?

Your little "ceremony" flew by too quickly for your liking. You wished you could just cherish this moment forever. How all of the former members of the volleyball team came in and gave their congratulations and told little anecdotes they remember about the early stages of your relationship, like the time hajime almost beaten up oikawa for flirting with you in high school or how iwaizumi accidentally hit you with his spike when he was staring a second too long.

The noise slowly died down to the beeps of your heart monitor connected to you. Iwaizumi sat beside you and kissed your hand once more. "we're officially married now." he whispered, not wanting to break the soft ambience of the room.

"yeah..." you leaned back weakly in your bed. A wave of fatigue suddenly hit you. Maybe it was because of the eventful day you've had.

"You gotta live through this if you want to enjoy our honeymoon." he joked, causing you to let you a soft giggle.

"i love you, haj."

"i love you too, baby..."

"We have a code blue!"

Iwaizumi shot out of his seat to be met by a slew of nurses bursting into your room. His eyes snapped toward your limp figure. No. Nonono. This cannot be happening. You were okay. You were laughing along with everyone. You were joking around. You promised to live, to be strong.

Why? Why did you let go now?

"sir, Please step outside of the room." a nurse said to him, hauling the trainer out the door and into the hallway. Iwaizumi dropped into one of the empty seats outside, burying his head in his hands. He prayed to every god he could think of, to spare your life.

But unfortunately, his prayers weren't answered.

When the doctor came out of your room with a somber look on his face. He already knew what happened. His tears silently flowed down his cheeks as his brain blocked out the doctor's voice, ringing growing louder and louder.

There was only one festering thought in his mind now and it was growing bigger the longer he stayed in that hallway. It kept nipping at him when he went back into the room to see your now lifeless body.

You were gone and he will never see you wake up again.

It all moved like a blur to hajime. Your family was as equally as distraught as he was. They offered their support to which Iwaizumi refused to take. At night he would imagine that you would come bursting into the room and cuddle with you and every time, he would feel tears prick his eyes when he would remember that it didn’t work like that.

The funeral wasn’t any better. Iwaizumi would acknowledge the typical condolence message here and there. He went out of his way to make his eulogy speech a bit more personal for your grieving family members and friends. He couldn’t stop his sobs when he watched as your casket got lowered into your final resting place. The pain felt unbearable.

He stood in front of your new and clean tombstone, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he held (y/n) jr. In his other hand. He let out a shaky smile, the smile he usually reserved for you. He was going to miss you.

"don't worry love, we'll meet again." he whispered hoping you would hear him one last time. It was going to be hard to move on but he’s going to do everything in his power to pull himself back up and come to terms with reality and maybe to keep your memory alive.

And that's all! This was a real whirlwind and I didn't really anticipate it being this long! Hope you guys enjoyed this! Thanks for @tetsunormous for getting mad at me for spamming and beta reading! Requests are open so please don't be shy to leave anything in my inbox! Love you guys 💖💕❤️

General taglist (don’t be shy to comment your tumblr @ below): @tokyoghoose @macaronnv @reogou @midnightangelfox @wumboho @seiijixcia

#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyu #hajime iwaizumi #iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi angst #kaki writes

91 notes · View notes

markleesthighs · 3 years

Note

Can you make a part 2 for “Forbidden Moonlight”? I’d like to see some gun fighting, some car chasing, some actual mafia jaemin action with the “I would die and I would kill for you!” kinda spirit? I mean the one who requested it has great theme ideas, it is definitely chef’s kiss and I don’t think it should be left off in just 1 part. We gotta know what the ambassador offered to jaemin.

-i'm on a break, so i finally got a chance to write it! I Sorry requests have been taking long, haven't gotten a chance to write in a while. I hope you all enjoy!

read part 1 here

You missed school for the rest of the day. You didn't even have a chance to explain your situation to Jaemin, feeling guilty. In your limo ride home your dad kept scolding and yelling to you about Jaemin. He went on and on about how stupid you were. To be fair, you had no idea Jaemin was associated with the mafia as well as your dad so you brushed off his comments. When you arrived home you didn't bother to talk to your parents as you stormed up to your room.

"There you are, m/n."

"JAE-"

Jaemin rushed to shut your mouth with his hand.

"How did you know where I was?"

"I have a tracker on your phone." "You psycho."

"But you love this psycho."

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought since you've had a pretty shitty day that you'd want to come with me to a drag racing competition."

"Jaemin, you know I'd love to but my parents-"

"God, have you never snuck out before? Just do the thing in the movies where you use pillows to make it seem like you're in bed sleeping."

"Fine."

You piled up your pillows and covered them with a blanket and added a wig to really sell it.

"Let's go."

Jaemin climbed down the lattice below your window that had vines growing on it. You rolled your eyes figuring that's how he got up here. You also saw the busted circuit breaker box, showing how Jaemin got past your tight security. Jaemin jumped over your gate and helped you up and over for your escape. He pulled you onto his motorcycle and you both rode off to the underground drag race arena.

When you arrived it was everything you imagined. Intimidating guys and girls left and right. The security stopped you (clearly since you didn't fit in with your preppy outfit) but Jaemin reassuring the guard saying you were with him. You were expecting Jaemin to be one of the top betters or backers behind a driver but Jaemin started to get changed into a racer uniform. Part of you was worried and Jaemin could tell.

"Don't worry baby, I've done this a dozen times."

You still pouted.

"And yes, I've won every time, and I'll win again for you."

He pecked your lips.

"You better."

He chuckled at your comment as he got into his car. You were standing among his mafia members will visibly worried.

"On your mark racers!"

You heard the loudest rumbling you've heard come out of a car, covering your ears.

"Get set!"

The smell of burnt rubber came towards your nose and the cars became even louder.

"Go!"

The cars sped off with a huge cloud of smoke blowing behind them causing you to cough.

"First time?"

A very tall handsome guy looked down at you that looked like he could tear you to pieces in a second. You nodded in response.

"You must be m/n. Jaemin's talked a lot about you, I'm Johnny one of his members in his...company."

"I know he's in the mafia business, you know?"

"Oh, well at least he told you the truth."

Your conversation was interrupted by the sound of the cars approaching you heard all the screams and cheers as you saw Jaemin's car approaching. But you also saw the other one not too far behind. It was intense watching the cars quickly approach the finish line, your heart was beating rapidly with adrenaline. Jaemin was leading before the other car caught up and they kept going back and forth it was causing you to have anxiety. But at the last second, you saw Jaemin pull ahead and crossed the finish line. You and the other members screamed loud cheering and hooting. Jaemin got out of his car and you ran up and hugged him.

"I was so worried."

"Aw, my baby was scared? What did I tell you I'm a professional."

You saw people exchanging money and people cashing out after betting on Jaemin, you assumed everyone bets on Jaemin. Suddenly gunshots were fired and you heard cop sirens getting closer.

"Fuck, which one of you called the cops?!"

Jaemin grabbed your hand along with the other members following you to the back alley where their motorcycles were. A few gunshots were fired in your direction and Jaemin blocked you from the shots. You saw a bullet hit Jaemin.

"Fuck!" "Jaemin! Are you alright?!"

"I'm fine, m/n, if it came down to it, I would die for you."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Can you two lovebirds quit it for one second!?" Mark yelled.

You hopped onto Jaemin's motorcycle as he sped up getting ready to leave. Johnny and others were yelling at him to go ahead and that they'll hold the cops off. Jaemin thanked them and you two sped off into the streets and onto the highway back to his house. Luckily, you both arrived safely at the house with Jaemin's guards being attentive. You sat silently in his living room awaiting the other members who were slowly trickling into the mansion. You saw the maids rushing to give Jaemin a first aid kit before he brushed them off saying he could do it himself. Jaemin was struggling to reach the bullet on the back of his shoulder and he was cutely trying to reach to remove it. You giggled telling him you could remove it for him.

"Are you sure m/n?"

"Yeah, I'm studying to become a doctor so don't worry. "

Jaemin stared as you remove the bullet from his shoulder as he hissed you apologized kissing his cheek. He looked at you stare at his shoulder with such care as you delicately dabbed his wound with rubbing alcohol. As he thought about it he never had someone who cared for him this much, most of them wanted him for sex, money, or reputation. You'd always ask him if something hurt and warn him about you stitching up his wound for him. You wrapped his arm up and you looked up at him to make sure he was ok and Jaemin looked at you with pure love in his eyes. He smiled at you and softly kissed your lips.

"God I love you."

You laughed "I love you too, Jaemin."

He kissed you passionately, leading your kissing to become faster and deeper. As Jaemin was about to take off his shirt, one of his members interrupted the two of you.

Jaemin groaned screaming "What the fuck is it now?! Can't you see I'm busy?!"

"It's Mr. y/l/n."

Jaemin immediately froze, got off of you, and basically commanded that you stay where you were. But you weren't about to miss a showdown between Jaemin and your father, so you followed shortly after. You eavesdropped around the corner of the entrance where your dad and his associates stood along with Jaemin and his associates.

"I know you have him. I want my son back. I don't need someone like you to ruin his future."

"Funny, because last time I believe you offered me a lifetime get out of jail free cards, airway travels, and millions of cash whenever I asked."

"You know that wasn't the deal Jaemin, I told you to leave my son alone for those offers, but you don't seem to hold up your end of the bargain."

"What can I say? Despite you being a complete dickhead, your son is quite a lovely darling."

"Well, would your 'lovely darling' like to see this?"

Your father pulled up a video on a laptop his associates were holding, it was Jaemin and his buds in a club, but you can clearly hear what they were saying.

"Jaemin, I heard you 'found the one' you lucky piece of shit," Johnny spoke.

"Yeah, he's been treating him to everything, it's funny how those lovebirds act around each other," Taeyong added.

"There's no way Na Jaemin found someone to 'settle with', boss you're basically a god, you can get whoever the hell you want." Jaehyun drunkenly spoke.

"I can't believe you got lucky with m/n, he's basically the ideal leverage we need to take this gang to the next level," Lucas said.

Your heart stopped, leverage? What the hell was going on? Jaemin was still silent at this point.

Ten then jumped in "There's no fucking way you're actually in love with m/n right? He's not even that good-looking."

"Fuck yeah, the only thing good about him is his daddy" Haechan responded.

"Don't worry guys you know the only reason I'm keeping m/n is so I can milk out m/n's daddy of his money like a cash cow," Jaemin spoke.

You felt the tears starting to pool up in your eyes as they silently fell down your cheek. Is this what Jaemin really thought about you? What the fuck? So all of this was a joke? You were just fucking money to him? You hated yourself for thinking Jaemin actually loved you. Your dad was right, you didn't need a liar and manipulator like him in your life.

After Jaemin's words were played your father's laptop closed.

"What's wrong, Jaemin? Why so silent?"

"You can't do this."

"Who's going to stop me, think about it, it's my word against yours."

"Blackmail is a fucking cheap way to get what you want."

"How else did you think I got to this position? Beating those who get in my way. Now got get my son, get him for me, or else I'll send this to him to watch for eternity."

"...Yes, Mr. y/l/n."

"Oh and for the future Jaemin, do not think about seeing m/n ever again. You know the consequences."

"...Yeah yeah."

You quickly scurried back to the couch and wiped your tears off your face. You pretended to lie down and be asleep. Jaemin shook you to wake you up.

"Hey, baby?"

"Jaemin? What's up?"

"You...you have to go..."

"W-why?" You said trying not to break in front of him. You gazed into his eyes, is this really someone who didn't love you? You can't trust anyone anymore.

"Your dad is a ruthless man, and he has leverage on me, it's something that will change the way you look at me forever. To spare you the pain, I have to let you go now."

"J-Jaemin...fuck you."

You got up immediately but Jaemin grabbed your wrist.

"m/n...just know that I still love you, I sw-"

"You're just a fucking liar, I hope milking my dad's cash cow was worth losing the person who loved you most."

Jaemin realized you heard everything and was stunned. He watched you walk over to your father who embraced you in his arms with fake responses saying how he was so worried and other bullshit like that. Jaemin ran out to the front in hopes of you turning back. He wanted you to turn back, he doesn't want to lose the love of his life. He didn't want your dad's money, he wanted you.

"m/n! Please! I'm so sorry!" Jaemin was crying pleading on his knees.

He looked up at you, the full moon was behind you, beaming through your beautiful hair, reflecting off your soft smooth skin, just like the first night he met you. But this image was different. The moon shined on your tears and the streaks that fell down your cheek. He saw you with endless tears as each drop sparkled like a crystal in the light. You looked down at him and slapped his face.

"Fuck you Na Jaemin, I hope this was worth it."

You hopped into your car with the moonlight shining through your window as you took one last glance at Jaemin. He was broken and defeated. No wish on the moon could save him now.

57 notes · View notes

whump-town · 3 years

Text

Cracks in the Ceiling

little hurt LOT comfort

my version of Route 66 bc how are you going to cut him open and give such minimal comfort?? like damn

Morgan’s tearing through the open case file in front of him, attention more or less on his teammates debating the case openly around him. His head is pounding, there’s this ache fixated on his right temple that no amount of Tylenol has managed to dull. If it weren’t for the pain he’d lean over and make Rossi aware of the fact that he’s 100% certain that Hotch slept in his office last night. He’s no snitch but this is the second time this week and it’s a pattern of behavior that has never been good in the past. It’s a behavior worth noting. For now, he decides to leave it. The others are gathering, filling into place, everyone’s mostly in their usual seats at the round table. He isn’t alerted or even too worried about Hotch standing rather than sitting, dark eyes darting over them. It’s probably nothing, Morgan shakes his head, not a big deal.

They jump into the work, Morgan keeps quiet. He’s got some things scratched into the margins of his file but he’ll bring them up now. Nothing worth stating just yet, not even proper observations but maybe Reid will have something to spitball. “--as you know, the amber alert is…” Morgan looks up, frowning at the sound of just how breathless Hotch is. As if he’s just run a marathon or taken down an Unsub by himself. Morgan looks the man up and down. The stark contrast of his boss’ pale face to the red of his tie. Morgan frowns, “Hotch?” He’s already on his feet, heart hammering, standing just as Hotch rasps an “excuse me”.

“Aaron!”

Rossi gets to him first. Kneeling right down on the ground, no reservations left for personal space. Anywhere else, anything else and it might have been funny. Rossi is so careful about himself. He won’t get his shoes dirty and he’s not putting creases in his pants let alone kneeling on the ground and risking wearing down the material around his knee and yet here he is. Placing a crease in his shoes at the toes and digging a knee in the, no doubt, filthy carpet. His clothes don’t matter, he’s paying them no mind as he calls Hotch’s name again. Begging-- “Look at me! Aaron? Aaron!”

It’s all snippets, no solidity.

Rossi’s rough palm, his skin radiating an intense uncomfortable heat against Hotch’s cheek. The rings on his fingers biting with their chilled metal, startlingly present in a haze of sensations he can’t name. All too much information for his brain, warmth and the chill, and how heavy his diaphragm feels as he draws in breathes.

Bright lights, rocking, and back and forth. White, bright white dancing from one eye over to the other.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

Drugs. He can feel them in his veins, thick as sludge crawling up his throat.

“Mr. Hotchner, can you hear me?”

Pulse is thready.

He’s not responding.

He can see Rossi-- it’s not worry pulling his face down, it’s hopelessness. A deep realization that he can do nothing, that he’s powerless and clueless. He can do nothing but sit there as the paramedics work, providing no commentary, having generally no idea what to do.

Starting lactated ringers.

Systolic is dropping.

BP is 90/60.

Systolic is his heart, which Rossi knows isn’t good. His blood pressure runs low, he takes medication for that. Maybe… Maybe he just didn’t take his meds this morning. That’s an easy enough explanation. No need to think the worst.

But the worst is what they get.

Foyet returned from the grave. Sometimes it’s like that man never really left. Hotch still looks over his shoulder, wakes up in the middle of the night thinking about him. Catches himself thinking like a trapped animal, reflexively isolating himself. It was only a few months but the paranoia is something he’s never been able to shake. He put his family at risk, lost Haley and Jack for months, and every time he was alone with a team member Foyet could be watching and if Foyet wanted to… he couldn’t even keep a serial killer from breaking into his home. He’s nearly lost all of them to serial killers, what’s he really going to be able to do to stop Foyet from killing them?

Back from the grave?

It’s like he never left.

Garcia approaches the bed slowly, put off by the stark contrast of the bags under Hotch’s eyes, and the intense pallor of his face. The only reassurance he’s even alive is the fog, the oxygen mask flushed with each of his shaky and choked breaths. “Sir?” She slowly reaches down and takes his right hand in both of her own. His hand is freezing, limp, and heavy in her hand. Lifeless. Even his veins look wrong, the colors aren’t right.

Settling herself with a deep breath, Garcia runs her thumb across his knuckles. Trying to draw some sort of stability, some consciousness to the madness buzzing around them. The hospital alight with all the wrong sorts of energy.

His head is turned slightly to her, lips parted as his breathing labors on. Leaving his lungs in harsh rasps. His left arm is curled limply around the light pink basin in his lap. It makes her stomach ache to imagine him alone back here, even if he wasn’t awake.

“Ma’am,” a nurse steps into the room, followed by two men on each of her sides. “They’re ready for him in OR 2. We’re going take him there now.”

Garcia nods, hands shaking a little harder than she’d like at the thought of him going somewhere she can’t watch over. This isn’t the same as the field. There she can hear what he hears. She’s right there with them but… “O--Okay,” she whispers, nodding tightly as she gently lays his hand back down on the bed. She looks him back over once more. Memorizing all that she can and biting back the emotion working up her throat. “Take care of him,” she says, letting out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “He’s really important to me.”

The nurse stops, ignoring the other two men as they place all the machines they can around and in Hotch’s lap. She squeezes Garcia’s arm gently, “he’s in the best hands.” She nods, a small sympathetic smile in place. “We’ll take care of him, ma’am. I promise.”

Garcia nods, “okay.” She has to trust them and she can do that. She believes in medicine. She understands it. He’s going to be okay. Eventually. Not right now but soon and she’ll stay with him for as long as she can.

“Hello?” She answers her phone on the second ring, her hands shaking so badly she misses the answer button the first time. Her eyes stay on Hotch, watching and struggling to keep up with the fast pace of the staff pushing him down the hall. Distracted enough to not even care that it’s Morgan calling her and that she should greet him with their usual luster. She just can’t find it in herself to conjure it up right now.

Morgan greets her a second later, a mind centered on just getting this case over with. He can’t think about Hotch. Can’t get distracted. “Hey, Baby Girl,” he says, pulling the phone back and hitting the speakerphone so JJ can hear. “It’s Morgan. How’s Hotch?”

Garcia really wishes she hadn’t worn heels today. The heels along with her much shorter legs are making it really hard to keep pace with Hotch. “He’s still out,” she informs him. Which kind of sucks. She’d feel really good right now if she’d just seen him awake. To talk to him. He’s always really good at calming her down. “They’re taking him to surgery.”

Morgan sighs, shaking his head. Damn, he’d really been hoping whatever this was to pass over as the flu. “Okay,” is all he says, hoping his disappointment doesn’t write itself all over his body. He clears his throat and tries to shake this awful feeling in his gut. “Alright, well, we need you to look through Samantha Wilcox’s text and email correspondents.”

Garcia nods her head, hoping what he’s saying actually sticks in her brain. She’d hate to have to call back and tell them she didn’t catch a word being said. Not after promising Dave, she would be okay to stay behind with Hotch. “Okay.” She agrees, “what am I looking for? Anything in particular?”

JJ’s voice cuts through and that takes Garcia by pleasant surprise. “She’s been in touch with her dad.”

Oh. Garcia thinks. That’s probably not good.

“And check vicap,” Morgan adds.

Garcia had seen the doors coming and the nurses and doctor’s throwing on scrub caps from down the hall. She’d seen them but she hadn’t thought this was where they part. Nervously, her eyes flicker over to Hotch. Maybe it’s better he’s not awake to see her like this. The last thing he needs is worrying about trying to soothe her nerves. “W-Why,” she stops as a nurse sympathetically directs her to.

She doesn’t hear a thing from then on. Her ears are ringing, words coming from the line but she doesn’t hear it. She just stands there. “They just took him back,” she manages. He’s gone from her sight. The hall is empty. It’s just her standing here.

For the sake of appearances she finds a seat in the waiting room, tries to manage deep even breathes. Remain calm. But Morgan’s request doesn’t take that long, he doesn’t even try to stay on the line with her. The conversation dies the second she tells him Hotch is in surgery and no one’s told her anything.

Out of boredom, unable to sit still a moment longer while her mind replays the pain of the day that it happened. Being forced to stay at her desk while knowing, while having listened as Emily explained the mess in his apartment. The tumbler shattered on the ground. Clear, composed Emily Pretniss’ voice trembling, the shattered glass in her throat. Not enough blood to know he’s dead but not enough to survive.

She goes to the gift shop to distract herself with the signs and clothes for expecting parents, for balloons that wish parents and grandparents a speedy recovery. So that she can stand amongst the aisle of teddy bears and t-shirts and exist in space and time that feels mute, feels non-existent.

She buys herself a sucker shaped like a heart and Hotch a teddy bear with a t-shirt that says “I love you” because he’ll pretend to hate it. He’ll hate the attention maybe but it’ll keep him company. After what Foyet did to him she gave him a troll, it’s all she had on her when was finally able to get to the hospital to see him. He was asleep by the time she got there, the doctor gave him sedatives. He got agitated after Haley and Jack left, tore stitches in restlessness. They set up a schedule, made sure he wasn’t alone after that.

She placed the troll in the palm of his hand, curled his fingers around it. He gave it back when he returned to work. She found it on her desk with a note, a simple “Thank you -H”. What a silly man, she’d meant for him just to keep it. She slipped it back into his go-bag the second he wasn’t watching. He got the message then.

It’s still in his go-bag.

The recovery room is filled with the sounds of heart monitors.

It’s good. Logically, Penelope Garcia knows it’s good but she’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Yet she’d fought rather bravely to get here, to be allowed someplace she should not be. Listening to the crowd of heart monitors softly ringing out the promise of ongoing survival, she feels hopeful. She’s not naive enough to feel safe.

She’d watched them extubate him. She’d stepped into the room a little prematurely, seen him attached to all those machines. Watched his chest rise and fall under the guide of the ventilator. Slivers of his eyes present as a doctor talked to him, guiding him through the process. He gags and chokes, still absent of mind as they move him. By the time anyone pays any attention to her he’s already back under the pull of the drugs. Asleep. They move him on the bed, settle his arms back to his sides and pull the blankets up to his chest. He’s no more than a body to manipulate.

“He’ll—He’ll be okay, right?” She’d seen the doctor extubate Hotch and her chest hurts at the sight of him. He’d been so limp as they pulled that tube out, coughing and curling into himself. Unaware of everything around him, he’d wrapped his arms around his chest. He’s as pale as the bedsheets he’s laying on and her protective streak wants nothing more than to gather all six feet of him up into a comfy blanket and cuddle his pain away. “Is he in any pain?”

The doctor clenches his teeth, taking a breath like he’s either uncertain or afraid to tell her the truth. He places his arms over his chest, “there was a lot of internal damage.” But he’s still chewing on what he’s really afraid to admit to, turning it over. Weighing the pros and cons— “We lost him on the table but—” panic strikes the happy blonde like a hand. “We got him right back, ma’am. He’s responding appropriately to the medication. Your friend is tough, his recovery is already coming along nicely.”

Garcia lets out a shaky breath. “Is there anything I can do? You know, until you move him?” They get hurt all the time and she tries really hard to stay objective, to keep coasting along because that’s always what the others do. Emily never loses her head and Hotch always stays in the field, takes care of more than his share of the work. So she can do that, she’s capable of that.

The doctor smiles, “yeah. When he wakes up, his throat’s going to be pretty agitated. Try to get him to drink some water. It’ll help later, make him stronger when the nurses come around wanting him back on his feet in a few hours.” He extends his hand for her to shake, “and I’m sure with you here, Agent Hotchner will make a speedy recovery.”

Garcia blushes and shakes his hand.

“So,” the doctor stuffs his hands in his lab coat. “Are the rumors true?”

Garcia frowns, tilting her head.

“Did he really…” the doctor’s eyes move to the man on the bed. He shakes his head, “was it really a serial killer that did all that to him?”

Garcia pulls in a heated breath, she’s an even-tempered woman. She’s not going to be hot-headed about any old thing but why would he even say something like that. With Hotch right there. Just as she’s about to lay into him Hotch mumbles something from the bed, turning his head and blinking heavily as he takes in the darkroom. She can’t make it out but he shakes his head and makes a clumsy pull at the nasal canal under his nose, trying to dislodge it. She throws the doctor a dirty look and moves to his side, calling his name. Garcia takes his hand, “what? What is it, sir?”

He frowns, tight. Grimacing as he swallows, adam’s apple bouncing as he shakes his head again. He looks at her, eyes drooping before his lips part, his mouth clumsily forming her name. He pushes at the nasal canal again, his discomfort obvious. “Is he here?” he rasps. “Foyet?”

Garcia curses that stupid doctor but she knows it’s not his fault. Old injuries and old scars. “No, honey,” she soothes, her thumb running over his knuckles. If he weren’t so high, so bogged down with the drugs he wouldn’t be so confused. He’d fuss over her endearment but instead, he leans closer. Turns his face towards her, trusts her. “Foyet’s long gone. He can’t hurt you. You’re safe.” The news seems to be surprising at first but she can see the moment he remembers. Foyet is dead. It puts him at some ease, helps but he’s still visibly uncomfortable.

She releases his hand, her heart breaking at the soft sound he makes. His panic swells as she steps to the side of the bed, going to the water pitcher. She pours a cup, holding it up so he can see what she’s doing. He shakes his head, making another clumsy tug at the oxygen canal and successfully moving it this time.

“Take a sip of this and I’ll bring you a strawberry milkshake later,” Garcia promises with a kind smile. “Come on, sir,” she urges. “One sip of water for your favorite milkshake?” She places the straw to his chapped lips and smiles when he takes a tentative sip.

He manages to raise his left hand, struggling to form a good hold on the cup. She lets him have it though, her palm just under it in case he drops it. “I don’t like strawberry milkshakes,” he rasps, sipping slowly at the water working numbers on his raw throat.

Garcia smiles, “I know sir.” She reaches up and lightly taps a finger against his temple, “I was just making sure they didn’t scramble your brains, that’s all.” She takes the cup back, noticing him slowly losing his grip, fighting the anesthesia still coursing through his veins.

He grins sleepily at her, eyes falling shut. “No more scrambled than usual,” he jokes softly.

She grins and takes his hand in her own, squeezing his limp fingers. “Oh, but that’s why we love you, sir.”

He nods, eyes shut as he slips back under the lingering anesthesia. “Garcia,” he mumbles, fingers curling around hers. “You don’t have to stay.”

She shakes her head, “I’m not gonna leave you back here all alone.” She looks around, he may be fighting sleep and will most likely spend his hour back here asleep but it’s creepy and she knows he wouldn’t leave her. “It’s kind of scary back here,” she admits and squeezes his hand. “And you wouldn’t leave me back here all by myself so don’t expect me to leave you.”

Hotch grumbles something under his breath she can’t quite hear but she takes it as his usual self-deprecating, overbearing nature sort of thing and lets it slip. “Get some sleep, sir.”

He doesn’t remember a word of their previous conversation.

A nurse comes in and they run through all the same old stuff. He’s given a pink bucket even though he doesn’t express he’s nauseous, still clutches it to his chest. Pink plastic rubbing against the surgical staples, he’s afraid breathing the wrong way will split him open. The morphine is making his head fuzzy, makes his dreams weird and his thoughts overwhelmingly rippled. But the world distorts a little and he sees Garica sitting there, all of the brightness in the world scribbling away on her notepad so that she can make sure he abides by every word they advise. He feels a little better with her here.

“Mmm,” he’s leaning into his side but he perks up a little when he hears the nurse say something about food. Tells them he can’t eat anything for the next forty-eight hours. His noise draws their attention, the first real reaction he’s had since this all began. “No milkshake then.”

Garcia frowns at him and then the nurse. She reaches over and squeezes his hand, “sorry, sir.”

He clears his throat, pressing the bucket harder into his stomach. “S’okay.” He really doesn’t care about that. The main concern right now is not throwing up. A battle that it feels like he won’t be winning.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

He cracks an eye open and knows that a good stretch of time has just passed. There are no markers for it within the room, the blinds are shut on the one window and there’s not a visible clock within his line of sight but intuitively he knows.

“I need to change your bandages.”

He nods, faintly able to recall this part of the healing from years ago. The constant monitoring, the bandage changes. Sucks. All of it. “Garcia?” they ask him if she can stay. He doesn’t want to do that to her but he also doesn’t want to force her away. “You don’t have to stay.” He finds her in the mix of people, around the sound of gauze being opened, and things shuffled around. “Take a break,” he manages a sliver of control. “Get some fresh air.”

She shakes her head.

“Garcia.” They’re waiting on his permission, to go on or kick her out. “Penelope,” he whispers, “you don’t have to look. You don’t want to.”

She frowns, standing to contest his nonsense head-on. “Sir, you’re one of the three most attractive men I know.” She stands there and dares him to say otherwise. He’s a good bit older than she is but she knows an attractive man when she sees one. She’s not blind.

He smirks, too loosely for it to be entirely of his volition and nothing to do with the drugs. “One of three, huh? That makes me the third?” She rolls her eyes and he waves her off, makes a motion for her to go. “Go eat, Penelope. Call Morgan. Get out of here.”

She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want him to ever leave her line of sight again but she nods and listens.

Morgan tells her everything with the Wilcox case went decently. They got the dad and the girl made it out alive. She tells him Hotch is awake, facing this new disaster with his usual stoic ways. They end the awkwardly, neither really in the headspace to play around.

He’s asleep again when she comes back. Gown askew across his shoulders, leaving his collarbones scandalously out in the open. Makes him look naked but she can’t look away. Under all those layers, suits that haven’t really changed in the decade she’s known him, he’s deceivingly pale. She can see muscle, the way it lays, and yet the soft corners of him. Years of fatherhood having worn him down in places softened him in others. He’s gained weight but this has set him back again and she realizes that if she’s looking at his too-thin body here then he’s lost weight before her eyes. How long has he been sick?

Visiting hours are over, she’s supposed to be making her goodbyes for the night. This sullen feeling in her stomach only doubles, makes her feel sick. She can’t leave him. Don’t they understand that? He’s in no state to be left by himself. “Sir?” she whispers. She touches his hand and he flinches.

His sleepy frown deepens but he hears her whisper for him again. He hums, eyelids too heavy to lift fully. “Mhmm?”

“I have to go,” she says. “Visiting hours are over.”

He hums again, nods.

She takes advantage of his current state leans down and kisses his forehead, hugs him while he lets her. “I love you, sir, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She takes a moment, his eyes still closed, to move his hair off of his forehead. “Are you okay? Will you be okay?”

He nods, swallowing thickly against the dryness in his throat. Facing the next few hours alone sounds miserable but he’s more than mastered the art of sleeping off stays in the hospital. It’s going to be a long night but not an impossible one.

“Oh,” she mumbles, “okay.” She moves to gather her stuff when she remembers the teddy bear. “Sir?”

He opens his eyes, just sliver but he’s there.

“I thought… maybe…” she places the bear in his lap. “To keep you company?”

He smirks, “thank you, Garcia.” There’s something about the way he rubs at the bear’s ear, softly and entirely content that gives her hope. He’ll be okay, she knows, but that doesn’t stop her from worrying. He looks up at her, that same lopsided grin she’s seen all afternoon. The drugs will wear off and she’ll be left without that smile again. Having to barter her way into sad grins instead.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she promises.

“Not until you’ve had breakfast,” he mumbles. “Eat first.”

She can’t help but smile even if she intends to listen. “Yes, sir.” So bossy. He’s lucky he’s cute or she’d have smacked him up the side of the head by now. She leaves, it hurts and she really, really doesn’t want to but she leaves.

He’ll be okay, she knows that.

And he is. There’s no good way to measure the day’s passing but a nurse comes in and tells it’s eight o’clock and that someone called the nurse’s desk asking for him, a name that came with a badge. Which confuses him but that really only leaves a small group of people, he assumes that means the team is back home.

It’s not them.

She gets there at nine o’clock and it’s only her badge and artfully mumbling something about Interpol that gets her back. They know he’s a federal agent and she’s betting on that. She’s always been good at poker.

He’s sleeping when she finds him, the only light in the room coming from the heart monitor. She wishes she knew how to read it, how to understand what the numbers mean so that she might be able to get a better grasp on the situation. All she knows is what Morgan told her over the phone but that seemed crazy. Hotch wasn’t even sick, Morgan said he was fine. Maybe a little off but he’s Hotch, he just simply is off.

“Emily?”

She steps into the room, following the sound of his sleep-disturbed voice.

“What’re you doing here?”

He’s obviously confused, frowning at her more than happy to see her. The morphine always gives him crazy dreams, he’s probably assuming that’s what this is. “I know I’m not your favorite,” she mumbles sarcastically, “but you don’t have to make it so abundantly clear.” With an eye roll, she sits herself down on the edge of the bed. For a moment, as his tired brain processes what she’s said, she fears what she fears every time she comes home-- that things between them have changed. That distance hasn’t made him fond but rather angry or has changed one of them so drastically that they no longer know one another.

He groans at her, shaking his head and grumbling her name in that bothered way he’s perfected over the years.

With a smile, she knows nothing has changed. He still manages to say her name like “leave me alone” meant to be taken as an endearment, an invitation to stay. “It’s okay,” she assures, tapping the back of her hand against his hip. “No hard feelings.”

He hums, not going to even bother with refuting any of her statements. That’s the beauty of their companionship, they never really have to say anything. That’s what she’s so afraid will change because she knows that if one day she comes home and he can’t read the “I love you” hidden in her sarcasm and the “please, don’t scare me like that again” in her playful proximity then that’s it. She can find the words for Reid and she’s always been able to suck up the physical comfort for Garcia or JJ but she just can’t with Hotch. She tried so hard after Foyet to be able to say something, to wrangle up comfort, but she just couldn’t.

But there was a moment, one night when the world seemed to be drowning in a rainstorm, that she woke up sick. His abdomen was still ablaze from Foyet’s attack, too fresh for him to be up and moving around. He’d followed the sound of her getting sick to the bathroom, making his slow way down the hall held upright by the wall. Moving forward only because stopping would cause him to fall. He didn’t leave her once he understood the noise just settled down on the ground beside her, back leaning on the bathtub. Neither said a word but she looked over at him and she saw all the comfort he couldn’t manage to bring to words. His worry etched across his face. She was supposed to be taking care of him and yet they’d ended up shoulder-to-shoulder waiting out a storm on the bathroom floor.

She has a fever-hazed memory of waking up with her head on his shoulder. A glass of water against her knee and the warmth of a heating pad against her stomach. No idea how he did it or when but they never spoke of it. Never had to. Somehow someone she can’t even manage to tell that she loves or that she even remotely feels concerned for turned out to be one of her closest friends. The asshole she once thought untrustworthy. He’s still an asshole but it’s one of those things that you just learn to look over.

Makes him interesting.

“So,” she says with a sigh, “you gonna scoot over or what?”

She gets another blanket out of a cabinet she sees in the corner of the room, distracts herself so that he’s certain she doesn’t see him moving. That’s what she’s talking about, there’s no communication needed. He can move himself over a little bit but it’s painful and he’s weak and he doesn’t want her to see that. She also knows he runs cold and won’t share his blankets with her. Loves her enough to share his bed but she’s yet to encounter someone he loves enough to share his blankets.

“What happened to your arm?” he can see it once she moves away again. A simple sling keeps it pinned to her chest, he assumes she’s either dislocated or been shot. Wonders why she didn’t call, why she didn’t tell anyone.

She sighs, he can’t see her roll her eyes but he knows that sigh and knows she’s done it even if he can’t see. “This prick,” she tosses the blanket on his legs as she climbs up beside him. “He kicked me, sent me down a flight of stairs.” He can tell she’s more embarrassed than hurt, which is good. She puffs out an agitated breath but despite this is very gentle as she gets closer to him. Hyperaware of the wounds she can’t see.

Her warmth is alluring, despite himself he leans closer, and she doesn’t say a word when his cheek comes to her shoulder.

“I’m okay, though,” she finally states. Moves some of her blanket over him, checks again that he’s comfortable. Which she assumes he is, or he wouldn’t be sleeping. “Clyde had given me three weeks off, told me to take a break. That’s why I came. I promise I didn’t take any unnecessary time off.”

He hums, appreciates this addition. She knew he would.

Her throat is sore where it catches the words she doesn’t know how to say. That she’s missed him terribly or that she loves him or that when Morgan told her what happened she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think or move. He takes her hand and she has to pinch her eyes shut so that she doesn’t cry and he squeezes her hand.

He’s missed her too.

He loves her.

He’s glad she came.

“Go to sleep,” she mumbles.

He hums.

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

The others come in at six, pilling into the room in dirty clothes from the day before and sore from the jet ride home. They’re too tired to speak, to do anything more than grumble and shove at one another to get through the door. As they pile in they take stock of the sight before them. Emily’s dark bruises, the black eye that the night had hidden from Hotch. Her hand still holding his. Hotch breathing, laying there entirely whole. Slowly returning to his normal colors.

They have questions, concerns to raise with both sleeping parties, but those can wait for a better hour.

They settle down in the room, squeezing together on chairs.

Morgan sees Hotch wake a little, a soft shift in his breathing.

“Back to sleep,” Morgan whispers, trying to keep the others from hearing. Hotch’s face pinches, mouth opening to ask the question Morgan already knows. “Everything went fine. Samantha is safe, no one got hurt.” He glances at Emily and shakes his head, “go back to sleep, Hotch. We’ll talk in the morning.”

And it settles once again.

Nothing but the soft sound of sleeping agents.

#criminal minds #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #david rossi #penelope garcia #emily prentiss

51 notes · View notes

unlocktxt · 3 years

Text

Only at Night | c.sb

choi soobin x reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1.7k

description: you and soobin live two separate lives, and need an escape. a silent agreement to live separate lives as soon as the sun rises.

warnings: none

note: something somewhat short, but sweet!

the clock never seems to stop ticking. the constant rhythm of each second from the clock was ringing through your head. it was never ending.

“just ignore it,” you mumble as your leg starts to bounce from underneath the table.

it was aggravating. you couldn’t focus and it was such a simple essay. you don’t get these easy topics anymore. at this point, you were convinced the question was mocking you.

where do you see yourself in the future?

this question had haunted you ever since highschool. through elementary and junior high... it was all fun and games. things weren’t so fun anymore. there was a constant pressure that you couldn’t ignore anymore. with your good grades, your parents expected that you’d be great as a doctor, but you knew it wasn’t all about the grades.

truth is... you are lost. you spent so long pretending to be someone else, trying to portray your family's ideals... that you lost track of what you enjoyed. so now... now you were stuck. you could only watch in envy as your classmates went on and on about their dream jobs... that were pretty realistic goals. some had known what they’ve wanted to be for their whole life, so why couldn’t you just decide?

without realizing it your shaking legs had become intense, the only thing snapping you out of your mind was the sound of the pencil breaking. your body relaxed after seeing how tense you were. with a deep sigh, you figured the only way to get this off of your chest was to go outside.

pushing yourself away from the desk you grabbed your jacket before rushing out of your room.

straight to the front door. no stopping.

you ignored your parents' attempts to ask where you were going. it didn’t matter anyway... you didn’t have an answer to give. as soon as the door closed you made a run for it. although the reason for this was because you wanted to go to your secret spot in peace, the thrill of running away and defying your parents was thrilling. you couldn’t help but think that this was what it’s like to live.

you heard so many stories about how your parents were basically delinquents. always partying, racing in the night, wrecking things, you name it. yet... because of this, it seems they never let you do anything thrilling. you understood how dangerous it could be and they didn’t want you to learn the lessons that they could just warn you about. as much as you tried to understand their reasoning... it just hurt even more. the point in life is to learn from your own mistakes.

pushing your thoughts away, you had let the wind overwhelm your senses. the chilling air felt amazing with the night sky above you. a smile crept up on your face as your shouting parents could no longer be heard. adrenaline was pumping through your veins and it felt so...exhilarating.

honestly, maybe you should run away from all your problems, it does a load of help. by the time you reached the hill behind a few closed buildings, you were out of breath. the adrenaline had probably worn off because you weren’t feeling as invincible.

your heavy breathing as you headed up the hill didn’t go unnoticed by the boy sitting at the top. he barely had to turn his head to figure that you weren’t a threat.

unlike the boy, you were pretty startled to see him laying there. you’ve never run into him before, so why now? then again you usually didn’t visit this place at night.

hesitated before turning around with your shoulders slouched. ‘i guess i could just go to the park.’

“you don’t have to leave, i was gonna head off soon anyways.” you heard his body shuffle against the grass, indicating his leave. you felt bad for making him leave early.

“no, it’s okay. you can stay... i shouldn’t be out anyway.” you turned to look at the boy just to make sure he wasn’t about to stab you or something along those lines.

when you met his eyes you swore your heart stopped. handsome was an understatement. he chuckled as he pulled his hood over his head and waved goodbye.

“w-wait!” you don’t know what enticed your body to stop him, but you didn’t mind it because it got him to stop walking.

he didn’t respond, allowing his stillness to answer for him. you could practically hear him say “what?”

“i don’t see why we both can’t just sit there. no need for either of us to leave right?” it was still silent causing your face to heat up from the embarrassment. “only if you want to of course.” you shouted... a little too loudly.

he finally turned around to look at you with his hands in his pockets.

“okay... sounds good to me.” he walked back up to the top of the hill to meet you. when he got closer you got a better look at him. his dark hair was covered by his hood, but you could see his soft features. his height didn’t go unnoticed.

after the two of you sat down, you tried minding your own business. the stars in the sky looked amazing and they reminded you of just how small your problems were... even so, they didn’t hurt any less.

“can i ask you something?” you turned your head to look at him, only to realize he was staring at the stars.

“go ahead.” you encouraged before looking back at the bright stars, trying to pick out which one was your favorite.

“why are you out here?” his question brought the silence back.

you debated whether or not to tell him. it’s not like it’s something all that bad, but you didn’t really know him... perhaps that’s the exact reason you should tell him. a stranger can’t spread the news to everyone you know.

“well... i had to get away. i just needed someplace to think without all the expectations...” you looked at him to see if you should continue, from his silence you assumed so, “i feel like i can be myself when i’m alone away from the world i know... away from the people i know. it’s impossible to feel free in a house that feels like a prison, so i thought the best way to think freely was to escape from the things holding me hostage.”

“that’s reason enough...” he finally looked at you instead of the stars. it was as if he was telling you that he acknowledged you as a whole, which was all you needed recently.

“how about you huh?” this time it was your turn to ask the question. it was only fair that he told you his reasoning.

he chuckled once more before looking at the grass, “it looks like we came here for the same reason. it’s an escape. my life tends to be a little upbeat... there’s never really a time to rest. i keep trying to live my life to its fullest at the cost of my future. it’s about time that i get my life on track and the only way i can think about this is when i’m here.”

you watched as he pulled at the grass. what he said... was kind of the life you wished you were living. maybe you could learn from each other... find the balance in the middle.

“fair enough.” you smiled as he met your eyes. at this moment there was a mutual understanding... mutual trust in some random stranger you just met.

the moment shattered right in front of you as soon as you heard your ringtone. you didn’t have to check to know that your parents were calling you.

“you should probably answer that.” he saw your hesitation and figured that it was indeed your parents. you felt as though this perfect moment was slowly deflating... and you were determined to keep it from doing so.

throwing away your hesitation, you committed to ignoring your parents. for once you didn’t think about the consequences and turned off your phone.

“not at all. this is me time right?” you shrugged as you put your phone back, letting your racing heart settle.

“i guess so...” he was silent. stuck in his thoughts. “maybe we could make this a ‘we’ thing. make it our time.” he suggested.

‘a, we thing’ your heart picked up its pace at his words. you wanted to seem confident. you wanted to get to know him better.

“should i know your name before this becomes a we thing?” you asked while attempting to smirk at him. the smirk didn’t seem to work because he fell over in laughter.

“...is it obvious i don’t flirt much?” you ask as you try to laugh it off as well.

he sat back up after taking a deep breath to calm himself. when he looked back at you his eyes were shining in the moonlight while he wore such a beautiful and true smile. “so very obvious, although at least you have the courage.”

“the courage?” you questioned. you’ve never considered yourself to be someone with courage.

“well...” he dragged on, “you did just admit to trying to flirt with me.”

your cheeks flushed immediately. his sly smirk caused you to look away because unlike you, he could, in fact, pull a smirk off.

“it’s soobin. my name’s soobin.”

soobin eh? easygoing and good-natured. fitting. you were just glad he changed the subject.

“well soobin it’s nice to meet you.” you made sure not to look at him again. perhaps you were trying to tease him by playing hard to get... or you were just admiring the beautiful stars.

“what’s your name?” he asked as he tried to subtly scoot closer to you.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you laughed, “i’ll tell you when this becomes our thing.”

soobin groaned as he fell onto his back to stare at the sky.

“so what exactly is our thing?” you laid beside him trying to pick out the brightest stars to choose from. the stars always seem to act as a distraction.

“two strangers relying on each other in the peaceful night. only during the night, so that we know there’s someone that knows us solely on the absence of everyday life.”

it sounded like a miracle, a fantasy if you will. he’d be the one person that could get to know the real you... the free you, the one without all the expectations.

“that sounds perfect.”

and that’s how it started. never sharing a second glance at each other as soon as the sun would rise. from then on the friendship that blossomed would soon turn into something more.

79 notes · View notes

heliads · 3 years

Text

One to Another

When Bucky Barnes arrives at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, he wasn’t expecting to meet an agent who had a similar past to him. However, their shared experience of being held by HYDRA will bring them together.

masterlist

Bucky surveys the room, his sharp gaze sweeping from corner to corner of the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters at the Avengers Tower. Agents are scattered about, conversing in hushed tones or doing their best to pretend they’re working on critical tasks whilst secretly checking out the two Avengers by the door. A motley crew, but S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been helpful in tracking down HYDRA, so Bucky bites his tongue instead of lashing out at them.

Next to him stands Steve Rogers, Bucky’s childhood friend turned overly patriotic brother-in-arms. Steve can’t help a grin at Bucky’s surly expression. “Okay, I know most of them seem a little young or easily distracted, but they’re not as incompetent as they look.” Bucky grumbles under his breath. “They had better not, or they’ll have wasted all of their funding on new recruits for nothing.” Bucky’s eye catches on a solitary figure in the back, poised against a wall. She seems to be the only one here who actually might know what they’re doing.

Bucky jerks his chin at the silent woman in the back. “Who’s she?” Steve sighs. “That’s Agent Y/N L/N. Best in her year, and probably all the other years, by far. Trouble is, her high standing caught HYDRA’s attention, and she got captured and tortured by them for a long time about a month or so back. Hasn’t really rejoined the rest of these chatterboxes since.”

Steve lets his words sink in for a moment, then, not wanting to linger on the unpleasant topic, claps his hands together. “Right, well, we have an interrogation to get through. HYDRA Agent Donovan is waiting for us in the holding block a few doors down. Oh, and L/N’s going to be joining us for the interrogation. She wants to see if he knows anything about the thugs who captured her.” Bucky nods once and the two men walk to the holding cell, joined by a silent Y/N, who falls in step next to them when they pass by her.

The holding cell itself is desolately empty, save for a chair with a man chained to it. There are strong restraints holding him in place, and the man himself looks as greasy and unkempt as a classic movie villain. Beside Bucky, Y/N’s gaze becomes steely the second she sees the HYDRA agent, evidently recognizing him.

Steve pulls out a manila file folder and starts addressing the man, occasionally checking the notes in the folder as necessary. “Robert Donovan, we know you worked for HYDRA for many years. Tell us everything about the October incident.” The man just laughs, showing his teeth. “You think I’m going to talk to you? I don’t waste my time with nationalist toy soldiers.”

The man suddenly stares at Y/N, a grin sliding over his face when he sees her. “Well, look who it is! If it isn’t Miss Y/N L/N.” He leans forward as Y/N remains silent. “You know, we got to host you a while back. Wasn’t that funny, that we had you there for months and months and nobody ever-”

The man is cut off as Y/N briskly pulls a gun from her hip and fires it once at his chest. The man slumps forward, and then does not move again. Y/N looks up at Steve and Bucky, taking in their incredulous stares. “It’s just a tranquilizer. He’ll wake up again, unfortunately.” With that, she strides impassively out of the holding cell.

Bucky moves to follow her, but Steve steps in front of him. “You don’t want to go there, Buck. She’ll want some space.” Bucky shakes his head. “I’ve been there before, a prisoner of HYDRA. I know how it feels, and I know that the last thing she wants is to be alone right after having to face the memories of what they did to her.” Steve gives Bucky one last questioning look, then steps aside and lets him pass.

Y/N is standing out on a balcony, staring out into the New York skyline. She doesn’t move when Bucky comes to stand next to her, just starts to speak quietly. “I’m surprised you came after me. Most of them want to avoid me. They’re too scared that if they start a conversation, they’ll have to face what they did to me.”

Bucky glances at her, then looks back at the view before them. “It was like that for me too, when I first became an Avenger. I don’t think I’ll ever truly be an Avenger, no one really trusts me enough for that. When I first started working with the others, it was like people wanted to make sure I was alright but maintain enough of a distance that they could leave without too much damage.”

Y/N sighs. “I thought I was fine. I thought I had a firm enough handle on things, but the second he started talking it was like I was back in the center of HYDRA control once more.” Bucky nods slowly. “One ex-HYDRA prisoner to another? It never goes away. You’ll always see signs of what happened, and you’ll always remember. The only thing you can do about it is try and move on, or take steps to make sure it never happens again.”

Y/N leans forward, folding her hands around the cold metal of the balcony railing. “I was afraid that was true.” She turns to look at Bucky for the first time. “You don’t really know the full story of what happened to me, do you?” At Bucky’s shaken head, she nods. “I’m not sure how many people really do.” She clears her throat once, and begins to speak.

“Everyone says that my capture was an accident, brought on by a squad of enemy agents storming my house or something. It’s not true-I was betrayed by my own fellow agents. I was working late at S.H.I.E.L.D. one night, and about a dozen of my coworkers were there. They were all people I’d known for a long time, and trusted with my life. The second there weren’t any witnesses, they swarmed me and knocked me out with some kind of chloroform. I took out a lot of them, but there were just too many and I wasn’t expecting an attack from my friends.”

“When I woke up, I was in a HYDRA facility. I was questioned and tortured for S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets for months. They placed a ransom for my safe return at the beginning of my stay, but no one ever responded to it. They knew I was there, and they knew they could get me back, but no one at S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it was worth their time. It’s a dangerous thing, to know their secrets, and I suppose S.H.I.E.L.D. thought it would be cleaner to just have HYDRA kill me rather than bring me out of there.”

“Eventually, S.H.I.E.L.D. broke into the building to rescue another of their agents, and happened to find me along the way. I hadn’t told a single one of their secrets, and had protected S.H.I.E.L.D. until the end. I wish I could say the same for them. Ever since I got out, I haven’t let myself get close to anyone here. I was captured by my friends, and I just keep thinking that it could happen again. Any one of these people in the room could be seconds away from bringing me back to HYDRA.”

She finishes talking, and Bucky stands there in silence for a moment. “Why did you go back to S.H.I.E.L.D.? You knew they didn’t protect you.” Y/N lets out a bitter laugh. “There is no retiring from S.H.I.E.L.D. Especially not after this. The only way you leave is with a bullet in your skull, either by your enemies or your higher-ups.”

Bucky lets out a low whistle. “You’re not alone, you know. We just met, but I want you to know you’ve got an ally if you want one. I don’t care how long it takes you to trust me, just know that I’m here.” Y/N lets a slight smile cross her face. “I think I already do trust you. Not even my closest friends know what happened, and here I am telling you, a man I met about ten minutes ago.” The two of them smile, and talk for a little longer before Steve calls them back into the interrogation room.

Later that night, Bucky is trapped in another nightmare. He keeps seeing the same scenes over and over again- the doctor, speaking to him when Bucky woke up for the first time with a metal arm. Being brainwashed. The last moments of consciousness before the ice froze his world into nothingness. Then, that feeling of losing all control and having to watch as he killed innocents, his own body slaughtering countless people all while he screamed silently from the darkest corners of his own mind.

When Bucky wakes up in a cold sweat, blankets thrown back around him, he still can’t tell if he’s in the nightmare or not. His heart is pounding, a pulsing drum that won’t stop echoing in his ears. Dazedly, he gets up, pulling on a light jacket and stumbling down the hallway.

He can’t go back to bed, too afraid of what he’ll see when he closes his eyes, and so Bucky slowly makes his way into the central living room of the Avengers Tower. He stares around him at the darkened room, which should be so familiar yet feels like he’s never seen it before.

“Come stand by the window.”

Bucky’s head flies up at the sound of the voice, but he forces himself to relax as he recognizes the shadowy figure standing at the far side of the room. It’s Y/N. Just Y/N. It’s fine.

Bucky walks slowly over to her, looking out at the city, which is busy even at these hours of the night. Y/N’s eyes flicker over him understandingly. “It’s better if you can see the city. It’s better if you can see where you are.” Bucky glances at her, confused. “What?” His voice sounds scratchy and exhausted, but Y/N just gestures back out the window before them.

“For the nightmares. When you wake up and you can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. When you look out the window, you can see the whole world before you. That’s how you know it’s not made up by HYDRA. No matter how detailed their simulations are, they can’t make up this specific view, or every car and person in this city. If you can see the world, and it looks right, you know you’re back in real life.”

Bucky lets her words wash over him in a comforting wave. She’s right. “Thank you.” He mumbles, and she leans her head against him. “Hey, one brainwashed soldier to another. We have to stick together, right?” Bucky lets out a hoarse laugh. “Who else do we have?”

He’s not sure how long they stay like that, his arm wrapped loosely around her and her head lolling against his side, but he does know that he clings to her like she’s the only thing in the world he can depend on.

#winter soldier #winter soldier imagine #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier imagines #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagines #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers x reader

196 notes · View notes

crowsent · 3 years

Text

tales from the smp: the village that went mad ft. salt losing his goddamn mind

“im jack. and. im a farm person, and i like p o t a t o e s”

starting the stream well i see. ponk coming in with generic potato boy and i love him for it

QUACKITY

“my name is helga, wife of badboyhalo” QUACKITY

karl: “bad, explain your character other than person that beats up their wife”

bad, immediately: “well, i do declare that my name is jimmy and im the mayor of this town”

and then bbh just fucking starts spinning around when hes asked what the name of this town is, theres a pause, and then he fucking hits us with “not a very good town, town” like BAD

this is why i love this man

this is why i fux with this man

he is unparalleled

but as much as i love bbh and would literally murder god for him, he still canNOT match the quiet theatricality of mr corpsehusband saying “im gonna turn around and itll all make sense” and then he has a fucking CAT TAIL

corpse “choke me like you hate me” husband is a fucking CATBOY ladies and gentlemen

hes a fucking catboy which further proves something which we already knew was true all along: furries exist in minecraft and are, in fact, accepted in society and treated no less differently than humans

this is why fundy and antfrost can just walk around without anyone telling them shit

this is why wilbur can fuck a salmon

corpse “catboi” husband paved the fucking road and drove down in a custom vintage jaguar so every other furry on the smp could fucking drive behind him in a second hand porsche

i salute you mr corpsehusband

truly amazing

miles memeington, connoisseur of steak and bob, “bob the builder” need no explanation

CORNELIUS COMING IN WITH THE BRIGHTASS NEON GREEN BODYSUIT EVERYBODY

GIVE IT UP FOR CORNELIUS

BEST RPER ON THE ENTIRE SMP

CORNELIUS GREENBODYSUIT EVERYONE

tubbo with the very cute ‘i am robin, i am an orphan child” being IMMEDIATELY ruined by karl sayin

“dont let technoblade hear about that”

i love this already

feed me technoblade lore. the man never fucking uploads so i have to get content adjacent to him

i wanna hear about technoblade the orphan killer. i want that backstory lore

and also i wanna protect robin the orphan boy because hello???????????

that skin???????

let me adopt you mr orphan boy

i love quackity just very casually going “my husband and i had intercourse” at the fucking TOWN MEETING BY THE WELL

truly

quackity’s comedy is unmatched

“hes into lots of weird stuff. he taught me this one thing called dunderhead”

and IMMEDIATELY someone (cant tell who, i have auditory processin issues) fucking goes “i DO NOT know this woman” and tbh if i were in that fucking town hall listening to my fucking weirdass neighbour casually lay out all her family secrets, id fucking say that shit too. id fucking disown this bitch as my neighbour. id fucking pretend she doesnt exist

imagine your fucking next door neighbour siddling up to you in the fucking w*lmart while youre just minding your own goddamn business trying to buy a fucking banana and your next door neighbour helga is dressed in a fucking bikini going “my husband fucked me so hard i couldnt walk” and even though you are clearly not interested and trying desperately to get away from her and her wackass gossip, helga goes ahead and fucking LISTS OUT HER HUSBANDS KINKS IN THE FUCKING FRUIT AISLE AT FULL VOLUME

id die

id just fucking die

id uninstall life right then and there

id pack my fucking bags and take a fucking extended vacation to guatemala and never return. id fucking change my goddamn name just to ensure that people never associate me with this woman.

thats what quackity is doing and i am very thankful this man exists and has given us the treasure that is helga

cOuLd iT Be iN ThE nAMe oF SaTaN???????? 🤔

karl

bruh

bustin out the fucking OLD conspiracies huh

“or could it be in the name of content on karls stream”

and hes just casually breaking the 4th wall too huh

kinda stealing techno “ill read donations in the middle of rp bc i need a distraction” blade’s go-to method there huh

its fucking funny tho. hes narrating this all serious-like but then he just goes “content on my stream uwu” and unrepentantly shatters that suspension of disbelief (in a good way)

but it wouldnt even matter bc apparently, satan and karls content have no difference

does protection exist in the smp? im worried for helgas health

the woman visited 3 different fucking houses in one night

i love how the rp just stops dead in its tracks around the campfire

no one was using any of the names

corpse was out here calling everyone by their actual names and not the names of their characters

this might just be bc im a pathological liar whos seen and heard shit but

i love him but

i mean

bbh cant lie

the man cannot lie

his voice is off, pitch wrong, tone sus

he is deffo a murderer

being accused of something hes not would make a person defensive/angry and bbh is not either

the man is LYING

and his argument/defense was LITERALLY tubbos

man cant lie

send this murderer to hell

tubbo can lie, but imo hes not. his voice is the voice of a person whos telling the truth

man is legit the doctor

a doctor who chose to fucking lay on the LORE

father killed in the red-eyed village wars????? mother taken from a young age?

motherfucker brought the LORE

motherfucker brought the SOB STORY

motherfucker legit said “here is my canonical in-character reason for being a doctor fuck you”

and honestly

what is bads defense?

karl asked if the town should kill an orphan over a mayor and there is legit no right answer to that

there is no good rebuttal

so bad straight went “you make a great point. just execute me”

amazing

10/10

idk who said it but “orphans just suck up resources” whoever you are i love you

i was eating my chips in peace but then i almost choked

thank

I FUCKING KNEW TUBBO WASNT THE MURDERER

his voice did not match

my bets on fucking ponk

its fucking DREAM

DREAM MURDERER

my respect for this man

motherfucker

shouldve known

he was kinda quiet at first but then he suddenly started talking a lot

son of a BITCH

gg dream

round 1 wasnt very rp heavy but

i can excuse that

who in the FUCK is making choking donald duck noises

who

bbh got a new skin cool

WHO IS MAKING THE CHOKING DONALD DUCK NOISES

corpse, about dreams death: “they killed him in front of me”

the town: “who was it corpse?”

ladies and gentlemen corpse, without a moments hesitation: “im also blind”

so the murderer is deffo not corpse. deffo not tubbo. probably not lazarbeam probably not bbh

that leaves quackity, george, and ponk

MY PARTNER WAS KILLED

i knew corpse was a catboi but i didnt know that mr dream “i went on a date and almost married a fox” wastaken partnered with a fucking catboy

what is this

dnf is out, dream corpse is in /j

bruh

MY PARTNER WAS KILLED

bro

the tragedy

CALM DOWN WENCH THE BOY DID NOTHIGN

CORPSE

STOP

CORPSE

standing up for tubbo like that

corpse

please

my heart cannot handle this

okay so its deffo not corpse and tubbo. most likely not quackity after that fucking disaster at the campfire. probably not lazarbeam or bbh. still think its george and ponk

CORPSE

he got executed trying to console tubbo who legit WENT IN THE PRISON TRYING TO LOOK FOR HIM

BRUH

WHAT THE FUCK

TUBBO

technically its robin but

TUBBO

he lost his father so quick what the FUCK

i will murder god for robin

the little shaking head he does after corpse got killed. going completely silent as he lost the one family he had left.

bruh

robin bby no

I KNEW HE WASNT THE MURDERER

tubbo

im sorry

I KNEW IT WAS PONK

was wrong about lazarbeam/george tho

bruh

what the fuck

tubbo/robin honey i am so so sorry

catboi corpse i am so so sorry

#tales from the smp #dsmp #salt liveblogs

99 notes · View notes

notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Likeability

(GN!Reader x Spencer Reid)

A/N - I’ve rewritten this thing like six freaking times but oh well - I hope it at least goes over better than the last - please be gentle

Summary - The team meets a very dislikable scientist that Spencer seems to fancy

W/C - 2.8k

Warnings - brief anatomy/bones/etc mentions (our scientist is a forensic anthropologist-ish) & a dash of swearing

Important! - this is the FIRST ending and the alternative ending that you’ll like a lot more will come along in the next day or so