#i hear what sounds like a cop car and hold my hands up because prison is better than being dead

[miss-nadias]

had a dream I murdered 3 people it was cool

#idk why but i was japanese and I was at some big building with a bunch of other folks #we're waiting for some form of entertainment and i piss off 3 bullies in some vaigie situation involving snacks #so they get pissed and try to kill me #i somehow manage to not only fight them off #but i cut off their hands as their attacking me and escape through a bathroom window #im on this soft green netted awning and i make my way down onto the ground as i act like nothing happened #i hear what sounds like a cop car and hold my hands up because prison is better than being dead #but it was just an ambulance so I awkwardly walked back into the building #a few people looked at me weird but didnt say anything so i just walked back inside and continued my day #there was this weird puppet thing in the walls i could've technically escaped through btw #but it was creepy as hell and there was a good likelihood that i would die painfully cause it was dark and there was metal and big gaps #between the hunks of metal #anyways i make my way back into the building but i go a bit deeper inside #there's two massive openings to what looks like the same room #ant man is on one side and iron man is on the other side #because im me I don't hesitate before i go to Tony #he briefly if distractedly talks to me and asks me some question about being black/nonblack without a friend #i tell him im japanese with maybe 1 friend but then say something along the lines of I'd be mexican with 0 soon #this was my way of trying to tell him i was almost definitely wanted for murder and would be arrested any minute #but he didn't seem to process the statement #meanwhile the police have entered the building and search the two massive crowds that came to sit and look at two superheroes do nothing

[arrowflier]

if you still taking prompts, I wish you could write something about... since Ian's always over-worrying about Mickey's safety, what if he gets a call saying something happened to his husband? maybe Ian's freaking out thinking Mickey could be locked again or hurt so he runs to get him? Thank you!!

Spoiler alert--nothing bad actually happens to anyone in this ficlet.

--

Ian is at Whole Foods when the call comes.

They usually go together, Mickey whining about rich privileged fucks and overpriced organic shit but coming anyway to, and he quotes, “make sure you don’t drop our whole paycheck on fuckin’ tomatoes this time.” But Mickey had begged off today, claiming he didn’t feel up to “dealing with those judgmental dicks at the checkout actin’ like cash is fuckin’ dirty”, and Ian hadn’t pushed.

Now he’s wishing he had.

“You need to come now,” Sandy is saying into his ear, voice tinny and thin through the cheap speakers of his second-hand phone.

“Where are you?” Ian asks her numbly. He kneels down on autopilot, picking up the now-bruised oranges he had been holding when she greeted him with the words, “hey, it’s Mickey.” The tile floor is as unforgiving on his knees as it was on the fruit. He turns one of the oranges over in his hand. He had been planning to make Mickey fresh orange juice with that later.

“That little corner store by your apartment, you know it?” Sandy is asking him.

Of course he knows it. That’s were they run to in the middle of the night when they run out of lube, or beer. Where Mickey bought him flowers once and tried to pass it off as an error by the cashier, until Ian found the receipt in the bottom of the bag. Where they take Franny to pick out candy every other Friday when they pick her up from school.

“Yeah,” is all he says. “I know it.”

Then he’s hanging up, and running out of the store, leaving an overturned basket and the handful of oranges on the floor in his wake.

His heart is pounding as he runs toward home. Not toward the apartment—toward Mickey.

His heart is pounding and his legs are churning and his feet are slapping the pavement with every step, chest aching to force air into his lungs. But his brain is moving faster.

He doesn’t know what happened. He should have kept Sandy on the line longer, gotten more of the story, but it only would have slowed him down. But he doesn’t know if Mickey is hurt, or in trouble, or in danger of being carted off to prison again for daring to live his life on parole.

And Ian’s mind has never exactly been his greatest ally to begin with, so it’s no surprise that the scenarios it comes up with as he runs aren’t exactly comforting.

As he rounds a corner, narrowly missing an old woman and her shopping bags, he pictures Mickey injured, collapsed on the floor of the shop, like back at the Kash and Grab when they were just kids. He won’t let anyone near him like that, no one but Ian, and he’s bleeding out onto white tile waiting for his husband to save him.

Crossing the street between cars and ignoring the honks, he pictures Mickey backed into a corner by his father’s cronies, refusing to look for an escape as Sandy frantically tries to call for help. He still doesn’t know how to back down, would never back down from men like that, would never let them take what they have and try to turn it ugly. He’d held a gun to his own father’s face, more than once, but thanks to Ian he didn’t even have one now.

Approaching the shop, finally, only to see the familiar red and blue flash of police cars, he pictures Mickey cuffed to the counter inside, glaring at the officers and spouting curses to the questions they ask. Knowing that despite living clean for over a year, they could take him in any time they wanted, with no more evidence than his last name and his rap sheet.

Ian dashes across the last street, desperate now, only to come to an abrupt halt as soon as he’s close enough to take in the scene.

Because there’s Mickey, all right. Not hurt, not cornered, not arrested.

But stuck.

Ian’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and he bends over, hands on knees, to catch his breath and his heart. Mickey is whole, and healthy, and right in front of him. Well, in front of him and up a little, pacing along the edge of the single-story shop roof.

“Hey!” Sandy calls out from the entrance of the store. Ian keeps his eyes on Mickey, who starts at the sound and looks down, gaze quickly finding Ian. He grimaces when he sees him, and starts pacing faster.

“Uh, hey Sandy,” Ian manages, finally looking to her just long enough to take in her shit-eating grin before he’s back to watching his husband. “What exactly is happening here?” The question might come out a little unhinged sounding, but sue him, he’s allowed.

Sandy comes up next to him, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she joins him in observing the roof. “Apparently,” she tells him, voice raised enough that Mickey can probably hear, “Mickey here got robbed.”

Mickey can definitely hear, if the finger he throws up toward them is any indication.

“Robbed,” Ian repeats faintly. “On the roof?”

Sandy snorts. “No, you moron, in the store. Some kid swiped his bag on his way out, then went up the maintenance ladder. Mickey followed, but,” she shrugs. “Little fucker started jumping rooftops, and Mickey couldn’t keep up.”

“Uh huh,” Ian says, nodding once. “Okay. So why hasn’t he come back down?”

“Ladder broke,” Sandy offers, and Ian closes his eyes.

“The ladder,” he parrots. “Broke.”

“Yup,” she says, popping the P.

“And your first thought,” Ian continues, “was to call me, and tell me that Mickey was in trouble, giving me a heart attack in the middle of the fucking grocery store, instead of finding another one?” His voice rises until he’s nearly yelling, and when he opens his eyes, Sandy is wincing.

“Um,” she answers. “Sorry?”

Ian just sighs, deflating immediately.

“Mick,” he calls up to his husband.

The response he gets back isn’t even addressed to him.

“The fuck did you call him for?” Mickey shouts down to Sandy instead, finally stopping his incessant pacing. “It was supposed to be a fuckin’ surprise!”

“Well, I am surprised!” Ian yells back. “Thought you didn’t like heights?” That just earns him a middle finger, as expected.

“Why aren’t the cops helping?” Ian asks Sandy at a normal volume, but Mickey catches it and responds before she can.

“Cops ain’t here for me,” he grunts, rubbing at his nose and looking to the side. “Shopkeep called ‘em about the burglary, they got the kid ‘round the other side of the building.”

“What did he steal, anyway?” Ian questions, but Mickey goes silent.

Sandy tells him anyway. “He had a big order come in,” she whispers to Ian. “Told me all about it, had me come help pick it up. Something about some fancy booze and chocolate you like?”

Oh. Ian’s heart, now recovered from its scare, warms.

“Come on, Mickey, come down,” Ian cajoles. He wants to hold his husband.

“Oh, brilliant fuckin’ idea man!” Mickey rants. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He pretends to think for a second, then adds with an overdone gesture, “Oh yeah! Cause I don’t wanna break my fuckin’ neck!”

“It’s one story, Mickey,” Ian points out. “I could probably reach the gutters if I jumped.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us are giant gangly fuckers like you!” his husband shouts back.

Ian rolls his eyes.

“I meant,” he says slowly, “that if you hang down off the edge, I can reach you, dumbass.”

Mickey is silent at that, then promptly sits and scoots so his feet are hanging off the roof.

All the warning Ian gets is “don’t drop me, fuckhead,” before Mickey is sliding down right into his arms, sending them both stumbling backwards until Ian regains his footing.

They stay like that, pressed together from knees to chest, Ian’s arms around Mickey’s waist and Mickey’s looped around his neck, until Sandy coughs from behind them.

“Adorable,” she drawls, and they both flip her off this time. Ian hold Mickey tighter instead, and kisses his hair.

“So,” he whispers into Mickey’s ear, “Sandy scared the shit out of me about this.”

Mickey just hums into his neck.

“I think you might need to make it up to me,” Ian adds. “What’s this I hear about a surprise?”

Mickey pulls back just enough to scowl at him. “Surprise got pinched,” he mutters. “Evidence now or something, greedy pig bastards.”

Ian grins. “I’m sure you can think of something else,” he muses, shifting to that they’re side by side, and starting off in the direction of their apartment. He waves over his shoulder at Sandy, a clear dismissal. “You’ve never lacked for ideas before.”

Mickey sighs, but leans into him as they walk.

“You’re gonna make me buy you fruit again, aren’t you?” he asks, resigned, and Ian thinks of the oranges he had left at the store, and the tomatoes that Mickey liked to tease him about.

“Maybe,” he answers, and smiles all the way home.

#this was a fun one #but for once I had no clue how to end it #daily speedwrite #fanfic #gallavich #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #sandy milkovich #dramatic but silly

[milkiane]

photo booth picture

pairings: peter maximoff x reader

warnings: strictly follows the events of DOFP at the beginning, mentions of food

word count: 2193

note: ‘twinks’ is your nickname for each other. for @peterssweetpea and @sunflowergirl522 because i love the both of u to the moon and back <3

“how does the breakfast club sound to you, twinks?” you asked your best friend, flipping through the movie catalog of the newspaper.

he scrunched his nose up, “ehh,”

“oh, come on, pete,” you groaned, letting the paper fall on your face, “you’ve protested to every movie that’s showing in the theaters.”

“you know we could just go to new york in like a span of a minute to look for a great movie.” he shrugged, “or watch a production of that chick flick you’re waiting for,”

“i- wait, actually, that sounds like a great plan,” you grinned, sitting up.

but before you could even say another word, he shushed you and sped out, and back with a box of popsicles. he dropped it on your lap and went back to playing table tennis with himself.

“peter!” magda called out, “the police are here,”

“what? did they immediately know that you stole these?” you asked, unwrapping one.

“... again.”

“nope, and they’re not cops. i checked,” he said.

footsteps were heard as three men went down the stairs, you looked at them suspiciously but didn’t say a word.

“what d’you guys want? i didn’t do anything,” he said, before speeding around and sitting at the couch from behind them, “i’ve been here all day, ask her.” he nodded towards you, letting the tennis ball fall on the floor.

the three men looked at you, you waved your hand and smirked.

“just relax peter, we’re not cops,” one of them said, completely ignoring your existence.

“‘course you’re not cops, if you were cops you wouldn’t be driving a rental car,” he retorted, making you laugh.

“how’d you know we’ve got a rental car?” the long-haired brunette asked, you shook your head in disbelief, continuing on eating your popsicle.

“i checked your registration when you were walking through the door,” he said, “i also had some time to kill so i went through your rental agreements, and saw you were out of town.”

“are you the fbi?” you asked, peter looked at you and you nodded at him.

peter took the hint and sped around them, time slowing by as he did. he went through the scruffed man’s wallet, hoping to get some money while he’s at it, but instead of money, he saw a folded envelope with his and your name on it. the handwriting was yours, which confused him because as far as he was concerned, the both of you didn’t know who these men were.

he looked at your frozen states before pocketing it and grabbing the next guys wallet, “nope, you’re not cops,” he swiped through it and grabbed the crumpled card, “hey, what’s up with this gifted youngster’s place?”

“that’s an old card,”

“he’s fascinating.”

“he’s a pain in the arse,”

“what, a teleporter?”

“no, he’s just fast,” one of them said, “and when i knew him he wasn’t so… young,”

you looked through his mind, seeing all his emotions, his memories, and his crowded mind. he isn’t from here.

peter sat beside you on his bed, eating his popsicle as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “young? you’re just old,”

you snorted before staring at the man whose name you found out was logan, “what’re you doing here, logan?”

the three of them blinked at you, finally acknowledging your presence. he spoke up, “you know what i’m here for,”

you squinted your eyes at him, trying to go deeper into his mind.

“stop entering my mind, y/n,” he growled, he knew that if you went in any deeper, he’d lose connection with the future.

“a telepath?” charles asked, looking at you with wonder.

“and a time traveler, creating portals to anywhere and anytime,” logan groaned, rubbing his head.

“so you’re not afraid to show your powers?” hank asked.

“powers? what powers?” peter furrowed his eyebrows, turning to look at you and ask, “do you see something strange here?”

“nothing anybody would believe if you told them,” you quipped, grinning as peter used his powers to speed over his pacman.

“so, who are you? what do you want?” he asked, eyes focused on the game.

“we need your help, peter, y/n,”

“for what?” you asked, sitting up straight.

“to break into a highly-secured facility,” he sought, “and to get someone out.”

“prison break? that’s illegal, you know.” he retorted, hands still aggressively pressing and pushing on buttons.

they looked around the basement, observing peter’s stolen stuff.

“what’s in it for us?”

“you, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the pentagon.”

this piqued both our interests, peter stopped playing the game and faced them. you sighed, creating a portal and appearing in front of them, “how do we know that we can trust you?”

“because we’re just like you,” he answered. you knew that he meant they were mutants like you, but if peter’s in, then you are, too.

“show him,”

slowly, sharp claws of bones started to appear in one of logan’s hands. you grimaced, turning around to wear your sneakers.

“that’s cool, but it’s disgusting,”

as soon as you’ve got everything settled and planned out, you and peter got into action. you waited in the elevator for the assigned guard as the others went on their ways.

peter messed with him as soon as he got in and grinned, getting the duct tape out. you immediately wrote a note and stuck it on the food tray.

peter went out, uniform-clad and the tray in hand. you sat on the floor, looking at the guard who’s been duct-taped against the wall, “so, you come here often?”

he started muffling out words you obviously couldn’t understand so you blinked at him, “what was that? oh, yeah, you’ve got tape on your mouth,” you hummed, feigning sympathy as you stood up, hearing the glass shatter.

in a blink of an eye, peter and erik, who looks like he’s going to be sick, appeared. peter immediately changed back to his clothes you handed back.

erik looked at you, and you smiled, “it’ll pass, it happens to everyone.”

“you must’ve done something serious,” peter commented, “what did you do? what’d you do? what’d you do?”

you ignored the annoying remarks of your best friend and offered the man a comforting look, “why did they have you in there?”

“for killing the president,” he muttered.

you and peter exchanged shocked looks, “shit!”

“you take karate? you know karate, man?” peter asked, doing some hand motions. you rolled your eyes, wondering why you couldn’t go watch a movie like the both of you had planned instead.

“i don’t know karate,” he groaned, “but i know crazy.”

“they told me you control metal,” peter said, looking at him curiously.

“they?” he asked, looking at you and peter worriedly.

you just shrugged, but peter didn’t stop talking, “you know, my mom once knew a guy who could do that.”

your eyes widened, looking back and forth from erik and peter, but before you could even go into his mind and see if he and your best friend are related, the elevator doors opened.

“charles?” he faltered, but before he could say anything else, charles gave him a right punch on his face, making him stumble, “good to see you, too, old friend… and walking.”

you shook your head in disbelief, waiting as the two of them bickered like an old married couple.

you leaned into peter, and whispered, “can you feel the sexual tension, too?”

“definitely,” he snorted, watching as the events unfold.

the shouts of the guards snapped you out of thought, “nobody move! hold it right there!”

“charles,” erik began. all of you stepping out of the lift as more of them slowly came in. peter moved you from behind him, you calculated each of their moves. you knew that you wouldn’t handle them all at once, especially if you haven’t fully controlled your powers.

“don’t move, hands up, or we will shoot!”

“freeze them, charles,”

“i can’t,”

you grabbed peter’s walkman, and carefully placed it in his hold as erik manipulated the metals around you.

in a millisecond, the guards are down and the bullets were away from you.

you smiled, making your way towards him and giving peter a high-five, “great work, twinks,”

he blushed, but a small frown on his face as charles and erik walked out without acknowledging him. logan smirked, patting him on the back, “thanks, kid.”

“c’mon,” you wrapped your arm around his waist, “how about that movie, now?”

as the rest of them boarded into the jet, you leaned against the car.

“peter, y/n, thank you very, very much,” charles said courteously, shaking peter’s hand, “you take care.”

charles looked at you and smiled, “do me a favor and return it for me,”

you grinned, catching the keys and going in the driver’s seat, “sure thing, charlie,”

peter scoffed in disbelief as you started the car, revving the engines to spite him.

“maximoff,” logan called, he patted down on his pockets for the envelope, but then realized that he’s got what he needs already, “open it with her, alright?”

peter blinked, “oh- uh yeah, sure,”

“come on, peter!” you beeped the car, and teased him, “mcdonald’s may be open 24/7, but i’m not willing to wait for you that long,”

“and peter?” logan added, “take it slow,”

peter chuckled, shaking his head as he got in the passenger’s seat. you waved goodbye at them and started to drive off.

“play some music, i’ve always wanted to sing obnoxiously loud in the car with you,” you said, flicking at the turning signals.

he connected the aux to your ipod and pressed shuffle play on yours and his playlist, another brick in the wall, pt. 2 by pink floyd started playing.

the both of you sang along (quite horribly), as you rolled down the windows, acting as if you didn’t just break into the pentagon, as if it was just the two of you and the rest of the world— how it should always be.

you lowered the volume, ordering by the drive-thru, and carefully parked the car.

you fiddled with the keys, turning the engine off but letting the music play as peter grabbed the takeouts and hopped on the hood of the car, you not too far behind.

you took a bite of your fries, and spoke up, “i know i’ve said it before but i really do think that you did amazing out there.”

he chuckled, “thanks, twinks. you did, too,”

“please,” you scoffed, “i barely did anything but be the moral support and the comic relief.”

he turned to look at you, but you were just watching the cars drive past you, “i don’t think i would’ve been all superhero-ey without you there, y/n,”

you smiled, “well, what kind of best friend would i be if i wouldn’t be there for you?”

the both of you chuckled humorlessly, because, oh, yeah, you were just best friends and nothing more. just secretly pining over each other and hoping that the other feels the same.

peter hummed, taking a sip of his soda before remembering what logan told him, “oh! hey, see. i knicked this from the big dude’s pocket,”

to y/n and peter

“huh,” you scooted over next to him and opened the envelope. in it was a photo booth picture of the both of you, but a bit older.

summer ‘83, peter and y/n

“hey, this is 10 years from now,” you pointed out. the two of you were smiling, plain and simple, but still adoring at the first one.

“how very y/n of us,” he joked.

“shut up,” you laughed, shoving him a bit.

in the second photo, peter had your cheeks squished in one hand, his eyes were crossed and his tongue out while your hand was raised as bunny ears behind his head.

“and how very peter of us,” you retorted, falling in love with the photo from the future.

in the third photo, your nose was scrunched up while you’re smiling as peter was kissing your cheek.

heat crept up on both of your faces, that’s fine, the both of you thought, friends kiss each other on the cheeks, too, right? purely platonic.

but the fourth photo had both of you choking on air. you and peter were kissing. like on the lips.

the both of you turned to look at each other but immediately avoided each other’s gazes as you were too flustered.

you cleared your throat, “well that’s…”

“yeah…” he muttered, “look, there’s a note at the back,”

just kiss already! and admit that you like each other so that you can finally watch a movie!

“oh,” you whispered, you looked at peter, “you, you like me, too?”

“i- well, yeah, for a long time now, actually,” he smiled softly, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“me, too,” you leaned in slowly as he did. and surely, your lips collided, all those years of mutual pining and shameless flirting came to a stop and a start of a new beginning for the both of you.

“so, how about the movie now?”

general taglist: @daltonacademia @inks-and-jinx @weasleyyy @oldschoolkiddo @accioweaslcy @inglourious-imagines @peterssweetpea @iwritesiriusly @fives-cup-of-coffee @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @band--psycho @marswilson24 @miraclesoflove @chokemepansy @spideyspixies @lolooo22 @justfangirlthingies @sw33tgirl @remugoodgirl @tatestripedsweater @gryffindorgirly @hellounicorn

marvel taglist: @marswilson24  @magicalxdaydream

#scheduled #peter maximoff #peter django maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x y/n #peter x reader #peter x you #peter x y/n #peter #maximoff #xmen #xmen dofp #peter maximoff fluff #peter maximoff imagine #peter maximoff oneshot #useramourtentiaa #tuserliane

[reidgraygubler]

the threat is gone (spencer reid/reader)

Title: the threat is gone

Requested: yes, was a request someone sent to @imagining-in-the-margins, but I took it off her hands :) (Reader is being threatened by an unsub and is given safety instructions by reid that she disobeys out of boredom, so when the threat is over she tries to joke/lie/argue her way out of trouble but he’s in total dead serious fbi interrogation mode and calmly hauls her over his lap and doesnt stop til she’s crying hard and has told him everything and then he comforts her n from there whatever)

Couple: spencer reid/fem!reader 

Category: angst, slight smut (either way, minors dni)

Content Warning: swearing, dishonesty, being spanked (to the point of tears), aftercare, D/s dynamic, reader being a brat, usual criminal minds case stuff, post prison & post series!reid, implied age gap (10 years),  use of a safeword

Word Count:  3,901

Summary:  Spencer sends Reader to a safe house after she’s threatened by an unsub. Reader decides to take her fate in her own hands and leave the safety. When Spencer finds out what she did, there’s hell to pay

A/N: happy easter to those who celebrate! pom (aka @imagining-in-the-margins​ )posted this in her discord and said if someone had any ideas for this, we could have it. and i loved the request so i took it off her hands. also thank you to @newportonmymind for beta reading this for me!! thank you all so much for the support! i really do appreciate it. check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

“Anderson and a cop are going to take you to a safe house,” Spencer looked down at me. I shifted on my feet as I looked up at him. My heart was in my throat. I didn’t think this unsub was that bad. 

“I’m not going to a safe house, Spencer. Being here is probably the safest place I could be. By your side… With the team,” I stepped up to him as I grabbed his hands. He looked down at me, a certain frustration in his eyes. 

“His victims are too much like you. We’re not taking that chance, I’m not taking that chance. Do you understand?” Spencer’s voice was low as he spoke. I swallowed roughly as he placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Yeah, yeah, fine, I understand,” I scoffed and shrugged his hands off my body. Spencer looked at me, watching as I collected my belongings. 

“Please, just trust me,” his voice was soft. I looked up at him, putting my bag across my body. 

“Yeah, of course, Spence, I trust you, wholeheartedly,” I smiled at him. He didn’t believe me. Granted, I didn’t exactly believe myself either. Why would I? I’m being snappy and sarcastic, and dismissive to everything he said. “I’ll be safe. Anderson and a random cop will be with me. Do not worry,” I went up to him before pressing my lips to his. 

“It won’t be for long. We’ll be back home before you even know it,” Spencer smiled, resting his hands on my hips before kissing me again. “You’ll listen to me and Anderson, understand,” he kept his tone soft and quiet, but still held authority.

“Yeah, yeah! My life is now in his hands. I wholeheartedly trust you and Anderson,” I whispered as I kept my eyes on him. He looked down at me, his honey-like hazel eyes watching every detail on my face. Part of me wondered why he stared at me the way he did. Was he memorizing every little detail of my face, just in case something happened to me?  Nothing will happen to me, that’s the whole reason why he’s having me go to a safe house with Anderson. 

“I love you,” his voice wavered slightly with his words. It was clear he was trying to not let his emotions show, but was also obviously losing. 

“I love you too,” I smiled before pressing his lips to mine for the briefest moment.

“Sorry to interrupt,” a voice came from the doorway, forcing Spencer and I to part. I swallowed roughly before turning to look at the door, seeing Anderson leaning against the doorframe. “But we’re ready to go,” he looked between Spencer and me.

“I’ll see you soon,” Spencer lifted his hand to my face, gently holding my cheek in his large palm. I swallowed roughly and nodded. “And don’t forget your promise. Follow your orders, and be a good girl,” he whispered the last part so only I would hear it.

“Ye-yeah, yeah… We’ll see you soon,” I repeated what he said before kissing him one last time. As much as I didn’t want to, I stepped away from Spencer’s body and followed closely behind Anderson. The cop that was behind us held a jacket over my body to hide my identity and keep me hidden from anyone unsub. 

“We’re going to stop at your place before we go to the safehouse, so you can get some clothes, toiletries and other belongings,” Anderson looked over at me once we got settled in the car. I glanced over at him and nodded.

“Yeah, okay,” I swallowed roughly and nodded, “Will we be able to stop at a store too?” 

“Everything you should need, food and entertainment, should be at the safehouse when we arrive,” Anderson backhandedly answered my question. I furrowed my eyebrows as I stared at him.

The rest of the drive to the apartment was tense and silent. It was almost like we were in a library. Any sound or comment that was made, any breath that was breathed, felt wrong and I should be executed for it. But, that would kind of defeat the purpose of me going to this safehouse, right?

“Be quick, we only have a few minutes. We have to be on the road before dark,” Anderson looked at me as we both walked up the steps to the apartment complex. I glanced over at him and nodded lightly.

“Will do,” I nodded as I pulled out the keys and unlocked the building’s door. Anderson stayed standing outside the building, by the door, as I went inside.

The apartment that I shared with Spencer was a mess, but to be fair it was mostly Spencer’s mess. Books, papers and files scattered over any surface. And if there was an exposed surface, it was occupied by a coffee cup. At the office and on the road, Spencer is neat and organized, but at home, when his walls come down and once he’s in the zone, the organization goes out the window. Teaching tended to take a back seat; the papers that littered the room (and office and bedroom) consisted of papers he has/is supposed to grade.

I think the only organized room was our bedroom. Even though no one else ever entered that room, he always had it pristine. He knew where everything was, and if one thing was out of place or out of line, he’d know in an instant. We had come to a shared agreement that the bedroom was for bedroom activities only. If we could keep work stuff out of our room, we would. Our room was the only truly the only place we had control, hence the cleanliness and order of it.

I was quiet as I grabbed my backpack. Shoving my clothes into it, I muttered strings of profanities. Spending time in stupid safe house sounded like pure hell, absoulte boredom. Why would he think I would be okay at a safehouse? I could be useful at the office, and safer too. What’s safer than being with the team, not to mention with Spencer?

With a deep and resigned sigh, I threw the straps of my backpack over my shoulders. Anything to make Spencer happy, I suppose. I was a brat, but this didn’t seem like something to fight him on. 

I quietly exited my home and went back outside, where Anderson was still waiting. 

“Ready,” I looked over at him, feeling a fake smile grow across my lips. Anderson looked at me and nodded before taking the lead back to the cop car. I looked over at him and nodded as the car finally jerked forward and took off. 

If I thought the drive to the apartment was bad… The drive to the safehouse was worse. If I had known it was going to be a 1 hour drive, I would have fought harder. This time around, I could sense that Anderson was trying to make some sort of an effort to make me feel better about this situation. But it was clear it was a fail of an attempt too. He kept talking about the things he enjoyed rather than common interest, or small talk. Yes, Spencer could do the same, but at least his factoids were adorable or at least relevant.

I almost felt bad, because I had honestly stopped listening to everything he said. I’m not sure when I stopped listening, sometime around the time he started talking about baseball. I take back what I said about Spencer, this was far worse. I swear, I actually liked listening to Spencer ramble on and on when he info dumps. But Anderson… 

“Anderson,” I looked over at him, cutting him off as he spoke, “Please… For the love of God… I know you love baseball… But you have got to stop talking for five fucking minutes,” I took a deep breath as I stared at him. He looked back at me before closing his mouth and nodding. 

Thankfully, the rest of the drive was silent. I almost couldn’t believe how quiet it was. And, I almost couldn’t think of a time where it was silent for such a long period of time. I suppose in the moment I was thankful that things were turning out the way they were.

“Here’s your bedroom,” Anderson spoke cooly as we walked past a room. I looked over at him, feeling my exhaustion spread through my body. “Rest all you want. There’s some books that Spencer sent over that you could read. As well as movies you could watch,” he looked over at me. I looked back at him and nodded.

“I think I’ll do that… Everything that’s happened today… I’m exhausted,” I laughed nervously as I entered the room. Anderson looked at me and nodded, watching as I closed the door. I pressed my back to the door once it was shut, clicking it locked with a sigh. 

My eyes scanned across the bland room. It consisted of a bed, a night stand, a lamp, and a window. Of course, all safe houses are basically empty homes. Fake houses that looked lived in, when in reality they were nothing.

But then I looked back at the window… We were only an hour away from the apartment… Surely I could...

“Like hell I’m going stay in this stupid safe-house with Anderson,” I scoffed before rushing over to the window. I threw it open so fast I was worried I’d broken it. I didn’t have every step of my escape planned out, but I knew I had to get out of here. I knew I could think on my feet, so the spontaneity didn’t faze me.

I had to be quick as I had to make sure that Anderson didn’t clue into what I was doing. Because the second he knew that I wasn’t in the the safe house anymore, was the second Spencer knew, and then I’d be in big trouble -- worse than if the unsub were to catch me. 

“Okay, okay,” I whispered as I patted down my pockets, feeling for my phone and wallet, trusting that everything else that I needed would be in my bags. I’d be back by the end of this case. I wasn’t exactly running away, I was just getting away because this was stupid. The safest place I would have been in was with Spencer and the rest of the team. I knew that, and I knew Spencer just needed reminding that I was right.  

‘I wasn’t running away,’ I thought to myself as I looked out the window. It wasn’t a far jump. 3 yards at least. I wouldn’t get hurt by that, should I? 

I glanced over my shoulder, just making sure no one was watching me, before finally jumping out the window. I grunted when I landed on the ground. Then, I was off.

There was a coffee shop not far from the house. That was my destination. And then from there, I’d get an uber or taxi back home, or shopping, or someplace else. As long as I was away from danger, I was okay. 

I could feel a certain anxiety grow up my throat the further I got from the safe house. It wasn’t because I was afraid that I was going to get hurt. It was because of Spencer. I just wasn’t sure how he’d take to that news -- but I could take an educated guess. It was honestly a matter of time before I go-

Spencer Calling…

I stared at the screen, looking at the picture of Spencer and I at one of Rossi’s fabulous parties. I swallowed back my fear and anxiety, and took a deep breath of courage before pressing answer.

“Hel-”

“Where the hell are you!?” Spencer growled as his voice came through the speaker. Fear… Fear grew in the pit of my stomach, and it was hard to breathe. “I swear to God,”

“I’m fine! I’m safe…” I returned as my steps slowed on the sidewalk. I didn’t totally answer his question. I didn’t really want to tell him I was at a coffee shop 5 minutes away from the safe house. Because then he’d have Anderson on my ass in a second. 

“That doesn’t answer my question, and you know that,” Spencer snapped back. I froze in my tracks, my heart beating harder than I could control. “Where are you? Make me ask again and I won’t be nice,” 

“Spencer,” I started, my voice low and shaky, “I can’t tell you,” I shook my head. I could hear the breath of air that Spencer let out, and it only scared me more.

“If you’re not back at that safe house in 20 minutes, you will have the biggest punishment. Do you understand, Princess?” 

“I’ll be safe, Spencer,” I muttered. I stared at the ground for a long time as we both stayed silent. It was hard to say how long passed, but it was a while. “Bye Spencer,”

“If you hang up, I swear,” he started but I didn’t get to feel the end of it before I hung up. I swallowed roughly before continuing my trek towards the coffee shop as my phone buzzed continuously.

{***}{***}{***}

“Where were you again?” Spencer asked, just to ask. He didn’t forget. The man he is? He’d never forget. Especially something like this.

“Coffee shop and Library, I thought you would just have Garcia track me.” I mumbled as I waited for him to unlock the door. My stomach was slowly churning the longer he took to unlock the door. Although, I was okay with how slow he was. The slower he took, the longer I had before the punishment.

Spencer huffed out a breath of air and shook his head. I stared at him, watching as the door finally unlocked and was pushed open.

“Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was?! How… How much danger you were in?!” Spencer shouted as we both entered the apartment. I glanced at him as I made my way to the couch.

"C'mon, I was probably safer at the library and coffee shop anyways! Bastard knew I’d go to a safe house and our apartment," I shrugged as I flopped onto the couch. Spencer looked down at me like he was the parent reprimanding their disobedient child. Granted, that’s kind of how our dynamic was when we weren’t at work or it was a normal day. I do have to admit though, I was wrong for not going where he wanted me to.

"You directly disobeyed me. Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?! How could you be so reckless!? You have no idea how scared I was when I heard you weren’t at the safe house,” he shouted, but as he got closer to the end of his sentence, his words got quieter and his voice cracked. I looked up at him, the feeling of guilt suddenly eating away in my stomach. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what else you want me to say or do, Spencer…” I muttered before shrugging. I glanced at him as he stood on the other side of the coffee table. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt, quietly muttering something as he went. “Spencer, look, I said I’m sorry… I’m home and I’m safe…” I watched him with anxiety bubbling in my stomach.

"You disobeyed me, put yourself in danger,," his voice was low as he stood up. I watched as he walked over. The hairs on the back of my neck were instantly standing, and I could feel goosebumps grow all over my arms. “Sorry just isn’t going to cut it,” he looked down at me. I looked up at him, and I knew exactly what he was about to do. So my next question was redundant.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I looked up at him. My heart was suddenly in my stomach as he lowered to my height. I tried to look anywhere but him, but that was hard when he placed his finger under my chin, coaxing me to look at him. I tried my hardest to not look up at him, but it was so hard to not look at him. He was right there and he was my favorite person to look at. But, to be fair, when he was mad it made me a little nervous.

"Well, you decided to go and break my instruction. And you know what happens to little girls who disobey their rules," he kept his voice low as he spoke. I dropped my gaze to my lap as he sat beside me. A shiver shot down my spine as I locked eyes with him… In that moment, I knew I was done for...  

"Wait, Spencer," I exclaimed as he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me so I was lying across his lap. I lifted my head and looked up at him with wide eyes “Spencer! Spencer! Wait! Please!” I struggled as I squirmed in his lap. I wanted so badly to just slide out of his arms, but the way he held me made it damn near impossible to slide away from him.

“I’ve asked for an explanation and you didn’t provide one,” he spoke cooly. He kept his hands on my back, and not going any lower than my hips. I took a moment, struggling to breathe as I thought of why I left the safe house and Anderson. 

“I was just bored, okay? I was bored. And thought it was stupid that you had me leave the office and the team to go to a safe house,” I tried to wiggle from his grip again, but failed when his hold on me tightened. I swallowed roughly, hoping my truth telling would work, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t.

“Is this the truth?” Spencer asked, his tone somewhat overly nice. I bit my lips together and nodded lightly.

“It’s the truth, I swear, Spencer, it’s the truth,” I whispered. I knew telling the truth would lessen the harshness of his punishment. And, maybe it would. He does know when to be gentle.

“I’m happy you gave me the truth. But that still doesn’t mean it was okay to disobey me, you know that, don’t you Princess?” he whispered as he brushed down my hair. I let out a deep sigh before reluctantly nodding. 

“I know,” It was inevitable at this point. I owned up to my mistake, and now I need to own up to the punishment. And I knew exactly what was going to happen. 

“I’ll go easy on you, okay?” He kept his voice low. He knew if his voice was any louder, I’d instantly back away from all of this. “I think ten strikes is appropriate... Do you agree?” 

I would rather have less, and Spencer knew that too.  But if I argued he’d only add more. Which was worse than the ten he already offered. I knew that after he’d be okay and it’d be over with.  Fuck, I already wanted it to be over.

“Yes, sir,” I sighed deeply. I lifted my hips enough for him to pull my pants down over my bottom. My chest tightened as I tried to take a deep, shaky breath as I anticipated the first strike. 

My ears could just barely pick up the soft rush of air from Spencer’s hand before it landed hard against my bottom. I took a sharp breath of air and dropped my head down to the cushion.

“One…” I whispered as my hands gripped his pants tightly. I swallowed roughly as I tried to steady my breathing. Spencer gave me a moment to breathe before giving me two and three in a quick go. Four came after a brief moment. But then… Five was when it started getting shaky for me. Tears had started rolling on my face between three and four, but it didn’t start becoming trouble till five.

“Five! I understand! I swear! I’m sorry!” I cried out once his hand connected hard with my ass for the 5th time. And, okay, that one hurt, like a lot. I couldn’t tell if it was the sting that hurt, or the repeated assault on the sore spot… But I knew it hurt. With each strike, I could almost feel Spencer’s anger and anxiety. I definitely felt bad about doing what I did.

I don’t know if I’ll make it to ten...

“Just five more,” Spencer spoke softly as his hand carefully massaged my butt-cheek. I could tell he started feeling bad. But, we both knew he had to follow through with it. 

His hand whizzed through the air and smacked against my ass. A loud crack came through the air, and a sharp gasp fell from my lips. And, that was it. I definitely don’t think I’ll make it to ten. This was it. 

“Buttercup!” I shouted as my eyes snapped open. I could still feel the tears burning down my cheeks. Before Spencer could make contact for the 7th time, he stopped. He kept both his hands away from my body as I moved away from him. With that, we were both silent for a minute, as I tried to recalibrate my breathing. 

Spencer looked over at me, sensing his sudden change in demeanor. His anger and anxiety was gone and replaced with a guilty panic. The atmosphere changed.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked after a minute had passed. I was, painfully, sitting on the next cushion away from him. I needed my space. I bit my lips and nodded as I roughly wiped my cheeks. 

“I’m okay,” I whispered looking back at him. I watched as he slowly lifted his hands, offering both of them for me to hold. I stared at them for a while before just falling into his sigh, a shaky breath, almost a sob, going through my body.

“I got you; you’re ok, you’re safe. I was so worried. You have to understand how dangerous it was for you to just leave like that. I thought I was never going to see you again,” Spencer whispered, bringing a hand to run over my hair. I bit my lips and nodded.

“No, I know… I’m sorry for… I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I don’t even know… I should have just stayed at the safe house,” I whispered as I pressed my face into his shoulder. I felt as he let out a deep sigh and wrapped his arms around me, resting and hand on my lower back. 

I was happy he didn’t mention how I told him the truth a little bit ago. My body could feel the exhaustion from the whole day. It wasn’t just the punishment, or the little bit of arguing, or even the running away. It was everything combined. I needed sleep soon. Spencer knew that too.

“Why don’t we go into our room and cuddle,” he whispered as he continued stroking my hair. I sniffled lightly before laughing. Just like he was reading my mind. He knows me better than anyone. “I just want you safe in my arms.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’d like that a lot, actually,” I looked up at him. Spencer smiled at me before lightly pressing his lips to mine. 

if you want to be a part of a taglst or have any comments about this one shot, let me know here

taglist: @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto, @thebluetint

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[folkloreguk]

❥ My Sweet Evil Heart (C.Chanhee)

A/N: I wrote this as part of an angel/demon collab for The Boyz! You can find the masterlist HERE. This was really fun to write and I got to live out my alternate universe dream in which I'm a detective...I hope you like it, I'm always welcome to any form of feedback!

genre: demon!Chanhee, detective!reader, angst, fluff, reader is constantly sleep deprived, Chanhee is the sweetest demon ever

synopsis: You, a highly respected detective in your department, are investigating a case of a very strange demon who seems hesitant to do evil...but can you trust someone who is supposed to be the personification of wickedness?

words: ~ 10.6k

Have you ever met someone deeply unhappy? Someone who seems to, at all times, be fighting a war inside of themselves? Have you ever felt empathy for somebody, even though they tested you, over and over, as if the worst part inside of them was trying to make them lose you on purpose? Did you hold on and never stop believing in them? Or did you say something to drive them away, making them think they would only hurt you in the process of you trying to make them see clearer?

This is the story of a demon, whose every cell demurred at his evil nature. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves and start with the basics.

Being one of the head detectives at the local police station was not an easy-going, nor an amusing job. Whilst working on serious cases, lacking proper sleep was not an uncommon occurrence for you, and in some instances, self-care came up short until the mystery had been solved and the guilty ones were locked away. Every case pulled you in and swallowed you whole, keeping you deeply invested for days and nights until your brain felt like it had turned to mush and your body worked on autopilot, until you functioned a little like a highly intelligent zombie. And yet, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything else in your life. The thrill was close to an obsession, and seeing justice being served thanks to your work was more addicting than any drug could ever be to you.

Most crimes in your world were committed by demons, of course. They were your worst enemies, the monsters you saw in your nightmares and the reason you never strolled down a street without a gun by your hip. It wasn’t forbidden for them to walk the earth, so long as they kept to themselves. Their evil nature made it almost impossible for them to uphold these terms, though. You wished you could lock them all away in some putrid prison cell, or better yet, send them back to where they crawled out from originally. But the law couldn’t convict beings before they had done anything wrong. So, it was on you to make sure you kept an eye on the sinister beings, figure out what they were up to and stop them before they could actually hurt somebody. Like that morning, when you were called to a liquor store to investigate a break-in.

“My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, I am the lead investigator,” you greeted the store owner with a handshake upon arrival. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“I came here this morning at around 7 to open up the store. When I got out of my car, I saw the broken glass of the window,” he explained.

“What was taken from inside the store?” you inquired further.

“That’s the weird thing. Nothing is missing from inside,” he said.

“We might just be dealing with vandalism,” you thought out loud. “Do you have security cameras?”

He did, and so you went along with him to the back of the store. It was true, the interior of the shop seemed completely untouched. You suspected whoever had done this had never even intentioned on entering. There was a college campus not too far from the store, and you recalled countless times you had witnessed careless vandalism done by some intoxicated students during a Friday night. It was a very human-like crime. Demons weren’t known to do things by halves. Their crimes were usually the go-big-or-go-home-type of crimes. But then, when you watched the security footage, you were stunned.

At precisely 3:29 am, a dark figure appeared in front of the window. They lifted their arms, swinging a baseball bat against the glass. And against your speculation, they did climb through the hole in the window. With no mask or disguise whatsoever, the demon man looked right into the camera in the corner of the room. The abyss of darkness in his pitch black eyes was unmistakable. He looked around, as if he was debating on whether he should have done more, but then, to your utter confusion, spun around on his heel and climbed right back out the window.

You assured the store owner you would be looking into this case. With nothing left to do, you headed back to the police station. You had taken the security footage with you, and the moment you arrived in your office, you played it on your computer screen. Over and over - only puzzling you more, with each rerun you saw. You worried this might only be a warning. Not seldom had you been a witness to demons playing with their prey, feeding off the fear of innocent souls. Was this one indulging in one of those little twisted games? Right away, you uploaded the demon’s face onto the database for criminals, even if vandalism didn’t compare to the serious allegations that stood against other faces on that list. While you turned your attention to other cases, his features wouldn’t leave your mind. Even when you left your office at night, he was still the most prominent person in your memory.

By the time you began your walk to your home, the sun had disappeared. You couldn’t help it, even if technically you could finish work earlier, your desire to solve your assigned cases was always higher. Had you just walked home at 5 pm, you were sure to end up on your computer at home, researching and digging around on the web to discover possible clues. This way, at least you had all resources you would need at your office at the police station.

Now, in the dark, the streets were rather abandoned, most shops had already closed, and the moon dimly cast light through the clouds. Those conditions were what made it a breeze for you to notice your shadow. The figure had been following you for 5 minutes now. Judging by how carelessly loud their steps sounded and by their not-so subtle choices of hiding spots, you could tell this wasn’t something they had practice in. Purposely, you didn’t turn around, so they wouldn’t realize you had caught on to them a while ago. Instead, only a minute or so from your home, you took a turn left into an abandoned alleyway. Your hand was on the gun in your belt.

Just as you had stepped into the alley, you turned. He was right behind you. With dark orbs glaring and teeth snarling he came at you, knife in hand. Your eyes widened – you recalled his face vividly – as you took in the situation in the blink of an eye. After all, you had watched the security tape of him breaking into the liquor store countless times only hours ago. But you had the upper hand from the very moment you had spun around. His build wasn’t particularly strong, but you knew you should never underestimate demons. You grabbed his shoulders and along with him, your body crashed against the red brick wall to your left. He struggled against your grip, but his determined and feisty expression was the by far the most intimidating part about him. His face was inches from yours but looking into the sort of darkness that were demon’s eyes did nothing to you. Your hand was around his wrist with the knife – which he was aggressively trying to bring down on you – but only at first.

Because suddenly, something uncommon occurred. So uncommon, in fact, that not a single cell in your body could believe it. He willingly dropped the blade. It hit the asphalt, the metallic sound echoing in your ears. He relaxed his arm in your iron grip. Demons never gave up. They fought until you had forcefully brought them to the ground or done worse to them. Their ironic god-complex and evilness didn’t allow them to step away from a fight – until this one had come along, apparently. And then, as if his behavior hadn’t already stunned you enough, he did the unthinkable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Without a doubt you thought you had misheard him. Swiftly, you pulled your gun out of your belt and pointed it at his face. One thing you knew. You weren’t going to play along in his little games. In panic, he rose his hands, showing defeat.

“Quit playing games, devil’s son,” you hissed. “What is it you’re trying to achieve here? You’re sorry? For what?”

He was hesitant. With every second, your curiosity only grew. Either, he was a skilled actor or…you had no idea what else it could’ve been about him.

“I almost killed you. That’s what I’m sorry for,” he said. “Does that get me a prison sentence?”

Your eye twitched because this didn’t seem right at all.

“You broke into a shop and attacked me, but then stopped out of your free will,” you assessed the situation. “You’ll most likely get away with a fine and your name in our register.”

If you had been awaiting an evil grin or any sort of enjoyment in his face, you’d be waiting endlessly. If anything, he seemed to be…disappointed?

“But you’re a cop, right?” he said. “You can lock me up, can’t you?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? You won’t be locked up if you don’t commit a crime severe enough. As much as I hate it, considering you demons are running free, it’s the law,” you said.

“You don’t get it,” he said. And he was right, you really had no idea. “I should be locked up. You need to get me to jail before I hurt somebody.”

His face was dead serious, but you didn’t want to believe a single word. How could you, when your daily life consisted of hunting down his kind, because all they brought upon the earth was chaos and death?

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you,” you said, unimpressed.

“I will tell you anything you want to hear,” he said. “If you bring me to a police station. You guys have these lie detectors, don’t you? I will take a test if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”

~

So, that was how half an hour later you still hadn’t returned at home, but rather found yourself back at the police station. Almost everyone had gone home by now, so you took the liberty to choose the biggest interrogation room available. A few minutes and he was sitting in front of you, hands in handcuffs and his body connected to the lie detector.

“Okay, here’s how this works. I’ll start by asking some simple questions, and then we’ll get to the bottom of whatever your intentions are,” you explained.

“Alright. Go ahead,” he said. This was your first time seeing a demon take this sort of test. Usually, you couldn’t be bothered because you knew all they did was lie whilst smiling you in the face.

“What’s your name?”

“Choi Chanhee.”

“Where were you born?”

“In hell.”

“Did you break into a liquor store last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you intend on killing me tonight?”

“…Yes.”

“Is that your definite answer?”

“…No.”

“How come both of your last two answers are lies?” you asked. “You didn’t intend on killing me, but yes is your definite answer?”

“I can’t stop the evil in me but I’m trying,” he said. You were stunned. The answer was the most truthful of them all.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I was never like the others since I came to earth. I’ve never felt a rush like they do, causing mischief and hurting humans. I don’t belong. It’s as if there was a demon inside of me, but it’s not controlling all of me, do you understand?” he said.

“I’m not sure, but go on,” you said.

“I don’t want to hurt anybody or destroy things. But on some days, I’m walking down the street and my body starts following the devil’s orders instead. I usually snap out of it quickly and stop myself. That’s why you’re still alive,” he explained.

“You’re telling me you’re some sort of good demon?” you asked. “Why don’t you go back to hell, if you’re struggling so much on earth?”

“I hate it there,” he said. “And either way, I’m banned from there forever.”

Your head raised as you stared at him.

“Banned?” you asked.

“I stopped a bunch of demons from killing a woman once,” he said. “Safe to say they weren’t happy to hear that, back at home. I couldn’t go back, even if I wanted to.”

“Can you tell me the name of the woman?” you asked. And he did. All this time, he really had been telling the truth. When you searched up the woman’s name in the computer, it only confirmed your suspicion. She really had been under attack when an unidentified person had interrupted and saved her life.

“I can tell you names of demons,” he said. “If you do me the favor of locking me up, I can sell out everyone I know about.”

You massaged the sides of your head and sighed. This guy really was one of a kind.

“I already told you, I can’t put you in jail for something you didn’t do,” you said. “That’s against the law, and then it’ll be me who ends up behind bars instead of you. I’ll have to let you go.”

“What if I mess up?” he said. The amounts of firsts you were experiencing in the timespan of an hour were giving you a headache. Never had you felt compassion for a demon before. But you were only human, and when you noticed the genuine concern and insecurity in his soft voice, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“How long have you been on earth for?” you asked.

“I don’t know, a few years, I guess?” he said.

“And in those few years, which of your deeds would you rate the most criminal out of all?” you asked. Any other demon would have been able to give you multiple answers, one more vicious than the other. He, on the other hand, took his time and even when he answered, he didn’t sound at all sure.

“I’ve broken into a house before, destroyed a car window and one time I stole a dog,” he confessed with his head tilted towards the floor.

“What happened to the dog?”

“I…gave it back,” he said. A laughter erupted from your throat against your will. In a friendly manner, you pat his shoulder before retrieving the keys to his handcuffs.

“Trust me, you’ll be just fine out there,” you said. “Whatever it is you’re doing to stop yourself from being evil, it’s working. I will let you go now."

Even though he wasn’t happy with your answer, he knew he had no choice but to comply. As you walked him through the hallways towards the exit of the station, you could only think of one thing: your beloved bed. Not only your body but especially your brain was drained from energy. You desperately needed a refill by getting a good night’s sleep.

“You’re the first person who’s been really kind to me,” he said, as you held the door open for him. The night air was cool, and you quickly zipped up your jacket to your chin.

“You gave me no reason not to be,” you replied.

“I almost stabbed you,” he said, bluntly.

“Almost.”

“For most people, me being a demon is reason enough to loathe me.”

“Well I guess I’m not most people,” you said. His smile was gentle, but his black eyes would always give him away. “I’ll be here at the station every day, if you have any concerns or need somebody to consult. But right now, all I want is my bed.”

“I understand,” he replied. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Good night,” you said, before you parted ways. Once more, you journeyed home. He remained on your mind until the moment you slipped off to dreamland that night.

~

The days passed without a trace of him. You followed your routine, but one thing you couldn’t help. You simply had to tell every person who worked with you about the changed demon you had met. No one really wanted to believe you. It was kind of understandable. Some thought you were testing their skills, seeing if they could figure out you were lying. Others went as far as to suspect your lack of sleep had given you hallucinations. But you didn’t let it go. And after all, you were a highly respected member of the police force. Some said they wanted to meet this demon gentleman, as they had renamed him.

But then you were called to a brand new homicide investigation and all of the jokes at the station were blown away by the intensity and buzz the case brought with it. You had a murder to solve. There was no place for sweet demon men in any part of your brain. Not for now. And as always, you slipped into old habits – staying up all night, living on coffee and quick meals – the toxic behavior was almost inescapable. Your fellow detectives tried their best to keep you healthy and most importantly, sane. They took you with them to get salad for lunch, invited you over for game nights (a futile attempt at giving you a break) and told you to go to sleep on time. After all, they needed your brain to function at full capacity for the case. You knew people were relying on your knowledge, and you weren’t doubting your capabilities. But a highly intelligent zombie was still a zombie. And so it happened that one Thursday night your boss sent you home. Not because you weren’t doing a good job – rather for of the opposite reason.

“You are allowed back at the station when you’ve caught a full night’s sleep. Do what it takes to take care of yourself,” your boss had said. Her tone displayed as much strictness as her eyes showed concern. Truth be told, you were too exhausted to even argue against her order. That’s when you knew. You really needed a rest. You dragged your body home.

“Hello sweetheart,” you greeted your pet bird, who chirped excitedly when you set foot into your apartment. “Guess what. I’m home early.”

As much as you wanted to drop into a slumber right away, your stomach growled. And you weren’t in the mood to wake up half-starved. As you prepared some left-overs from the fridge, you heard your bird call from the living room. “Peek-a-boo!” he sang. It caught your attention. He only played this game with you – when you were outside in your small garden and he was watching you through the window. So who exactly was he talking to, now?

You picked up a knife, because as a detective it was practically your job to be paranoid, and tiptoed into the living room. It would be harder for an intruder to spot you in the dark, so you pushed the light switch. Slowly, you advanced to the window and gently pulled the curtains aside. A shiver ran down your spine when you saw the figure standing between the trees. They didn’t seem to be hiding, if anything they were lazily resting their back against the garden fence. Maybe they weren’t aware you were watching them. Bold of them to assume they could intimidate you by acting so nonchalant. You cracked the window open slightly.

“If you don’t leave my property within the next ten seconds, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” you announced. The figure flinched. The moment he stepped into the moonlight and raised his arms, you remembered his face.

“Choi Chanhee?” You opened the terrasse door and stepped outside.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he asked, eyes glued to the knife in your hands. Quickly, you lowered your hand.

“What are you doing here?” you asked instead of answering his question.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted.

“And so you thought creeping around in a police woman’s backyard was an appropriate thing to do? Wait…have you been stalking me?” you asked. You should have cut back on the sharp tone, but you felt half-asleep and this was the last thing you needed. Plus, the immanent realization hit you, that you had not noticed him at all. You had been so caught up in your work that you had not recognized a demon lingering around your home address, watching you. It hurt your pride a little – and could have ended very differently, had it been a more malovent demon than the one standing in front of you. This one looked terrified, kneading his hands nervously.

“I thought you wouldn’t be upset with me…that maybe you would understand. Because you’ve been the only one who’s listened to me. I’m just trying to find a purpose,” he said, “And my head tells me you’re the right direction.”

Demons. They’ve always had a fondness for the dramatic. But his words tore at your heart strings. His behavior resembled a child who had done wrong and was in the process of being scolded.

“Do you have no home?” you asked, softening your voice.

“I’ve lived with other demons. But they don’t want me there, anymore,” he said. For obvious reasons, you thought. Your head was racing. There was no way you could leave him standing there in the cold. But letting a demon into your home sounded like you must have had a death wish. It’s not like you didn’t have enough space, though. With an extra guest bedroom that nobody had ever used before, he would be just fine. There was no excuse. You cursed your parents for making you get a bigger apartment “In case you got married and had children soon.” You never know what could happen, they had said. And how wrong they had been, but how right they had been on that last part.

“Would you say you’re a tidy person?” you asked. A gigantic yawn came over you, and once again your stomach grumbled.

“What? I mean…I think so?” he said.

“Are you hungry?” You were in disbelief. Maybe it was the zombie in you that had a heart so soft, it took pity on a demon.

“I’m starving,” he said.

And that was how you came to have dinner with a demon. Spoiler alert: It wouldn’t be the last time. You ate quietly, trying hard to fight tiredness but it was no use. Afterwards, you showed him the room he could stay in.

“How do I make this up to you?” he asked.

“We’ll think about that another time, alright?” you said, “I need to sleep now. I’ve got an unsolved murder case waiting on me tomorrow.”

That night, you locked your bedroom door and slept with your gun on your nightstand. Just in case. Even though you were almost fully convinced the demon in the bedroom across the hall was more harmless than a five-year-old, he was still a demon.

~

When you woke up and saw your boss’ message on your phone, you couldn’t believe it. She wanted you to stay at home for the day. Apparently, you needed the rest and she had no interest in getting into trouble for overworking you (which she obviously wasn’t, you were the one doing this to yourself). When you walked down the stairs, you had almost forgotten about the previous night. It felt a little like it had all just been one wild fever dream – that was, until you spotted the demon sitting on your sofa, your pet bird on his shoulder.

“I let him out, I hope that was okay,” he said. You were dumbfounded. “Listen, I just wanted to say…thank you. Tell me whatever you need me to do and I’ll get it done for you.”

You wanted to go to work. But you knew he would be no help making that possible. Your mind was already wandering off to your case, the tips of your fingers burning with anticipation to search the internet for clues. Your grumbling belly interrupted your eagerness.

“Um…you could go to the grocery store for me?” you asked.

~

You went back to work the next day. Unsure of what to do, you decided to keep your demon housemate a secret for now. The other detectives would have probably written you off as insane, and you needed them to take you seriously. To be fair, maybe you were a little crazy. But he had been really good on the first day. Only one incident, which involved him dropping an egg on the kitchen floor, stood out to you. Of course, that could happen to anyone. But any other person would not have apologized in the way that he did. Normal people wouldn’t have acted so guilty, had it been an accident. But as long as his malice remained to that extent, you could live with it. You almost laughed at the idea of him purposely watching the egg roll off the counter and not doing anything.

He sure was strange. But little did you know, his egg-dropping shananigans were only the beginning of his uncontrollable little pranks he would pull on you.

Once he let your bird fly out the window. When you came home you discovered him outside, talking to your bird, begging him to come back inside. Little did he know, all it took was a whistle and a few treats and you had him sitting on your shoulder, ready to go back inside. One night you returned home to find him staring at the ceiling in the dining room, a kitchen towel in his hand. When you asked him what he was trying to achieve there, he told you there was a mosquito sitting above him.

“So, why don’t you kill it?” you asked. He looked shocked.

“Kill it?” he asked, “We should probably just shoo it outside.”

That’s when you knew. Choi Chanhee wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. All those times you had worried about leaving him home alone with your bird vanished in an instant as you laughed.

“You’re right. Killing is one of the worst sins. But sometimes, especially when it comes to mosquitoes, you don’t need to worry about any consequences. If anything, I’ll be grateful,” you assured him.

Another instance made you think maybe you had been too quick to judge him as harmless. When you walked into your bathroom in the morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you almost jumped out of your skin. A red substance stuck to your mirror in what seemed to be random shapes. On impulse, you called his name. On second look, you realized what he had done. The red was merely ketchup, and the random shapes weren’t so random, but they spelled “meeting at 2 pm”. When Chanhee appeared in the doorframe, he already wore his sorry expression.

“What did you think you were doing here?” you said. “You know where the post-it notes are!”

“I- He- The demon in me wanted to scare you…I’m so sorry,” he said. It was difficult to be mad at him when he was so sweet. You had, after all, told him to remind you of your meeting you had that day. He was so easy to forgive, too. Whenever he went to buy groceries, he returned with a bouquet of flowers, and after he had figured out your favorite candy, he made sure you never ran out of your supply. You liked being alone, but suddenly it felt nice to have someone waiting for you at home. A warm sensation filled your heart whenever he asked you about your day during dinner.

Even if after dinner you had to argue with him as if he was your son, because the demon in him had decided to take on the form of a teenage boy who was too lazy to take out the trash. You were still seated at the table, rolling your eyes at the demon’s horrible attempt at being evil.

“Don’t make me ask you one more time,” you threatened him, although you didn’t know what you would have done had he continued to argue against you. Only when he reached for the knife that he had already put down tidily on his plate, your eyes widened. His knuckles were white around the metal and you leaned back instinctively. Your gun was still in your belt – you had sat down for dinner straight after returning home – but you didn’t want to use it. Not on him.

“Chanhee,” you spoke in a calm tone. His face was unreadable. He wasn’t making eye contact. Instead, his gaze was glued onto the blade in his hand, staring blankly. His eyes blinked, almost robotically. Something changed in his demeanor then. There was a tremble in the hand that was clutching the knife. It grew more uneasy by each passing moment. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you kept your eyes trained on him, trusting your reflexes.

“Fine,” he suddenly said in a grumpy tone. Then he dropped the knife. The metallic sound rang in your ears for seconds afterward. You let out the breath you didn’t know you had been holding on to, as you watched him get up and retrieve the full trash bag from under the sink. You had been sleeping with your bedroom door unlocked for weeks. Even though it pained you, that night you locked your door again.

~

At 3:28 am you awoke to the sound of breaking glass. You allowed yourself to yawn and rub the sleep out of your eyes for just a moment, then you were on your feet. Gun in hand, you opened your door. Across the hall, the door to Chanhee’s room stood ajar. Light came from downstairs.

“Chanhee?” you called quietly. No answer. But your ears picked up shuffling and the sound of shards of glass being moved around. You approached slowly, trying not to give yourself away. Then you heard the quiet sobs. Your arm with the gun dropped to your side when you stepped into the kitchen.

He was sitting on the floor like he was one of the shattered pieces of glass himself. When he saw you, he flinched and tried to dry away his tears. But it was no use. They kept coming, and you had already seen them either way.

“I dropped it on purpose,” he said, referring to the broken glass. Another sob went through his body, making your chest ache at the sight of him. “I’m sorry.”

“I have nine more of those. It’s alright,” you assured him. Gently, you sat down by his side. You put your arms around his hunched frame. He stiffened at first but calmed his muscles after a moment and let you hold him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you said. Whatever it was that was hurting him so much, you’d be here to fight it off for him.

“I can’t stop the evil in me,” he cried. His weeps seeped through your skin and tugged at your organs. It felt like a thousand tiny, sharp needles in your heart.

“It’s a part of you. It’ll never fully go away. But look at you, you’re doing such a good job holding it inside of you,” you whispered. He shuddered.

“I tried to kill you,” he stated. “I don’t deserve you. You’re so kind. You do all this for me, and I tried to kill you.”

“But you didn’t,” you said. “And that’s what counts. We all have urges inside of us…but it’s what we end up doing that truly counts and makes us who we are.”

“But it’s so hard,” he cried. His face was in the crook of your neck as he sniffled. The small teardrops that touched your skin felt like ice. “And all I do is bother you. I’m an inconvenience. Why don’t you just lock me up with the other demons? Why give me another chance every time I mess up?”

You couldn’t believe he would hate himself so much. Chanhee had more compassion than a lot of the humans you knew had. Some days he sat and pet your bird for hours just because it made him happy, he always had money on him to give to the homeless people in front of the grocery store and he almost cried thinking he forgot to pay for an item at the store (which you had obviously paid for).

“How could you even compare yourself to other demons?” you said. “If you want, I will take you in to work with me sometime. Then you’ll see the atrocities others commit. Even among humans, you’d still be sorted into the best of the best. I believe in you and that you will do good.”

He only sobbed harder at what you had said, and you felt the need to pull him in just a little tighter. You softly rocked your bodies in an attempt to calm him down.

“I would fall apart without you.” Between the hiccups and tears his words sounded like a broken confession, but that’s why they hit so hard.

“You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you,” you whispered, lips right by his ear. Your hands were in his hair, stroking his head as if you could pour all your emotions into this one gesture. What else could you do to show him you would never abandon him the way his demon people had? And it seemed to do the trick. His fists that had been clutching your shirt loosened up and his sorrowful crying turned into mellow breathing on your skin.

“Aren’t you sleepy?” you asked. “Let’s get you back to sleep. Tomorrow things will be better.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep well for three days,” he said. “But I need to clean this up first.”

He let go of you and started to pick up shards of glass. There was still a haggard expression on him, and his cheeks were painted red and tear stained. And yet he was determined.

“Let me do this,” you said, touching his arm. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. Go to bed, Chanhee.”

This time, he didn’t argue. But his good behavior didn’t stop the apologetic, almost battered look at you. He knew you would be by his side no matter what – but what he needed most was his own forgiveness. And you could tell by the way he spoke about himself that it would take a while until he was ready to accept himself as he was.

You heard his heavy steps on the stairs as he walked to his room. Quickly, you gathered the biggest shards of glass and then used a hand brush to collect the tiny pieces. This wasn’t what you had signed up for when you had taken him in. You thought you’d have to argue with him daily and that you’d miss having your personal space and privacy. You knew it would be new, living with another person after living alone for so long. But nothing could have prepared you for the way Chanhee had swept you off your feet with his adorable charms. You didn’t need to fake excitement when you came home to him, nor did you ever have to force yourself to tell him about your day or have any conversation with him, for that matter. He was truly enchanting with the way he made you care so much. Especially when you had assumed all demons were your sworn enemies.

When you finally dragged your tired body upstairs, you softly pushed open the door to his room, only to see him lying wide awake.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked. “Even though you’re so exhausted?”

“No,” he spoke. Even his voice made no attempt at hiding the sleepiness. His look was pleading. “Can you please stay with me…just for a little while?”

There was no way you could say no to his lovely gaze and messy hair and outstretched arms. So, you crawled in next to him under the covers. Your faces were inches apart. The last time you had been looking into a demon’s eyes this close-up he had been lying face-up and dead on the side of a road. Those eyes had been lifeless, and yet you felt like they had still held so much ferociousness, even in death. Now you only saw concern and genuine care in the black orbs across from you. You admired his softly sculpted face. It was one that seemed like it would much rather belong to an angel.

“You’ve been working so much,” he whispered. “You must be much more tired than me.”

“I’m used to it,” you said, “I enjoy my work because I’m doing it to help others.”

“You’re a good person,” he stated. There was something in his voice you couldn’t make out. Regret? Admiration?Maybe it was both.

“So are you, Chanhee,” you said. Without second thought, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his cheek. He didn’t flinch nor pull away. Instead, his pretty lips curled into a smile as he closed his eyes, ready to finally drift off to dreamland.

~

From that night on he seemed to improve a little, day by day. No more breaking things or having to argue about simple house chores. It occurred to you almost as if he had turned into something more human – so much that you dared to take him to work with you. People there had found the idea of your new demon friend strange, and you were sure some would take more than a little convincing to let down their guard around him. You couldn’t blame them for the prejudices – you had once been the same, after all. But Chanhee was okay with it, even when you had explained to him that some people might hate him, just because of his black eyes and what they meant to people. He had lived years of receiving that sort of treatment. Nonetheless, it pained you to think about how used he was to it. It took bravery and thick skin to walk into a police station the way he did that day. He was fascinated, looking behind the scenes. Perhaps you found it amusing how alarmed everyone was when they first laid eyes on him at the station. His ability to turn around their views of his species within twenty seconds or less was nothing but astonishing. He very willingly took it upon himself to walk down to the nearest coffee shop and order ten cups, also earning him the sympathy from the last few sceptics. When you were deep in conversation with another detective, discussing the possible whereabouts of a highly wanted demon, Chanhee suddenly interrupted you.

“I know an underground club where they like to go after…committing crimes,” he said. “Every demon in this city knows about it.”

At that moment you realized his full potential and what good he could really do. That was, if he was ready to sacrifice his people. But he just had – without even blinking. He could be an immense help to you.

“Young man I can see you have a bright future, should you ever decide to join the police force,” said your boss from across the room. Seemed like she had the same idea as you. Chanhee only smiled shyly but couldn’t hide the glint of pride in his eyes.

~

The following days you instantly made arrangements to get Chanhee an interview with the head of the station. He had been scared, at first.

“What if the other people there hate me?” he suspected.

“They might make assumptions about you in their heads, you know, because you’re a demon. They only know demons to be evil. But the moment they realize how good of a person you are, I promise they’ll change their mind,” you said. “You’ll be precious to us, and if you want to do good, the police is where you can be the most helpful. You’ll change lives, maybe even save people.”

“Yes, I want to help,” he said. “I’m done with my kind.”

“I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow,” you assured him. “If you’re too anxious to come in to the station, maybe she’ll allow you to work from home, from my office here. This is just a try, okay? If you really enjoy this work, you’ll have to learn and earn your badge.”

The way he looked at you filled you with so much pride. He seemed to have found some hope. Like he could finally spend his time in a productive and truly good manner. You couldn’t wait to see how he would do.

~

A tiring day and many discussions with higher-ups at workplace later, you returned at your home, late at always. Your fingers tingled with excitement and you wanted to yell for Chanhee the moment you walked through your door. You had managed to score an internship for him at your station. He was allowed to start as early as the following week. As you walked up the stairs, following the shuffling noise you heard, you imagined his face when you told him the news. You knew he’d be ecstatic. His smile would make you so happy, and you almost grinned at the mere thought of it. The noises were coming out of your office.

“Hi, Chanhee. Guess what my boss-,” you started. Then you fell speechless. Paper was scattered all over the floor. Drawers stood wide open. The orderly sorted piles of case files you had been working on were dispersed into every corner of the small room. Photos and pieces of paper were falling out of the folders. And in midst of it all stood Chanhee.

“Y/N- I’m so-,” he said, helpless.

“Don’t,” you said. Every ounce of excitement was gone from your voice, replaced by an ice cold tone you didn’t know you had in you. He flinched, but you couldn’t keep in what you had to say. “You’re impossible. I can’t fucking believe this! These are real cases, Chanhee! I’m trying to save real people here! This isn’t some broken mirror or a spilled cup of water. I can look past a shattered glass, but this is too much…I honestly thought you were getting better…”

Somewhere you knew you were being too harsh. But your job was your entire reason for existing. This was your life mission, laid out in front of you as if a hurricane had rampaged through the room. It would take days for you to rearrange the files. You weren’t even sure if you’d be able to find the correct places for each piece of paper.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking because he was about to cry.

“I don’t want to see you right now. Please get out. I need to clean this up and you can’t help me with this,” you said, trying hard not to scream out of frustration. Your eyes were already scanning the floor. You had no idea where to even start. With low-hanging shoulders and teary eyes that were threatening to spill over, Chanhee slipped past you. He granted you one more look before he scurried out of the office like a frightened animal.

Even though your stomach was grumbling from starvation and you could barely stay awake – as always – you needed to get some of the cleaning done. Now. Or you would go insane. Plus, you needed time away from Chanhee. While you collected the paper from every inch of the wooden floor, guilt slowly started to nag at you. You had never raised your voice at him to this extent. And he was sensitive. It wasn’t his fault, that’s what you always told him when he blamed himself for messing things up. He knew that. You cursed at yourself. How could you be so impulsive? All too well you knew how he felt about his demon half. You were supposed to be there for him, to tell him he was doing a good job and to make sure he didn’t beat himself up. Now you had achieved the complete opposite. A dull ache in your chest accompanied your hungry stomach.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. In a haze, you stepped down the stairs and to the door. You needed to apologize to Chanhee. When you opened the door, a delivery girl from your favorite restaurant stood there, handing you an order. You were puzzled.

“Already payed for,” she checked with a beaming smile, “Enjoy your meal!”

“Thank you,” you said, voice numb. Before you knew it, she had turned on her heel and was on the way back to the car.

“Chanhee! Your food is here,” you shouted, assuming he was the one who had made the order. You got no answer. When you set the bag down on the kitchen table, you saw a note, addressed to you.

Y/N,

Words can’t express how sorry I am about what I’ve done. All my life I only wanted someone to love me. In you, I thought I might have found what I had been searching for all this time. But I messed up. I always do. I drove you away from what we had. I’ve wondered why I always end up disappointing people. Now I know it’s because it’s the only thing I’m truly good at. You deserve someone you can trust blindly, someone who will walk through fire for you, someone who will take a bullet for you. I can’t give you that. I can’t even trust myself. Thank you for giving me a home and for being the most generous person I have ever met. You will always be in my sweet evil heart. Don’t worry about me too much. I will find my way and you will find yours. Who knows, our paths may cross again. I ordered your favorite food. I know you’re always starving when you get home from work. Enjoy it and don’t let it go cold. Make sure you get enough sleep tonight, and don’t forget to take your water bottle with you tomorrow, you left it here this morning.

I’ll hold you in my happiest thoughts forever,

Chanhee

You only snapped out of your motionless state when one single tear dropped down your cheek and onto the note. A heavy blanket of sorrow and regret sunk into your whole body. The emotions seeped through your skin and before you knew it, you were a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor. You wanted to take him in your arms and tell him you forgave him. Hell, you had forgiven him minutes after you had yelled at him. You should have gone to him then. Had you only apologized quickly enough, perhaps he’d still be here. Then he’d be eating dinner with you, and although you’d be frustrated, you both wouldn’t be alone.

Your tears fell into your food while you ate it, unable to control your sadness and frustration you had against yourself. They mixed with the shower water as you stood in silence under the hot stream, overthinking everything. Your pillow was wet from the crying as you struggled to fall asleep. Like a broken-hearted zombie you trudged across the hall and into his room. Chanhee’s covers still smelled like him and you hugged them tightly, as if you could hold a piece of him and bring him back that way. But there was nothing you could have done. He had left, and it was alone your fault.

~

The next day passed like a vivid fever dream. While you were sat in your meeting, you couldn’t possibly focus on the case your team was discussing. Instead, you pondered whether your makeup was able to conceal your puffy face and the dark circles under your eyes. If it was obvious, at least people didn’t seem to point it out. Maybe they were so used to seeing you tired that it would take a lot more than some tiredness and lack of concentration to arise concern. It was the first time in years you really wanted to go home after work. In fact, you couldn’t stand the laughter and good mood at the police station for one more second. All you wanted to do was scream and cry, and seeing people joke around without any idea about your feelings only intensified your desire. Of course, you could have confided in somebody. But you were afraid they would tell you Serves you right or I told you. You don’t think you’d be able to handle those blatant assumptions and the mocking.

Your plan for the night was set: You’d sit in the bathtub for half an hour, then you’d wrap yourself into a human burrito in a blanket and fill your brain with some brutal movie that would make your life seem like it was mere child’s play. But as most things in your life lately, nothing went as planned. Because after only five minutes in the hot tub, your phone rang on the other side of the room. The first time you ignored it. You really tried. But then it rang again, and you looked up to see the caller ID. It was your boss.

You groaned and quickly stood up, not giving up on the prospects of a peaceful night just yet. But then you heard her message – a break-in at a bank, one dead bank employee, five hostages, a possible shoot out. They were calling for back up. And when there was a chance to throw bad guys behind bars, the most inviting bath or an exciting movie suddenly turned dull.

Not fifteen minutes later you had jumped out the bath, gotten dressed in your uniform, taken your gun and ammunition, and were pulling up at the scene your boss had ordered you to. The bank was in the city center, close to the main square. The police team was stationed in a side street. Some of the team had already been sent to the front of the bank, where the police was attempting to make contact with the robbers.

“They’re holding four hostages in the back of the bank. One of them is at the front, right by the glass doors for us to see. The robbers have guns to their heads. If we come closer, they’ll shoot them,” your colleague informed you.

“Demons?” you asked. Against your will, Chanhee appeared in your mind. You wondered how he was doing. Was he hiding out in somebody else’s garden right now? Had he found a bed to sleep in? Then you quickly shook your head. This was not the time for heavy emotions of any kind.

“Yes. Five of them,” your colleague added. You huffed.

“What do they want us to do? Are they demanding anything?” you asked.

“They want us to let them leave with the money,” she said. You grinned bitterly and nodded.

“What about the back entrance?” you asked. You knew the layout of this bank and had been there multiple times in the past.

“That’s our route. Besides the one at the front, the other demons are inside the bank. The entrance isn’t guarded. A team of four will go to the back and try to sneak up on them. When we have a clear line of fire on all the robbers, we’ll take them out at the same time,” she explained.

“Alright,” you nodded, fixing your bulletproof vest around your upper body. You were ready for this. To others, missions like these would have been nerve-wrecking, and you would have been lying if you said you were completely calm. But the adrenaline was already rushing through your body, and fear was something you hadn’t felt since your very first operation.

“All ready?” your colleague asked the other two members of the team who would go into the bank. You received nods and professional expressions. You had all trained together and were used to functioning like one unit. Sticking close together, you rounded the bank, using a side street so the demons wouldn’t see you approaching. In your ear, the voice of your boss was giving orders and checking in on you. The street was dark and devoid of any life except for your team. Multiple of the surrounding streets had been evacuated and shut off to the public. The scene had something straight out of a heist movie. Except this time, the robbers weren’t going to pull of the perfect theft and get away. You would make sure of it.

“We’re almost there,” you said. “Twenty meters to the entrance. Awaiting permission to go inside.”

“You have permission,” your boss spoke over your earpiece. One last look at your teammates, and you were on the move. Sneaking inside soundlessly was easy. The backrooms were all empty. As you passed abandoned offices, you saw knocked over office equipment and paper scattered on the floors. Lamps had been left on and you heard the faint buzzing of a running computer that was most certainly unoccupied. Moving swiftly, you walked along the corridors, guns pointed ahead at all times. Your teamwork was untouchable. One of you made sure the path was clear, then the rest followed.

“You are one room away from the entry hall,” your boss said.

“Understood,” you answered and slowed down your steps. A cat wouldn’t have been able to walk more silently than you did. Now your ears picked up voices. Somebody was crying. There was shuffling of feet on marble.

“Shut up!” a male voice yelled. The crying faded out into muteness. In the dark, you could make out figures. A few countertops and a good distance separated you and your team from the demons and the hostages. You nodded to your colleagues and they understood. The four of you parted ways, moving into the room and taking shelter behind the bank counters. Once again, you checked the situation. Close to you, four hostages sat on the floor. A woman was still crying, and you could tell she was struggling to keep herself quiet. Around them, four demons stood, dressed in black. Their ski masks kept their faces hidden, but their body languages told you enough. They were not to be messed with. By the far entrance, the fifth demon was positioned with the remaining hostage, and you could spot the police cars outside in the town square. From behind your hiding spots, each of your teammates had a clear line of fire on the demons. The fifth one would be taken out from police outside the bank. You were just about to send a signal to your boss to let her know you were in position. Suddenly, the scraping of feet on the floor alarmed you.

“What was that?” one of the demons barked. The noise had come from your colleague beside you, who was now flinching. You had no time to think. No time to complain about her mistake. If you didn’t act now, they were going to close in on you.

You jumped up, pointing your gun at the closest demon. Right away, the remaining demons had their guns aimed at the hostages’ heads. Your colleagues had done as you, guns held towards the demons. Now you got a proper look at them. They were towering over the hostages, who were crouched on the floor in intimidation. The one in front of you only chuckled. Humans didn’t laugh like this. It was pure malice and recklessness displayed in front of you.

“I thought we told you to stay away,” he began. The only thing you could truly note about him was his mouth. The rest was covered by his mask and where the white of eyes should have been, two orbs of darkness sat, eying you like prey.

“Let the hostages go and we won’t shoot you,” you ordered, with a surprisingly calm voice.

“And why would we do that when we can just kill them?” he asked. His gaze momentarily focused on his fellow demons, as if he was a stand-up comedian and he had just delivered the funniest punch line.

“You will die if you harm even one of the hostages,” you stated.

“Oh, is that so? Humans never learn, do they?” he said. This monster was completely insane. And suicidal too, it seemed. “Go on, shoot.”

First, you thought he was urging your team to shoot. Then you realized, he was looking at the demon closest to you. The very demon you had your gun pointed at. He was asking the other demon to shoot at the hostages. You were preparing to pull the trigger.

But then your mind started racing. You stared at him intensely as your heartbeat quickened uncontrollably in your chest. The dark eyes. The soft lips. His skinny frame and gentle hands. You knew exactly who this demon was. You’d be able to pick him out of any crowd. What the hell was he doing here?

“Shoot!” the bigger demon shouted again, but Chanhee didn’t budge.

“I told you he was goddamn useless,” one of the others said. “Get rid of him.”

“You don’t deserve any of this money,” the bigger demon snarled, and his hand went to his belt. You knew there were human lives on the line. What you were about to do could be considered not only stupid, but wildly imprudent. Emotions were supposed to be left out of police operations. But how could you not have been blind with shock? You were going to let your heart control your body over your mind, and if it was deadly so be it. The bigger demon was now raising his arm at Chanhee.

Before you knew it, you had jumped out from behind the counter. You mirrored the demon’s actions and you pointed at him, pulling the trigger. At the same time, his gun went off. Just in time, you had pushed your body between the two demons.

“Y/N!” Chanhee shouted.

The bullet hit your shoulder and you fell backwards. Burning heat spread through your insides as you stumbled and reached for anything, anyone to hold on to. You could only think of Chanhee, and how your bullet had pierced through the big demon’s skull perfectly. Then, your colleagues opened the gunfire. The shots sounded almost muffled through the intense amount of adrenaline in your blood and the initial effect of being hit. Your body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and a wave of agony spread through you. You grimaced at the excruciating pain, hands grasping at your shoulder. All you could see was white, before you sank onto your back and the world went dark.

~approximately 18 months later~

“Y/N,” Chanhee said, for the sixth time within the last ten minutes. You pressed your phone harder against your ear, holding it up with your shoulder. Your hands were too busy writing a police report on your laptop.

“Chanhee, I promise I’m writing the last few sentences already,” you assured him. He liked it when you came home early, leaving enough time to relax on the couch with him, instead of falling into bed like a corpse. Today, he was especially insistent, urging you to stay on the phone with him until you had finally packed up your things and left the police department. You guessed he was just trying to make sure you couldn’t stop somewhere along the way and start working on something new. And maybe that fear wasn’t so far off the truth.

“I’m done,” you said. “Status report: I’m switching off the laptop. Now I’m taking my bag. I’m getting up. I’m locking my office behind me. I’ll be home in twenty minutes or less.”

His laughter on the other side of the line made you smile. You couldn’t wait to see his face and get to hug him.

“Alright. I can’t wait,” he said. “I’ll see you.”

The walk home was calm. A soft breeze went through your hair and in the distance, you heard sirens of an ambulance. Promptly you were catapulted back to your memories and into the vehicle after you had been shot. Going in and out of consciousness, you kept repeating one name: Chanhee. When you woke up in the hospital bed, you half-expected him to be sitting there, waiting for you to wake up. But of course that was not the case. He had committed a crime – or at least tried to commit one. The prosecution was in his favor. They acknowledged his compliance with the police and his hesitation to hurt the hostage. Plus, he sold out the other demons and showed no resistance at any point. His regret and sorrow was apparent, nonetheless his mistake caused him 11 months in prison – by far less than the other robbers got.

People had called you insane for standing by him. Others thought you brave and newspapers named him the first good demon in the world. Every week you visited him in prison, often more than once. You made the most of your short time to talk, and with your kindest words you let him know that you were still here for him. Every visit you learned a bit more about how he had ended up in that bank.

After he had walked out on you, he had nowhere to go. So, after strolling the street mazes for days he found himself in the very demon night club he had once warned you about. Most unsavory figures twisted his mind into thinking doing good was no use. They made him believe he would never be able to escape the demon in him, and he might as well embrace the malice. They more or less pulled him along to the robbery, while he overthought the whole thing. It hurt you, seeing him cry as he recounted how scared he was when he saw the hostages. Some of them ended up injured, but all survived. You knew he would have never forgiven himself, had one of them died.

The day you picked him up from prison was a day you’d never forget. Holding each other in your arms felt so right, and you had missed it tremendously. His months at the prison hadn’t been easy, but you made sure he felt loved and cared for when he finally returned. He almost refused to believe that you would open your doors to him again. It was no question to you. You’d always be here for him. Even when he insisted you keep your office at home locked at all times. You trusted him almost a hundred percent by now. His demon only came out rarely, especially in times of stress or intense negative emotions. But you only treated him with kindness, and he gave back just as much of it.

“Chanhee I’m home!” you shouted as you entered your home.

“I’m up here,” he spoke. You ran up the stairs, excited to see him. Your eyes fell onto the open door of your office. For a moment, your heartbeat quickened as you approached it. You must have forgotten to lock the door that morning. Slowly, you pushed it open.

“Hello,” he grinned. You only chuckled as you watched him, sitting by your desk, a book in his hands. “I hope you don’t mind me being in here. This chair is so comfortable.”

“It’s all good,” you said. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Umm…Friday?” he asked.

“It’s been exactly two years since you first started living here,” you said. “I think we should get some take out and celebrate, what do you say?”

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” he said. “I’d love that. And you know what? I think I’m ready to start the internship at the police station.”

You smiled proudly. He had put his book down and was getting up.

“You’re going to do good things,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. He finally had found his place. His home. And you were never going to give up on him.

#chanhee scenarios #new scenarios #tbz new scenarios #tattoos #the boyz icons #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #tbz imagines #tbz angst #tbz fluff #chanhee fluff #chanhee angst #chanhee x reader #kpop fluff #kpop angst #demon au #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

[victoria-daydreams]

The Long Way Home

Chapter Three: What the Hell Happened to Him?

AN: Thanks for the birthday wishes everyone and thank you to everyone who has liked this story! Claudia hasn’t even shown up, but you all are invested in this story and I appreciate it!

Trigger Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.4k

Taglist: @iloveeverything-09, @eiferundruhe​, @greatscott--wrongdecade​

Chapter Four: Recruiting for a Jailbreak

Logan, Hank, and Charles all stood around a table, discussing how to get Erik out.

"The room there holding him in was built during the Second World War when there was a shortage of steel. So, the foundation is pure concrete and sand. No metal," Hank explained, gesturing to a rolled out blueprint of the Pentagon, specifically, the facility Erik was being held in.

"He's being held a hundred floors under the most heavily guarded building on the planet," Charles added, with a sigh.

A look of confusion took over Logan's face, "Why's he in there?" he inquired, his eyes bouncing between Hank and Charles.

Charles let out a snort and raised his head as the rest of his body hunched over. "Did he forget to mention?" he asked with a laugh that was anything, but humorous.

"Uh...JFK." Hank muttered.

"He killed..." Logan trailed off, with shock evident in his tone before cutting himself off in disbelief. "That was Erik?" he questioned.

"How else do you explain a bullet miraculously curving through the air? Erik's always had a way with guns," Charles said snidely, as he turned his head to face Logan. "You sure you want to carry on with this?" he asked, uncertainty evident in his voice.

You could tell that a part of him wished that Logan would give up. Naturally, that didn't happen.

"Hey, this is your plan, not mine," Logan shrugged.

"We don't have the resources to get us in," Hank argued, shaking his head.

"Or out," Charles added. "It's just me and Hank," he breathed out.

Logan paused for a moment, "I know a guy. Yeah, he'd be a young man now, living outside of D.C.," he chuckled, as a look of fond memories filled his eyes. "He could get into anywhere. Just don't know how the hell we're gonna find him..." Logan trailed off.

Hank turned to Charles, "Is Cerebro of the question?" he asked, and Charles rolled his eyes before lowering his head down, slightly nodding it with an exhale. "We have a phone book," Hank offered.

~~~x~~~

"Here, here, here," Logan said, as he leaned forward between the seats.

"Where?" Charles questioned, carefully driving down the small street.

"Just stop here," Logan replied with agitation.

"All right, all right!" Charles surrendered, pulling up to a house in a suburban neighborhood.

"Next time I'm driving," Logan scoffed, as Charles brought the car to a stop, it was clear he hadn't driven in years.

"Don't get used to it," Charles retorted, rolling his eyes.

The three of men stepped out of the car and up to the house's front porch, passing by a mailbox with 'Maximoff' written across it's side. Strangely, the doormat at the front door had skid marks across the lettering. Logan knocked on the dark wooden door, before watching it open up to a brunette middle-aged woman her smile dropping from her face.

"What's he done now?" she sighed. "I'll just write you a check for whatever he took..." she shook her head, the woman sounded so tired.

"We just need to talk to him," Logan reassured, she nodded and opened the door all they way, allowing them in.

"Peter!" She called. "The cops are here!" she stepped out of their way. "Again." she added, seemingly sick and tired of her son's troublemaking antics. "Down there," she told them, pointing to a door.

Logan turned the knob and led the group down the wooden stairs. Stolen road signs hung on or leaned against the walls as they made their way further down. There was music was playing loud along with what sounded like a ping pong game. Once the men got to the last step, they stood in a large room and witnessed a peculiar sight. There was indeed a ping pong game being played by a young man with silver hair, but he was playing against himself, rushing to each side to hit the ball effortlessly.

"What do you guys want?" Peter asked quickly, not taking his eyes off the game before flashing past them and onto a couch eating an almost finished popsicle, "I've been here all day," he told them.

"Just relax, Peter. We're not cops-" Logan reassured, before Peter cut him off.

"Course you're not cops. If you were cops you wouldn't be driving a rental car," Peter pointed out.

Charles raised his eyebrow, "How'd you know we got a rental car?" he questioned.

"I checked your registration when you were walking to the door. I also had some time to kill so I went through your rental agreement. Saw you were from out of town. Are you FBI?" he asked, speaking quickly. Using his speed, he grabbed Charles' wallet in a second, looking through it's contents. "No, you're not cops. Hey, what's with this Gifted Youngsters' place?" he asked, as he sped away, dropping the wallet and Charles' business card on the floor.

"That's an old card," Charles stated annoyed, slipping the items back into his pocket.

"He's fascinating..." Hank commented, watching Peter speed around.

"He's a pain in the arse," Charles scoffed, running his hand through his hair, which was windblown because of Peter's speed.

"What? A teleporter?" Hank questioned.

"No, he's just fast. And when I knew him he wasn't so...young," Logan replied.

Peter frowned at his statement before grinning, "Young? You're just old," he quipped.

They turned back to the couch, seeing Peter already lounging on it finishing up a popsicle that he just got.

Hank stepped forward, "So you're not afraid to show your powers," he observed, raising an eyebrow.

Peter faked innocence, "What powers? What are you talking about? Do you see something strange here? Nothing anybody would believe if you told them..." he said very quickly, before zipped between Charles and Logan to the Pac-Man machine across the room, that was obviously stolen. "So, who are you? What do you want?" he asked.

"We need your help, Peter," Logan stated briefly.

"For what?" he quickly asked back, keeping his eyes glued to the game screen.

"To break into a highly secured facility...and get someone out,"

"Prison break? That's illegal you know..." Peter chuckled back, looking at the middle aged men who were apparently planning to do something worse than all of his crimes combined.

"Um..." Logan looked around the room at all the stolen items filling the room, which were mainly TV's and Twinkie boxes that still had price tags on them. Logan turned back to look at Peter who was still playing his game. "Well, only if you get caught,"

"So, what's in it for me?" Peter asked, keeping his eyes glued to the game screen.

"You, you kleptomaniac, get to break into the Pentagon," Charles informed, taking off his sunglasses to wipe his eyes.

This promise piqued Peter's interest, he stopped playing the game and turned around to face them.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Peter questioned.

"Because we're just like you," Logan said plainly, keeping his arms folded.

"Show him," Charles told Logan.

Logan raised his fist up, slowly, three bone claws poked through his skin and grew between his fingers.

Peter grimaced before nodding, "That's cool, but disgusting,"

~~~x~~~

"Built in 1943, the Pentagon is the world's largest office building," The tour guide began her routine. Charles, Hank, and Logan walked together in a large tourist group. "Housing more than 25,000 military employees stretched out over six million square feet,"

"Where's the bathroom?" a little boy near the front asked.

"He always need to pee!" the little boy's sister groaned.

"Well, lucky for you, you'll have plenty to choose from. The building was constructed during the segregation so..."

Logan and Charles quickly slip away from the tour guide, throwing their visitor's passes in a bin at the bottom of the stairs they went down. While Peter went away earlier to break Erik out. Hank stayed with the group and as discreetly as he could, pulled out a small a radio monitor twisting a couple switches—to interfere with the security camera signals. When activated, it would cut all the signals in the Pentagon, canceling the security footage and show Sanford & Son on the screens.

Logan and Charles climbed several flights of stairs until they finally reach door to the Pentagon kitchen. Signaling for Hank to set off the fire alarm sprinklers causing water to sprinkle down on the staff and them. Charles began speaking right away.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, this is a Code Red situation. We are evacuating the entire floor...so that my associates and I...can, uh, secure the prison..." Charles finished, and Logan sent him a 'what the hell?' look, but all the kitchen staff immediately left, leaving only two guards to deal with.

"Who are you?" One of the guards asked, advancing on them.

'We're special operations, CB...FB-CID..." Charles was getting flustered. "Perhaps you didn't hear me when first I spoke...but it is imperative that you understand... we're in a complete lock down situation. We have to get you to the third floor..."

Logan getting frustrated with Charles' rambling, rolled his eyes before taking charge of the situation. He walked forward to the guards, grabbing a frying pan on his way and punched one guard in his gut before smashing the pan on the other guard's leg then slapping him with it, knocking him out cold. Logan used the pan again on the guard that was doubled over and smashed the pan against his arm, throwing over a cart of food.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Were you finished?" Logan asked Charles sarcastically.

He stared at him in shock for a few seconds before shaking his head and grabbing the key to the lift from one of the guards.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, looking up to meet Logan's eyes. "I'm just not very good with violence," he declared, as the elevator doors opened.

Revealing someone Charles never thought he'd see again...Erik.

Erik looked at his old friend in shock, "Charles?" he asked in surprise.

Charles looked at him for a second before his face scrunched up, fiery with anger, and he launched a blow into the other man's face. Charles was no fighter though and ended up stumbling into the corner of the lift.

"Good to see you too, old friend," Erik commented, as he wiped at his sore lip. "And walking." He noted.

"No thanks to you!" Charles snarled.

"You're the last person in the world I expected to see today," Erik stated truthfully.

"Believe me, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have to," he informed the man. He quickly advanced on him. "If we get you out of here, we do it my way. No killing," Charles demanded.

Erik nodded unfazed, "No helmet," he said, tapping his head. "I couldn't disobey you even if I wanted," Erik reminded.

"I am never getting inside that head again. I need your word, Erik," Charles pressed.

Erik nodded his head slightly, not knowing the truth that Charles had lost his powers. Once there silent agreement was established between the two of them they turned to walk out of the lift. Before they could even leave they were surrounded by six security guards, aiming their guns at the intruders who broke into the Pentagon.

"Nobody move! Hold it right there!" an officer shouted.

"Charles," Erik called, turning to his friend.

"Don't move! Hands up, or we will shoot!" another ordered.

"Freeze them Charles!" Erik instructed him.

"I can't," Charles admitted bitterly.

Erik's face dropped, looking at his old friend then faced forward with a look of determination. Suddenly, all the metal in the room began to vibrate.

"No!" Charles cried, as the metal rose into the air causing the guards to fire their guns.

Logan held up his hand and his bone claws began to protrude from his knuckles. While Peter put on his goggles and slid on his headphones and began to zip around the room. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion compared to the pace that Peter was moving. He knocked some guards' hats off, poked another one's cheek as he ran along the wall. He set one of the officer's fist right beside his own face, so he'd knock himself out. He pulled a plate out of the air and sent it flying across the room. He gave two men a wedgies and raced back to move the bullets fired from the officers guns from their targets. He raised them slightly above everyone's head and stood back in his place.

Erik was the first to recover from the shock of everything that had just happened. They all looked around in complete confusion. Charles looked at the young man who was smiling at them. Charles made his way through the kitchen and out the door without even a second glance. Erik looked down at Logan's claws for a moment, and followed Charles out.

Logan nodded, "Thanks, kid," he said, patting Peter on the shoulder as he passed.

He grinned and jogged to catch up with everyone. The mutants left the Pentagon building as quickly as they could. Hank stood outside with the car, waiting for them to return. He started the car immediately as soon as he saw everyone, once the five men were seated in the car Hank took off from the parking lot.

"So, that's it then? Right?" Peter asked, looking at the older mutants.

"Still gotta get Claudia," Hank replied, focusing on the road.

"Get?" Erik echoed, before glancing at Charles. "I was wondering why the lovely Claudia was strangely absent from your side," he stated.

Charles' lips formed into a thin line, "It's a long story that I rather not delve into right now," he complained, narrowing his eyes at Erik. "I hope either of you remember seeing her address in the phone book, because I don't," he said.

"Well, that's the thing, I didn't see a Claudia Walker listed," Logan responded, frustration lining his forehead. "We have no way of finding her." He added.

Hank began to shift uncomfortably in the driver's seat which Charles noticed, frowning he slowly leaned forward in his seat.

"What is it, Hank?" Charles asked, sensing something was off.

Hank was most definitely hiding something, and it was setting Charles on edge slightly. Even Logan seemed to pick this up and looked curiously at him.

"Charles..." Hank called. "How angry would you be if I told you I had Claudia's address...for several years now?"

Chapter Five: A Summer Place

#x-men fanfiction #black fanfiction #x-men fanfic #charles xavier fanfiction #charles xavier x oc #black!oc #magneto x oc #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr fanfiction #erik lehnsherr x oc #erik lehnsherr x reader #charles xavier x reader #black!reader #x men fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic

[waitimcomingtoo]

25 To Life

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Synopsis: Peter deals with the repercussions of his identity being revealed

Masterlist

It all happened so fast.

That's what Pepper and Tony’s legal team told to say.

That it all happened so fast.

You didn't see it. You didn't hear it. You can't make out a face. You have no idea who would do this, Officer.

It all happened so fast.

For you, it seemed more like slow motion. You weren’t there to witness Mysterio’s death. Peter had told you Mysterio tried to shot him but ended up shooting himself. That’s what you were told and that’s what you believed.

But the video told a different story.

It was all there: Mysterio saying Spiderman had gone crazy, Spiderman ordering everyone to be executed, and Mysterio dying. The video made it seem like the London drone attack was the work of Spiderman, but you knew the truth.

Right?

To the media, Spiderman had gone rogue following Tony’s death and killed Mysterio. To the media, Spiderman was a murderer.

And to the public, Spiderman was Peter Parker.

You watched the screen, paralyzed with shock, as your boyfriends identity was revealed. You dropped the remote, not bothering to look back as the batteries flew out and hit the ground, and ran to Peter’s apartment. 

The cops arrived Peter’s apartment the same time you did, baracading the entrance with their cars. All the flashing lights and sirens made you sick to your stomach. There were officers everywhere, some talking amongst themselves and others turning the nosey public away. Did they really think your Peter did soemthing that warrrented that many officers? You dodged a few officers by the doorway and snuck up the fire escape to climb into Peters window. He and May were already in there, faces pale and haunted. May locked the window behind you and quickly drew the shades. You approached Peter slowly like he was a frightened animal, just in case he was skiddish. As soon as he saw you, Peter ran to you and threw himself into your arms in a desperate search for comfort. You combed your fingers through his hair to soothe him as his body shook with terror. He cried into your shoulder, his tears seeping through your shirt within seconds. You whispered comfort in his ear until his sobs became silent. 

“You have to get out of here. I don’t want you to see this.” Peter sobbed as he cradled your face.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You shook your head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But the video.” Peter whimpered. “It looks like I killed him. People are going to think I’m a murderer.”

You laid his head back on your chest and shushed him. You didn’t have to heart to tell him that people already thought he was a murderer. He didn’t need to hear that. He just needed comfort. 

“My identity is out. They’re gonna arrest me.” Peter sobbed. Before you could respond, there was a heavy pounding on the door.

“NYPD. We have a warrant. Open up.”

Peter held you tighter and you backed up towards the closet together. You clung to him, hiding his face from view and looked at May for help. 

“It’s all right, kids. I’ll go talk to the police. Stay here.” May said calmly. You shared a sympathetic look before she left the room. You held Peter tightly and kissed every part of him that you could reach as he shook with fear. 

“It’s okay.” You whispered as you fought back tears of your own. “It’s going to be okay.” 

You clamped your hands over his ears, not wanting him to hear what the police were saying and began to sing to him softly.

You knew Peter was innocent, but that video was incredibly convincing.

And incriminating.

How were you going to explain it to the cops? 'No sir, it wasn't Peter. Mysterio pretended to be a warrior soilder from another planet and gained Peters trust so he could pretend London was being attacked by a giant smoke monsters using special sunglasses called EDITH. Peter didn’t kill Mysterio, you see, Mysterio projected a fake version of himself using a drone and shot it on accident when he tried to shoot Peter. No, there’s no evidence of this. Yes, he was invisible when Peter grabbed the gun. He knew he was there because of his Peter Tingle, silly. Can't you tell?'

Is that what you were supposed to say? They would never believe it.

“Please, be gentle. His uncle was shot. He’s scared of guns, please.” May was hanging on the arm of one of the police officers as they burst into Peters room. You and Peter looked up fearfully as three police officers pointed their guns at you, clutching to each other for dear life.

“Peter Parker, you are under arrest for the murder of Quentin Beck.” An Officer stated as she pulled you and Peter apart. You and Peter reached for each other until only your hands could touch, crying out for each other the whole time. Peters hands were brought behind his back as an officer handcuffed him. You  were restrained by an officer and squirmed in the his embrace, kicking and writhing to break free as you screamed Peters name. He was lead out of the room, locking eyes with you the whole time until he was out of sight. May followed them out as she wiped the tears from her face, pleading with them to be gentle. The room fell silent, the only sounds coming from the police sirens, slowing fading as they drove to the station. 

You lost time from being at Peters house to arriving at the station. The car ride with May was silent as you tailed the police car Peter was in. Once inside, you were lead to a winess interrogation room and May was brought to the chief. You bounced your leg up and down as an officer went over the day Mysterio died, barely listening to what she was saying. The florescent lighting of the room made you feel nauseous as she questioned you.

"Can you tell me what happened?" The officer looked up from her notepad to look at you. You came back into yourself and blinked a few times.

“No, I'm sorry.” You said robotically as you smoothed your hand over your leg to keep it from bouncing.  “It all happened so fast."

-

They held Peter in a cell until the day of his court hearing to determine his sentence. You sat next to May in the courtroom and tried to follow what the Judge was saying, a lot of legal jargon was spoken that frustrated you when you couldn’t understand it. Your eyes drifted to Peter, who looked exhausted and frightened in his baggy orange jumpsuit. He made eye contact with you gave you a weak smile, rasing his handcuffed hands to wave. You both jolted out of your gaze when the judge banged his gavel.

"I hereby sentence Peter Parker 25 years to life for the first degree murder of Quentin Beck.” The judge spoke. The silence in the room was so deafening that your ears buzzed and rang. Officers arrived to handcuff Peter and take him away as surprise murmurs emitted from the crowd. You felt paralyzed as Peters terrified eyes met yours.

And then everything happened so fast.

You remembered standing up and screaming.

You remembered saying he was innocent, that he was framed.

You remembered May putting her head in her hands and sobbing as she lost her last family member.

And you remembered Peter looking back at you and mouthing that he loved you before they lead him out of the room.

Everything else was a blur.

-

You visited Peter the first day you could.

“Inmates are allowed two hugs; one on arrival and one when leaving.” Rang over the loudspeaker every five minutes.

It took a few weeks to get your name added to his visitors list. The judge had tried Peter as an adult, so he was put in minimum security federal prison to serve his sentence. You sat and waited at the table for Peter to come, looking around at the other inmates to distract yourselves from your nerves. Everyone was separated by a small table, some people with little kids on their laps and some alone. You smoothed your skirt for the hundredth time and rubbed your lips together.

Peter was lead into the room by a guard, his face lighting up when he saw you. He walked over to you and threw his arms around you and you hugged him tightly. His orange scrubs were rough against your skin as you buried your face in his chest.

"No contact." A guard barked and he jumped out of your arms. You gave Peter a sympathetic smile and sat down.

"How are you?" You asked despite his appearance telling you that the answer wasn’t good. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, with his eyes sunken in and his skin pale. His uniform was ill fitting, unless he had lost a lot of weight.

"I'm getting by." Peter nodded, both of you knowing it was better if he kept the truth to himself.

"Are the people here nice?" You asked hopefully.

"This is a federal prison, darling." He said shortly. You realized it was a dumb question and gave him a tight smile. Your fingers twitched, desperate to hold his hand but not wanting to get him in trouble.

"I know. I just hoped you had found some friends to protect you." You nodded and looked down. Both of you could tell how awkward it was between you. Neither of you were your usual selves, as you were guilt ridden and Peter was exhausted.

"I'll be okay.” He said, and neither of you knew if it was true. An uncomfortable silence returned and you kept your eyes down.A small smile tugged on your lips as you got an idea.

“Excuse me, guard?” You piped up and looked at a correctional officer. “Could you tell me what time it is? I can read the clock from here.”

Peter looked at you in confusion as his eyes darted to the watch on your wrist. As soon as the guard turned around to look at the clock, you leaned across the table and gave Peter a quick kiss. He smiled shyly as you quickly sat back down, pretending nothing had happened.

“12:34.” The officer answered you and you gave her a tight smile. You cocked an eyebrow at Peter and he chuckled for the first time in weeks.

“How are you holding up?" He asked you and you shrugged.

"I haven't been sleeping well.” You answered honestly. “I'm just so worried about you."

"I know." He said simply. He had no way to assuage you, and you knew it.

"We’re doing everything we can to prove your innocence.” You assured him and Peter fake you a fake smile. “All of us. Scott, Rhodey, Sam, Banner, May, everyone. Even Bucky is trying to help. Maybe there's a way to tell the cops about your Peter Tingle without them thinking we're crazy."

You looked so hopeful that it pained Peter. He reached for your hands and took them in his before he did what he came to do.

“No contact.” The guard repeated and Peter stared at him for a long time. He retracted his hands and folded them on his lap, swallowing thickly as he composed himself. 

"You don't have to do that, Y/n.” Peter said quietly. He knew what this was, what he was about to do.

This was the calm before the storm.

"Yes we do.” You blinked in confusion. “You're innocent, Peter. You shouldn't be in here."

"Maybe I should be.” Peters voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “Baby, I killed Beck. I moved the gun. That’s why it hit him. And I’m the one who gave him EDITH in the first place. Who knows what else he could've done. What if he killed you too?” Peter whispered in pain.

“This isn’t your fault, Peter.” You shook your head stubbornly. “And as soon as the police realize that, they’re gonna let you out of here. I promise, the second you’re free we can go right back to the way things were. We can be together and we’ll be happy again.” You smiled hopefully. “But until then, I'll visit you every single day, from the start of visiting hours to the end."

You thought he’d be happy, but Peter looked pained by your statement.

“Whats wrong?” You worried when he didn’t look like your plan.

"That's not a good idea, Y/n.” He said softly. “You can't spend everyday waiting for someone who isn't gonna come home. You need to get on with your life.” He said abruptly. You were taken back by his response and let out a nervous laugh.

"What are you saying?"

Peter looked at you for a moment and his bottom lip began to tremble.

"I'm saying you need to forget about me.” Peter stated as tears came to his eyes. “Go find another boy. Someone who isn't in prison can be there for you when you need him. Marry him and start a family with him. You can't wait for me to get out of here, Y/n. That day might never come." He cried. You looked at him in bewilderment and tried to process what he had said.

"What are you talking about? I don't want another boy. I want you.” You sputtered as you leaned forward on the table to really look at him. “Only you. I'm going to wait as long as I have to."

"I can't ask you to wait 25 years." Peter shook his head sadly.

"You're not asking. I'm making the decision by myself." You snapped.

"That means you'll have to wait 25 years to get married and have children. You probably won't even be able to have children at that time." Peter reasoned.

"So we'll adopt." You shrugged in dismissal.

"Is that really what you want?" Peter asked skeptically.

"No. But I want you.” You said definitively. “That's all that matters. If you can wait 25 years, so can I."

"But I don't have a choice." He reminded you.

"But I do.” You sniffled. “And I choose you.“

"Our only interaction will be these short meetings. I'm not even allowed to touch you.” Peter cried. “Don't you think you'll fall out of love with me?"

You reached out to wipe his face but a guard shook his head. You balled your hand into a fist and slammed it on the table. 

"Of course not. How could I? It's you.” You laughed sadly. “Every single time, it's you. You’re the only one I’m ever gonna want, Peter.”

Peters face scrunched up as he cried and looked away. He couldn’t look at you when he knew he was hurting you.

"Y/n, you're making this impossible." He sobbed and sucked in a sharp breath.

"Please don't do this, Peter.” You begged.

"You know I love you. So much." He said sincerely.

"Then stop breaking me." You whispered.

"I'm so sorry, but I have to do this.” Peter protested as he slammed his fist on the table. “I can't have you wasting away while you wait for me to be free. I got 25 years to life, baby.” He whimpered. “That means I'll only get a chance for parole in 25 years. And even then, they could deny me and keep me in here. Everyone has seen that video of me. That’s enough evidence to keep me in here as long as they want, even if it’s fake. I'm never getting out of here.” He shook his head. “Just because my life is over doesn’t mean yours has to be over too. There’s still a chance for you, angel.”

“I could never be happy without you.” You cried, fingers twitching as you fought the urge to reach for him. 

“Yes you can. And you will.” He decided. “I can’t let you die unloved. You need to forget about me. Guard!”

It all happened so fast.

You were escorted out of the visitation room, kicking and screaming Peter’s name. He was lead away by a correctional officer, mouthing that he loved you before he disappeared behind a wall.

For the next four years, you went to that prison every week.

And every week, Peter refused to see you.

The guards stopped asking for your name eventually and who you were there to see.

They knew why you were there.

It became somewhat of a routine. They'd call the guard outside Peter’s cell and ask if Peter wanted to see you, Peter would say no and you would go home. He thought that by not allowing you to visit him, you’d eventually move on.

He was wrong. 

You never did move on. Even after Peter was killed in prison by Adrian Toomes after four years of being locked up, you didn't move on.

You asked the guard how an inmate could be killed in a prison full of guards. The guard answered simply, "it all happened so fast."

At least he's free now. At least you can visit him.

Even if all you were visiting was a grave.

Tag List 🏷

@maybemona​ @foreverxholland​ @damnyoudameron​ @lavender-writer​ @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @guksmyfav​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human​ @celestial-skylines​ @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @spideygirl2003​ @the-crazy-fanfictionist​ @maryjanee23​ @spacebitch2 @geeksareunique​ @emmamarshmellow​ @jillanaholland​ @unbelievableholland​ @rebekkah4766​ @flixndchill​ @sovereignparker​ @wendaiii​ @thisisthebiplace​ @spideydobrik​ @every-marveler-ever​ @undiadeestos​ @caelestii-e​ @eridanuswave​​ @itscaminow​​ @fiantomartell​ @solarxmoonchild​ @where-art-thau-romeo​ @canyouevencauseicant​ @illwritetomorrow​ @thehappygrungelife​ @saysomethingspiderman​ @parkerboop​ @smilexcaptainx​ @hes-amarillo​ @quaksonhehe​ @kelieah​ @silteplaittais-toi​ @kickingn-ames​ @purefluff​ @seasidecrowbar​ @lovelessdagger​ @love-sick-blues​ @electraheart-3174​ @lou-la-lou​ @unbelievableholland​ @yourtypicalhotmess​ @ohnothezombies​ @spideyanakin​ @horanxholland​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @anapocalypseinmymind​ @gninwodacrie @quacksonfics @marshxx @themmmelissa

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #marvel #dan and phil #mysterio #spiderman far from home #spiderman: far from home

[peralta-guaranteed]

Jake rubbing his scruff on Amy’s cheek as he wraps his arms around her from the back hc

(oh my god, yes, 100% hello I am here for this, why the f* does this idea make me so happy 😍) Read on AO3 -*- She hears a slam and a thud, followed by two smaller thuds, and then a whole lot of floorboards creaking. Years ago, that would've sent her cop-senses into overload, but now she knows it all too well. She recognises the obvious sounds of her tired fiancé coming home, dropping his bag and shoes and heading straight for the kitchen for a snack or maybe the orange soda she finally restocked today. So maybe it is a little more surprising when she hears him enter the bedroom where she's hunched over at her desk instead, feels his hands on her shoulder knead once, twice, before softly gliding to the front. "Hey babe." She greets him as his arms link on her collarbones, the smell of cologne and deodorant hastily applied over what she knows is his own body scent after two days without showers. He's been oversleeping again, tired out from overtime work the day before, and barely makes time to tie his tie before they get in the car together. She'll have to wake him earlier tomorrow, she notes. It'd also allow them to actually see each other - apart from their shared coffee break, they've been passing by a lot, either of them out on active duty each day, Jake coming home late to find her busy with studying for her sergeant's exams like she is right now, and more often than not she's climbed into bed only when he's already sound asleep and realised she'd spent the entire evening away from him. He kisses her cheek instead of returning the greeting, and lets out a deep hum as his nose presses against her, rubbing his face along and reminding her of the very affectionate cat her brothers had brought home once. She can feel the rough stubble scratch along her skin, and shivers only a little. Jake isn't the kind of man who is in desperate need of an afternoon shave. His hair's fairly light and soft, and one shave a day in the morning is more than enough to keep his face smooth. Which means that on top of dropping showers in lieu of splashing some water or wet towels on himself, he's also forgotten to shave at least this morning - yesterday too, she amends when he scratches along her cheek some more. Amy knows he's been picking up as much overtime as possible (to save for the wedding, he sheepishly admitted after she scolded him for almost missing an appointment twice without an excuse, and she immediately retracted that scolding with a kiss), but even so, he's been a lot better in his personal hygiene routine than that even when pressed for time. "Rough week?" She asks then, because she knows how much he lets himself go sometimes when deep into a case. The corresponding groan that follows seems to agree. "Yeah." He sighs. "Two hard cases back to back. Got a little bit into my head, I guess." "I can tell." She reaches up to stroke her fingers across his free cheek, scraping along the stubble there too, and feeling the side still pressed against hers squeeze up into what is clearly a smile. The ensuing scratch along her skin gives her goosebumps, and maybe it's a weird thing to find sexy, but she's only a woman - seeing her kind and sweet fiancé with a slightly rougher look than usual definitely hits a spot. At the same time, Jake with a 3 o'clock shadow is more of a morning experience for her, and reminds her of soft and sleepy kisses and, on days where they have the time, equally soft and sleepy morning sex. She hums appreciatively, a sound he definitely recognises, and the smile squishing against her only grows. "Aww, you like my rough'n'tough cowboy stubble?" As if to prove it, he scrapes along her cheek even stronger, holding her tight with his arms even as she tries to escape. "Stop it!" She yelps, but can't hide her giggling as he intersperses his attack on her cheek with little kisses. "You're gonna give me beard burn!" His grin is still wide as he swivels her chair around to face her, dropping down on his knees between her legs for a better angle to kiss her properly, instead of awkwardly bending over. She gladly scootches to the edge of the chair when he pulls her forward by her hips to deepen the kiss. "I do like your stubble." She mumbles against his lips while her hands rub along the hair on his face. "But I like you much more when you're showered and actually looking like a human." "Fair." He mumbles back, not intent to move even an inch away from her. "So that's a No on regrowing the beard then?" She looks at him almost pensively. She did like the beard at first - it was patchy and rough, but it looked cute the way it wrapped around his mouth when he smiled, and he seemed proud when he explained it as part of his "don't mess with me!" attitude for prison. But then she'd actually gotten a blade to his face when he came back home, and discovered that it was for putting on much more of a facade. She could still see the bruises and little nicks that appeared under it, and the sunken cheeks that showed far more bone than before. Prison had given Jake's body a certain wiryness that he still hadn't lost, in his arms and shoulders, but his face at least had returned to its previous soft, smiling shape. She never wanted it covered up again. "No beard." She states strongly, and only a second of a glint in his eye seems to tell her that he understands. "But a shower." she reminds him, and he sighs as his forehead drops against her collarbone, her hand skirting into the hair on his nape almost by instinct, drawing tiny circles into it. "I just wanna veg out in front of the tv. With you." He adds, pressing a kiss to the skin where his head just leant against, moving up slow and steady until he reaches her neck, sucks right at that spot that he knows will be covered by her blouses. She's sure he can feel her soft whine in response, and he definitely feels her legs wrap around his waist while he's still kneeling. "We can do that after you shower." She moves his face up and away from covering her in lovebites by pulling on his hair, and is met with a far more salacious grin. "What a cruel and tough fiancée I've got." "Would she still be considered cruel if she offered to help with the shower?" She grins back, and Jake's eyes definitely light up. "Why, Santiago~" He teases. "Are you hoping for beard burn somewhere else?" She bites her bottom lip even as he pulls her off the chair completely, lifts her with her legs still wrapped around him, and makes his way much quicker to the bathroom than he has the last few days.

#b99 #brooklyn 99 #jake peralta #amy santiago #peraltiago #ficlet #my writing

[honey-dewey]

Handicapped Parking

Pairing: Javier Peña/disabled Reader

Word Count: 2,992

Warnings: Reader is wheelchair bound, canon-typical violence, nightmares, small bit of angst, one use of (F/N) (L/N).

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Javier could not believe what he was seeing. A handicapped parking spot at the embassy. Who the hell worked at the US embassy and for the DEA that was disabled enough to need handicapped parking? You, that’s who. The brand new recruit and official partner for Steve and Javier, you are about to be hell on wheels for those two boys.

Javier Peña had never seen anything like what he was seeing now. A handicapped spot right in front of the building with a car parked in it. A new car that hadn’t been there yesterday. As Javier parked, he eyed the spot. Who the hell chose a job like this if they were disabled? Best anyone could do was paperwork, and that was mind numbing. 

Javier almost forgot about it as he walked into the building, greeting the same people he did every morning. Steve was at his desk, hunched over some new paperwork, and he looked up when Javier walked in. “Hey, Javi. Check this out. We have a new partner.” 

“Hm?” Javier lit a cigarette. It was too early for this. 

A paper was pushed across the desk. “Yeah. Hired yesterday. Meant to keep us in check.” 

Javier snorted, reading over the papers. “This says,” he said, looking up at Steve. “This says they’re disabled.” 

“So what if I am?” 

You had just come back from a very frustrating bathroom break to find your other new partner standing at his desk. You rolled forward, holding out a hand. “(F/N) (L/N), DEA.” 

Javier shook your hand and introduced himself. You slotted you and your wheelchair into your desk, which was perpendicular to Steve’s and Javier’s. “So, anything new?” 

Steve explained everything they knew and what their current goal was, and you raised an eyebrow.

“He’s in prison,” you pointed out. “Why are we trying to disrupt that.” 

“We want his ass in a real prison,” Javier grumbled without looking up from his typewriter. “Not that palace he calls a jail.”

“Okay,” you said slowly, looking over the terms and conditions of the surrender. “So we prove he’s violating these terms. Easy.” 

Steve shrugged. “Not as easy as it sounds. Cigarette?” 

You wrinkled your nose at the offered cigarette. “I don’t smoke.” 

“Okay. One less person I gotta share with,” Steve said, holding his cigarette out to Javier, who picked up his lighter and lit it all without looking up. 

The three of you worked in silence for a while. You managed to go through four pots of coffee before three PM, which would’ve been only mildly concerning. However, you and Steve each only had maybe a pot and a half between you. Javier drank the other two and a half pots. So it was mildly concerning for you and Steve, and pretty damn concerning for Javier. 

“Jesus I don’t know how your heart hasn’t given out yet,” you said when Javier went back for his seventh or maybe eighth cup of coffee. 

“This is a light day for him,” Steve said, looking up when someone placed a piece of paper on his desk. “Usually he’ll have three pots and I’ll have one. He doesn’t sleep much.” 

You made a face, putting new paper into your typewriter. Javier came back with his coffee cup and immediately groaned upon seeing Steve reading the paper. “Who wants us to do what?” 

Steve chuckled. “You remember that pigeon coup? They want us to stake it out.” 

Another groan, this time a bit louder. You pressed your lips together to keep yourself from laughing while looking expectantly at Steve. “Can I see?” 

Steve handed you the paper and you read it over. “Well. I guess that solves our violating the terms problem.” 

The stakeout was to last as long as it had to, and as you pulled up to the prison before dawn on one warm morning, you immediately knew this would be hell. Steve and Javier took turns waiting outside while you sat in the car, your typewriter in your lap. Your window was open and you occasionally handed the boys whatever they needed from inside the car. 

Finally, when the sun began to crest the hills, you braved the outside. Strapping your crutches to your arms, you swung your legs out and slowly made your way across the grass. 

“I thought you couldn’t walk.” Javier said as soon as you were standing beside him. 

“I can,” you promised. “Car accident. Left me paralyzed, but with lots of therapy, I was able to regain some of my legs. I just prefer the chair because no matter what, my legs won’t support my weight for more than a few steps. When I walk I use crutches and braces to keep my knees, ankles, and waist stable.” 

Steve whistled, handing Javier a thermos. “I’ve never seen crutches like that before.” 

“Gutter crutches.” You watched Javier take one sip of the coffee and immediately pour the rest of it out onto the ground. “Mostly for long term work. Is that a pigeon?” 

Steve turned and Javier raised his gun. Three wasted shots later, and you were scoffing. “Damn. You’re a shit shot Peña.” 

“Think you can do better?” 

You took the gun, abandoning your crutches and catching the next pigeon in your sight. Your legs wavered, but you locked your knees and tried to stay steady. “I got it.”

“Shoot.” 

You waited, ignoring Javier. 

“Shoot!” 

Again, you waited until the perfect moment before shooting and killing the pigeon in one shot. 

Steve smiled, taking the gun from you. “Ever been duck hunting?” 

Javier watched him jog after the pigeon. “No, I’ve not been duck hunting you fucking hillbilly.” 

You wavered, falling flat on your ass as your knees gave out. “Damn these legs!” You swore, grabbing your discarded crutches and strapping them to your arms. By the time you’d finally struggled to your feet, Steve was back with the pigeon. 

“Thanks for the help,” you said sourly at Javier, who had simply watched you grapple upright. 

“In my experience,” he said in an equally cool tone. “People like you don’t need much help. I’m sure all I would’ve gotten was a crutch to the knee for my help.” 

You glared at him while he read the small letter tied to the pigeon’s leg. God you hated that man. 

The next few months were odd. You fell into a rhythm with Steve and Javier. Neither underestimated you anymore, and finally, they learned exactly where your boundaries lay with help. Steve had a bruise on his leg for two straight weeks after you whacked him with your crutch when he asked if you needed help shooting a gun (you most definitely did not) and Javier only ever gave you help when he noticed you struggling. Like when some new intern put the coffee mugs too high for you to reach without standing up and Javier had, very kindly, silently handed you your mug. He did a lot of things silently, usually with that scowl on his face. 

“We got a call,” Steve said one day, poking his head into your office space, if it could even be called that. “Let’s go!” 

You groaned, standing and hearing your back pop four times as you followed Steve out, your crutches clicking on the linoleum as you headed to the waiting Jeep. 

“Why’s Javi driving?” You asked as you got into the back. “I get so carsick when he drives!” 

Javier gave you a look in the rearview mirror. “Strap in sugar.” 

You rolled your eyes. None of you wore seatbelts. You just didn’t have time for it. So instead, you simply gripped the back of Steve’s seat while Javier drove like a maniac towards your destination. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you grumbled as you got out of the car, shaking off the car sickness and looking around. Nothing seemed very out of the ordinary aside from the cop cars surrounding a particular building. “Who’s in there?” 

“We don’t know,” Steve said, helping you with your tac vest. “Whoever it is, they’re worth the cavalry.” 

Half of your job was waiting, which was hell. You stood leaned up against Steve, trying to keep your weight off your aching back. As the minutes ticked by, you talked to one of the younger cops who’d been left outside. He was sweet, teaching you a few Spanish phrases and smiling when you butchered them. 

So of course, when the man you were trying to catch raced out of the building, wildly firing his gun, the young cop got a bullet to the back of the head. 

“Shit!” You yelled, looking around as the man raced off. You yanked your crutches off your arms and gestured to Javier. “Come on!” 

Javier was on your heels as you ran, trying to steady your feet and knees. Your hips and lower back screamed, but you just kept going, relying entirely on your braces to support you. 

Eventually, the stress became too much. Two blocks down, your legs stopped working, sending you screaming to the ground, wildly throwing your hands out to catch yourself before you broke your nose on something. Thankfully, the road was long and flat, so as soon as you righted yourself, you raised your gun and shot the guy in the shoulder. 

He went down, clutching his shoulder in pain while you breathed heavy, dragging your limp lower half over to the wall of a building, leaning against the worn down brick. 

“Hey,” Javier said, coming to stand in front of you. “You ran.” 

“I ran,” you agreed, holding your left knee as it twitched. “That’s a week and a half of chair time, straight. Fuck.” 

Javier sat beside you, watching cops run past to grab the man you’d been chasing. “You want help back?” 

You snorted. “Javi, I won’t make it three steps like this.” To demonstrate, you attempted to haul yourself upright and almost immediately hit the pavement, hissing sharply as you came down harder than intended. 

“So.” Javier looked you up and down. “Is that a no?” 

“Yeah that’s a no.” You stared at the sky, feeling your stomach twist. “Y’know what I want? A cup of tea. I haven’t had one in a while.”

Javier shrugged. “I’ve got a really good tea at my apartment,” he said. “My mother mails me some once a month. You’re bleeding.” 

You looked down at your hands, finally noticing the ragged scrapes across your palms from when you’d fallen. “Oh. I didn’t even notice.” 

“How’d you not notice?” Javier asked, taking your hands and digging through his pockets. “We can disinfect it for real back at the office, but for now,” he said, producing a small roll of gauze from his pocket. “This will have to do.” 

You sat still while Javier bandaged your hands. By then, the street had been completely cleared, and you were looking for Steve. 

“He’s probably waiting in the car,” Javier said, finishing up on your hands. “We’re gonna have to go to him.” He looked hesitantly at your legs. They’d stopped twitching, but they were still completely useless. “Got any ideas?” 

“Unless you wanna carry me,” you said with a sigh. “It’d probably be easiest to call Steve.”

Javier stood, crouching down in front of you. “Can you get on?” 

It took some maneuvering and a bit of heavy lifting on Javier’s part, but eventually, you were being carried back to the Jeep, arms slung over Javier’s shoulders and him gripping your legs as he gave you a piggyback ride. 

“Comfy?” He asked, and you chuckled. 

“Mhm. Totally not in horrible pain,” you replied, feeling yet another stab of discomfort hit your back. 

Javier was quiet for a minute before speaking again. “Why’d you come here? No offense, but you’re not exactly fit for the job.” 

“Like I got to pick this,” you said, leaning to cheek against Javier’s shoulder. “I was reassigned. I never asked to come down here.” 

Another long beat of silence, and then, “I’m sorry.” 

“Nah. It’s fine,” you promised. “Just a bit stressful sometimes.” 

Eventually, the car came back into view, and Steve rushed over to meet you, your crutches in his hand. “What were you thinking?” 

“Chase the bad guy,” you said, smiling as Javier turned around and put you down in the car. “Really, I wasn’t. I just went.” 

“Yeah, well,” Steve said, ever the voice of reason. “Don’t do that again. You scared me.” 

The drive back to the office was quiet. Javier had to carry you inside the building, and Steve found a hot water bottle to press against your back. Javier finished properly treating your hands while Steve filled the water bottle with water from the kettle. 

“Really, a hot bath will probably help the most,” you said, putting the hot water bottle in between your back and the chair you used whenever you didn’t need your wheelchair. “But this’ll do for now.” 

Your night was late, as it always was. You weren’t attempting to leave the building until well past ten PM, and when you tried to stand, Javier put a hand on your shoulder. “Nope.” 

“No?” You said, surprised. “Let me up Javi, unless you want a crutch to the ankle.” 

Javier didn’t move. Instead, he scooped you up in a bridal carry, causing you to squeak indignantly. “Javier!” 

“Yes?” 

“Put me down! I am more than capable of walking myself to your car!” 

Javier shrugged as best he could while carrying you. “You had me piggyback you two blocks earlier and you couldn’t get up all day to get your own coffee. I’m carrying you to the car.” 

You pouted, but realized that squirming would only serve to hurt you and probably Javier as well, so you remained still as Javier placed you in his car. 

The drive home was, as with most things Javier did, quiet. When he pulled up to the building, you made him go into your apartment across the hall from his and grab your wheelchair. When he came back, you smacked him away when he tried to help you into it. 

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling your back pop painfully. “Fuck.” 

“C’mon,” Javier said softly, handing you back our crutches so you could put them across your lap. “I believe I promised you tea.” 

You sighed. “Javi, I wanna go home.” 

Javier nodded. “I’ll bring it to you. How’s that sound?” 

At the notion that Javier would be coming to your apartment, you sighed and gave in. “Fine. I’ll leave it unlocked.” 

Ten minutes after you’d gotten settled on your couch, Javier came into your apartment, carrying two cups of tea. He set one down on your coffee table and kept the other in his hands. “Feeling better?” 

“Yeah, actually,” you said, reaching and grabbing the mug. “Painkillers are my new best friend.” 

Javier sat down on the couch. “You know you could ask to be sent home,” he said. “They’d probably do it.” 

“Yeah,” you said slowly. “But then I wouldn’t be able to see you or Steve anymore.” 

“That’s what’s keeping you here? Me and Steve?” 

You nodded. “Javi, before this, no one would even look at me. I was disabled and trying to work in law enforcement. You and Steve treat me like a capable adult, and people actually listen to what I have to say now.” 

Javier was quiet. “That sucks.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” You took a sip of your tea, smiling. “This is good.” 

“Custom blend,” Javier said. “Mamá always insisted it could cure anything.” 

You smiled. “You tell her to mail some extra if she can. It’s amazing.” 

You and Javier sat in your living room until midnight, drinking tea and swapping work stories. Finally, when you began to yawn, Javier stood. “I think it’s time for bed.” 

“Aww,” you groaned, pulling your wheelchair closer. “But I was having so much fun.” 

Javier smiled as you sat in your wheelchair and headed towards your bedroom. “Need anything before I go?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, actually. Can you help me into bed? When my back hurts a lot it’s kind of hard to haul myself into bed.” 

“Sure.” 

Between you and Javier, you were able to slide into bed, immediately feeling weary. “Javi?”

“Hm?” Javier turned, standing in your doorway. “What is it?” 

You fidgeted nervously. “Stay? Please? I’ve started having nightmares recently and they really scare me.” 

Javier nodded. “Okay. Let me grab my pyjamas, I’ll be right back.” 

By the time Javier had returned, you were half asleep. He waved to you and settled down on your couch, likely not falling asleep, but you sure as hell did. 

It was early morning, before sunrise but well after midnight, that you woke up, breathing heavy and immediately starting to cry. The shattered pieces of your nightmare were practically gone now, leaving you with nothing but jitters, a looming sense of dread, and the image of blinding headlights in your brain. 

“Hey,” a gentle voice said, and you jumped, heart pounding before you remembered you’d asked Javier to spend the night. “Are you okay?” 

You shook your head. No point in trying to lie to him. He could see you crying. 

Javier slid into the bed with you, pulling you close and letting you cry into his shirt. When you were spent of tears, he continued to rub your back, his warmth seeping into your skin. “Wanna talk about it?” 

“I don’t remember much,” you admitted. “I think.” You had to force your words out, your throat pulling tight. “I think I dreamed I was in the car accident.” 

Javier was quiet. “You’re fine,” he promised after a beat. “Hey, you hear me?” 

You nodded, wondering when you’d begun to shake. 

“You’re safe here,” Javier said. “Safe as can be.” 

“I trust you,” you said softly, still buried in Javier’s shirt. “Trust you a lot,” you mumbled, yawning widely and feeling your eyes blink shut. 

“I think you need more sleep,” Javier said softly, helping you lay back down. “Agent’s orders.” 

You smiled, the sick feeling in your stomach sliding away. “Mhm. Stay with me Agent Peña.” 

Javier lay down beside you, pulling you close. “If you insist.” 

For the first time in a long time, both of you slept fitfully, cradled in each other’s arms.

#narcos #Javier Pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

[ask-spider-man-61610]

The Infiltration: Part One of Three

To say that two shapeshifters stood in the basement laboratory of a government building wouldn't be quite accurate. One shapeshifter stood in the basement laboratory. The other could more honestly be described as meticulously sculpted into shape. The particles that made up his body were arranged into the shape of a standing man, held in place by static cling, but that wasn't really standing. It was a rough approximation of standing, just like everything about Flint Marko was a rough approximation of a human being. He'd long since gotten used to the fact, but that didn't make it any less unpleasant.

The other shapeshifter, Reed Richards, leaned against a table that was great for projecting holograms but terrible for holding papers or drinks. Fancy and impractical equipment like this was one of the Cape Code Authority's most well-known features.

A third man stood in this laboratory too, off to one side. He was, in a way, the exact opposite of a shapeshifter. More on him later.

"I've taken some time to look into your request," Richards said as he tapped a few icons on the tabletop. "Here's the basics of my thoughts so far. A shell to house your nervous system and respond to electrical signals."

There was a sound like sand sliding down a dune before Flint began to speak. It had taken him a long time to relearn how to talk after becoming the Sandman; even now, it took effort to hold the shape of those granular vocal cords as he spoke in a deep and raspy voice. "Yeah. Y'said that last time, Doc. What's changed?"

Richards, in response, pinched an image on the tabletop and widened it out, his fingers stretching like rubber bands to expand the picture further. He raised his arm--he seemed to ignore his joints, the entire limb bending like a garden hose--and flicked one finger up, and a hologram rose out of the table's display to cast a soft white glow over the room. The hologram looked like eggshells glued to an Erector set, arranged into the shape of a bipedal form that lay on the table as if it were a stretcher. "What's changed is that I've done some research into actually making that shell. Take a look, I've drafted up a basic schematic for what it'd look like."

"And you decided it'd look like a Phantom?"

Richards snorted, but ignored the question. "The outermost shell is solid-light holography," he continued, making a vague swiping gesture through the air above the image. The eggshell faded out, revealing the bare animatronic beneath, which (judging by the sculpted face made of sand) Flint found even less impressive. Frowning, Richards looked down at the hologram again and added, "We could, given some finagling, calibrate it to resemble an actual human. But generating these 3D models is a pain, so I didn't bother."

Perhaps a more critical mind would have asked why, if 3D models were such a pain, they bothered to use holograms at all instead of pen and paper. But Flint's mind had never been an especially critical one; he was in no way stupid, but for all his life had tended to take things as they came. Instead he asked, "Is that why it looks like a Phantom? 'Cuz you're just recycling a picture you already had?"

"Not letting that go, eh?" Richards replied, the ghost of a smirk on his face as he glanced up at the Sandman again. He waved his hand again, and the computer misinterpreted his gesture and deactivated the projection of the suit. Rolling his eyes, Richards reactivated the hologram and said, "No. Well, partially. It looks like a Phantom because that technology is what a lot of my idea is based on. You see, what you're asking for is very similar to how the technology works anyway--an artificial support structure for a unique nervous system. The only difference is that your nervous system is two gallons of granulated silica, whereas the Phantoms are currently working with--"

And here he stopped, falling silent and stoic. His eyes, suddenly devoid of their smiling crow's feet, glanced Flint's way before his disgusting elastic fingers returned to typing on the touchscreen between them. The pile of sand, insomuch as it could, looked confused.

"What?" he said, in a voice like a seashell crushed underfoot on a beach. "What're the Phantoms workin' with? I thought they were just robots."

This was a common misconception, and Richards, like most of the Cape Code Authority, had a vested interest in upholding it. "Phantoms" were the colloquial name for Perpetual Holographic Avatar/Nano-Tech Offensive Monsters. Bipedal, autonomous drones with light weaponry, they were the foot soldiers of the CCA, the beat cops, the cavalry when an agent wanted reinforcement. They had been in development since the War of the Worlds had brought the Chitauri and all their technology to Earth six years ago, and some of the core technology of the drones was better kept unknown. What Richards had said threatened to jeopardise that secrecy.

The third man in the room chose then to speak. Stepping forward, his black cloak obscuring the entirety of his six-foot-plus form, he spoke with a voice that was digitally altered to be an octave deeper. "They are robots," he said, his white face mask moving like genuine flesh. "Their processors have a unique method of operation, though. They have some of the most sophisticated A.I. in the world, and their microprocessors are similar enough to a human's that it won't require too much tinkering to render it compatible with your...situation."

This was Scrier--or rather, a Scrier; one of many--and he was a champion liar. Nobody quite knew when he had joined the CCA or what level he occupied, but the executives of the organization seemed to treat him as a special case. He never answered distress calls, except to break up protests and strikes. He had no patrol routes, no assigned partners, and the only training courses he attended were the ones he taught--the ones about corporate rights and the agency's responsibility to them. Agents weren't allowed to try and investigate Scrier's identity. For all they knew, he was an undercover boss trying to hear his subordinates' opinions on him.

This was true, but it was a little more specific than that.

"Yes!" Richards said, gesturing towards the man gratefully. "Thank you, Scrier. I didn't know how exactly to put that. Yes, Phantoms run on a very human-like system. In theory, adapting it to suit your nervous system should be far easier than trying to create something out of whole cloth."

"I thought you were like a super genius," Flint said, sounding a bit annoyed. "You've invented flying cars and indestructible fabrics that let you go to space. You have yer own interdimensional portal. Why is this taking so much thought? Why does this need to be made out of other stuff and spit and prayers?"

Richards gave him a blank glare for a few seconds before sighing. "Okay," he said, leaning on the table. "First of all, I am a genius. I'm one of the smartest people to ever live, but that doesn't mean I know everything. I have to research and experiment. Any innovation, even one from me, takes time." He waved his hand again and the hologram vanished. "Second of all, remember: I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're doing this because that was my condition!" Flint shot back, and the pile of sand swelled slightly and grew almost half a foot. He raised his arms; granules fell from the sculptures and scattered across the floor. "That's what I said when I joined this stupid super-cop thing! I hate being the Sandman, Doc! You guys offered to give me this--this job of disrupting protests and taking down unregistered super-guys because your bosses told me you could make me...not."

He glanced down at his hands. And indeed hands they were; years of practice had let him sculpt the sand at the end of his arms into an incredibly realistic form, with perfectly jointed fingers. You could almost see what must have once been his fingerprints. But as he looked at them a small stream of sand fell from them to the ground.

"I'm not expectin' you to make me human again," he said. "But just...something that'll make me feel more human. Something that feels like a body." His features hardened again, sand dunes into sandstone. "If you're just half-assing that--if you're just giving me something that-that makes people treat me like a Phantom and that'll break in like a week--"

And here he stopped. There was more than just a salary that kept agents of the Cape Code Authority in line. You had a lot of wiggle room as a superhero registered under them: you could slack off on the job, you could issue arrests for what you were pretty sure was a crime, you could stop and frisk anyone you liked, you could be sure that the beatings you gave to unarmed suspects were graciously forgiven by your superiors. But one thing you couldn't do was leave. Quitting the CCA was a surefire way to bring the coworkers you had once trusted down on your head; no longer registered, you had no more immunity than a child experimenting with the most basic powers did. Nobody wanted to find themselves imprisoned in Complex 42--stranded inescapably in the Negative Zone, tortured by armed guards and experimented on to replicate your powers, only protected from the hostile, annihilating environment outside the prison by a few wafer-thin force fields. But that was exactly where Flint's line of thinking threatened to take him.

"...Forget it," he mumbled, defeated, and as he slumped down slightly his face and body lost much of its detail.

Richards stared across the table with an uncomfortable air. Glancing down at the table, he tapped a few keys on it and the hologram vanished. With one hand he pushed his glasses up, and then his arm stretched the five feet across the table and patted Flint's semblance of a shoulder.

"Look," he said. "I can't make any promises. You're...unprecedented, Marko. The only shapeshifter of your kind. I'm doing the best I can to help you. But if I can use technology we already have to do it, then I'm going to. You're not my only job in the CCA. But I'm working on it." He took his hand back, and then needed a second to brush off the sand that had come with it. "...It's getting late. We ought to call it a day, I need to head home."

"Have to convince Susan not to walk out on you again?" Scrier suggested, already heading for the door.

Reed just dragged his hand down his face, his features stretching in his grip, and didn't answer. His eyes were bagged and his posture tired. Instead he began to trudge towards the door, each leg bending like it was made of plasticine, and followed by an animate pile of sand.

The light of streetlights and storefront signs shone through the windows as the three of them stepped out of the laboratory. About ten feet away, a custodian looked up from the floor he was mopping and gave the trio a quizzical expression, but the only one who paid him any mind was Scrier, whose expression was hard to parse through the prosthetic mask. Richards and Flint just began to head the opposite direction down the hall.

"Hey! Scrier! Don't you have some skulking to do somewhere else?!" Flint called back.

As the door to the lab swung closed, the janitor adjusted his grip on the mop and looked back down at his work. Scrier, after a second more of staring, turned away and began to saunter off.

It was a long hallway. They kept walking for a good long while before they turned and were out of sight. And for all that time the janitor continued to mop and silently sweated, waiting for them to notice that the security cameras weren't moving like they usually did. Even when the three Cape Code Authority agents were gone, the custodian continued to work. He worked until the vibrations of their footsteps through the floor had faded into the background tremors of the environment. And even longer than that, until the buzz of spider-sense in the back of his mind had subsided slightly, no longer quite so focused on them.

#Spider-Man #Spider-Man AU #Peter Parker #Earth-61610 #Cape Code Authority #Reed Richards | Mister Fantastic #Flint Marko | Sandman #Scrier #story #long #Odyssey Prelude

[sgtbradfords]

If you’re still taking prompts for Chenford I’d love “I really need you.” or « I don’t love you »💔

Ok anon, I hope you’re ready cause this is a DOOSY. I would call this an AU that takes place after 3x01.

WARNING: possible alcohol abuse, possible drug abuse, and possible suicidal tendencies. There is fluff but due to these warnings I am inserting a Read More link in case this is not someone’s cup of tea. 

Lucy Chen had gotten good at hiding it until one day she didn’t. She could flawlessly cake on the concealer to hide the dark bags under her eyes and make it look natural, she could survive off a can of Bang or the strongest, darkest cup of coffee you could put in her hand. The only thing she couldn’t do? Was hide from her demons, because they will always catch up to her no matter how fast she runs.

She told him she was fine when they went to the Prison to visit with Rosalind Dryer, that she could handle it, that if she ‘could not handle dealing with Rosalind in the cage she shouldn’t be a cop’. She told him she was fine when they got back into the shop, that what that monster said didn’t affect her. She told him she was fine when they got off shift, that she was going to go home and have a large glass of wine. She told him, but she was everything but fine.

Tim Bradford had just fallen asleep, staying up later than usual knowing he didn’t have to work the next day. He got home as the sun set, letting Kojo out to run the backyard as he made chicken carbonara for dinner. He ate in-front of the TV, watching as the LA Kings pulled off a big overtime win to give them three points versus the Anaheim Ducks, pushing them closer to a chance to secure a spot for the Stanley Cup Playoffs. He during intermissions he worked on cleaning his house, threw a tennis ball around for Kojo and got ready for bed. His brain had finally relented from his thoughts, allowing him peace as he dozed off, only to be woken by the sound of his charging phone buzzing on the nightstand.  He ignored it as it stopped vibrating, only to begin again.

He sighed “Bradford.”

“It’s West, I need you to come to the apartment.”

“Everything ok?” he asked as the threw the covers off, stepping into the sweat pants next to the bed, grabbing and slipping on the pullover hanging on the back of the door.

“It’s Lucy.”

“On my way.” He told the other officer before hanging up, his thoughts berating himself. Not that he was frustrated at his rookie but more at himself, he knew that after what she did today, she had lied about being fine. He had noticed the copious amounts of sugar and caffeine that seemed to be a constant in her hand the past few weeks. But he had held out hope that she would talk to him, tell him what was going on in that beautiful brain of hers, tell him the things she needed to get off her chest.

Tim grabbed his gun from the nightstand, slipping it into the waistband before he threw an old pair of tennis shoes on, moving to the foyer to grab his keys from the basket, glancing at the dog who was snoring away in his crate as he locked up the house and got into his truck. The drive was quiet and smooth for 11:30 of a night, the amount of traffic miniscule as he pulled up in-front of her building.

He locked the truck, punching in the code for the door before making his way to the elevators. He sent a text to Jackson, telling him he was here as he stepped on the car. The car slowed to a stop on the sixth floor, the doors opening to show Jackson standing in the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asked as he approached.

Jackson rubbed a hand down his face “She was fine when I left a few hours ago, and well I came back to this..” he said as he opened the door.

Tim stepped in, immediately noticing the almost empty bottle of tequila tipped over on the counter and the pills with no bottle that were scattered across the rock. His stomach plummeted as he began to think the worst.

“Did she take any?”

“I’m not sure, she won’t talk to me.” Jackson said as he pointed to the girl sitting on the floor with her back against the wall.

“Chen.” Tim said as he moved closer, crouching down in-front of her. She was staring ahead, tear tracks and a blank expression on her face. “Lucy.” He said softly, grabbing her chin in his hand. “Do you have your pen light?”

Jackson moved to his duffle bag next to the door, grabbing the small pen before walking back, handing the device over. Tim turned it on, shining it into her eyes when Lucy began to speak. “I didn’t take any.”

“Let me check.” Tim said as he looked into her eyes. “You know the drill.”

Lucy’s eyes followed the light as Tim moved it. He conducted his test, determining she was telling the truth, her eyes glossed from the alcohol. “I told you.” She told him as he handed the pen back to Jackson.

“I know, but I needed to know if I needed to call for an ambulance or not.” He said, his tone angry as he stood, walking over to the sink, taking a deep breath as Jackson joined him.

“What happened today?” Jackson asked quietly.

Tim grabbed a glass from the dish drainer, filling it with water. “We went to see Rosalind and she knew things she shouldn’t.”

Jackson nodded in understanding, “Listen, she’s talking to you and not me so I’m going to head to my room. Yell if you- yell if you need anything.” Jackson told the superior as he turned and walked away, glancing worriedly at his friend that rested her head on her knees sitting on the floor.

Tim grabbed the full glass, walking back over to Lucy, handing the water to her. “Drink, boot.”

Lucy drank the glass of tap water, handing it back to Tim as he walked to refill it again. “I didn’t-“ she stumbled over her words. “I didn’t try to-“

“I know.” He said softly, his fingers grasping the countertop, his knuckles turning white. “I know you didn’t.”

A tear made its way down Lucy’s face as she swiped it away. “I just want it to stop.”

Tim sat the glass on the coffee table, sitting down next to Lucy, kicking off his shoes. “Talk to me.”

Lucy stared down at the legs beside hers, “You know, I knew you were tall but your legs are like really long.”

“Chen.” He softly reprimanded as her head fell into his shoulder.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Never- never apologize. What he- what they did-“

Silence overtook them as his words drifted off. The glow from the LA nightlife filtered into the living room through the window pane, casting a soft light in the room. Tim had assumed that Lucy had fallen asleep, her arm tangled with his as her hand rested on his thigh. He thought back to things she had told him, her telling him that her comfort, her safety came from a forty-year-old chunk of metal. Him having to hear Rosalind sing the song that gave her hope, that kept her alive. The panic and distress of almost loosing her, neither of them knew it but he needed her too.

“I thought- I thought I was doing better. I stopped seeing my therapist, eased back on my meds. I can see now that was a mistake.” She whispered into the night. “But the nightmares started again and I just- I don’t want to close my eyes because every time, every time I do I see-“

Tim waited for her to finish. “You see what Chen?”

“It varies,” she told him as she wiped away the new tears, sniffling. “sometimes it’s Caleb, sometimes it’s Rosalind, sometimes it’s you.”

Tim startled, “Me?”

Lucy nodded, “Yeah. Most of the time, I can’t- I can’t find you, I hear your voice, but I can never catch up.”

“Lucy that’ll never-“

“Happen?” she finished for him. “Other times it’s a repeat of our first day together.”

Tim snorted. “You never expected to deal with a GSW on your first day did you?”

“No!” Lucy laughed as she turned to him. “Though with you I should know to expect the unexpected.”

Tim looked at her before whispering “Expect the unexpected huh? That’s what I always expect with you.”

Lucy tilted her head back as she glanced at his lips before focusing back to his eyes. Tim leaned in closer, his own eyes looking at her cherry red lips. Their lips a hair breadth away, so close their breaths were intertwining.

“We can’t.” Tim whispered against her lips.

Lucy stayed still, “I know.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been drinking.”

“I know. But, I need-“ Lucy said swallowing her words before gaining courage. “I need you. I just need you. You don’t- we don’t-. Can you please just hold me?” She asked pulling back, unshed tears glistening her eyes. “Please.”

Tim Bradford could count on both hands the moments he could feel his heart break. This, his rookie, someone he shouldn’t be this close to, begging him for comfort was one of those moments, the pain in his chest growing heavier as the knife plunged deeper.

“Ok.” He whispered, moving to stand. Once he was steady on his feet he bent over, putting one arm behind her, the other going under her knees.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“I can walk.”

“Not alone.” He told her as he carried her to her room, putting her in the middle of the mattress before he slid in beside her. Lucy grabbed her weighted blanket from the end of the bed, tossing it over her body before stretching her hand out, reaching for his. She knew it was inappropriate, what ever it was that was happening, that if word escaped the four walls of this apartment there would be ramifications but she trusted and knew with everything in her that the other two people in the apartment would never speak a word.

“Thank you.” She whispered, her eyes becoming heavy as her breath began to even out.

“Never say I don’t love you Luce.” He whispered into the night to no one 

That night Lucy was able to finally sleep, her monsters locked away and buried in a hole, unable to escape their confinements for however long that may be. And Tim Bradford, never telling a soul, choosing to keep the secret to himself as he stayed up, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of Lucy’s hand in comfort, his own emotions fighting to the surface. His monsters and demons clawing their way out of their prison, getting the better of him in the quiet space before he could stop them. He stared at the darkness around him, save for the nightlight glowing from an outlet across the room. Lucy sighed in her sleep, her body moving closer into Tim’s side, one of her legs escaping its confinement as she threw it over one of his as her other hand landed on his chest. One moment he was staring at the woman curled into his side, the next he was fast asleep where he shouldn’t be, his thoughts relenting, allowing him the same peace that he was giving. 

#the rookie fic #tim bradford x lucy chen #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #fanfic #chenford

[littleoddwriter]

Hello over there! Hope you're alright! Can I request another Zsaszmask story with their son Andrew? This time, Andrew kills someone in self-defence and he does not know what to do. Luckily for him, his parents are here for helping him. I am sure you will write something wonderful. Thanks in advance and have a nice day! (BTW, if you want to request me something, don't hesitate!)

Alive and Safe | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

Hi there! As alright as can be, hope you are as well, thanks! <3 Now, this was a super interesting request, thank you so much for it! I really hope you enjoy what I've done with it. :) Have a wonderful day/night! (And thank you!) <3

summary; See above.

notes; Gun Violence; Blood; (Background) Murder; Self-Defence; Crying; Shock; Anxiety/Panic; Hurt/Comfort; Showering; Taking Care of Someone; Parental Feelings, Worries, etc.; Domestic. [Also, Andrew is 19 here. It'll be mentioned in the Fic, too, but I'm saying it here for imagination purposes.]

There was so much blood on him. Some of it was his, but most of it was from the guy, who was now lying lifeless on the floor. Andrew had shot him. He didn’t mean to kill him! He just wanted to incapacitate him so that he could get away and call the police. That was all he had wanted to do. But now he stood in the dark alleyway, above this corpse and he didn’t know what to do.

Should he still call the police? Would they arrest him, then? Would he end up going to prison for trying to save his own life?

With trembling hands, he pulled out his mobile phone from his pants pocket and speed dialled his dads’ number. They would know what to do.

“Andrew? Where the fuck are you? You were supposed to be home already!” one of his dads, Roman, yelled upon picking up.

Andy opened his mouth to tell him what was going on, but he didn’t know how to start. His throat was so tight; he couldn’t get a word out. Instead, he just breathed heavily into the phone as tears gathered in his eyes.

“Andy?”

“Dad-,” he choked out eventually, a sob tearing from his throat immediately after.

“Andy, what’s wrong? Baby, c’mon, tell me what’s going on,” his dad urged him, his voice softer and with a more concerned inflection now. “Victor, get the driver ready!” Andy heard him say distantly. “We’re coming to you, ‘kay? Just tell me where you are,” he spoke to him directly again.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Andrew tried to collect his thoughts and then whispered the alley’s name he was currently standing in. “Please come quick, dad. Please,” he snivelled.

Back at home, Roman rushed Victor downstairs and into his Rolls Royce. Quickly, he gave the driver the address and told him to hit the fucking gas, but park a street away from the actual alley Andy was in, lest they might alert someone to their presence.

“He sounded so fucking afraid, Vic. What do you think happened? Fuck! That’s why I don’t like letting him go out on his own!” Roman hissed, punching the seat beside him.

“I don’t know, but we’ll find out. We have to stay focused, though, Roman. Andy needs us,” Victor replied, looking back at him from the front passenger seat.

“I know that, ugh! How can you be so fucking calm?”

Zsasz just shrugged and Roman huffed, crossing his arms. Why couldn’t Victor show that he was out of his mind with concern, too? Why did he always have to be the emotional one? It was annoying and unfair.

Soon enough, they arrived at a street away from the alleyway their son was in, and they quickly armed themselves – both with guns and knives, concealed by their clothing. Silently, they walked up the alley; Victor in front of Roman, making sure it was safe. Then, they turned the corner and came to a sudden halt.

There Andrew stood, soiled in blood with wide, wet eyes, shaking and frozen to the spot, illuminated by the soft yellow light of the only streetlamp in the alley.

When their gaze tore from him and further down to the floor, they saw the corpse of a man. He looked homeless to Roman, and it wouldn’t surprise him at all if he was.

“Dads-,” Andy sobbed, sounding so small and terrified.

Roman’s heart sank. He hasn’t heard his son sound like that since he’d been a younger child, plagued by nightmares. But fuck, he still was a child, wasn’t he? After all, he was only nineteen-years old.

“Oh, baby. It’s okay,” Roman said and quickly walked over to his boy, cupping his cheeks in his gloved hands, “Are you hurt?”

“A little,” Andy admitted brokenly and Roman clenched his jaw.

What kind of fucking prick thought it to be a good idea to hurt his son?

Victor crouched down beside them and looked the body over. “You shot him?” he asked, looking up at his son, who choked out a soft ‘yes’ in answer.

“I didn’t mean to kill him! I swear, I didn’t! It just sort of happened, I don’t know how. He came onto me and threatened me with the gun and I defended myself. I only wanted to hurt him! But suddenly the gun went off and he was dead. Just like that!” Andy explained frantically, his breaths coming out in short bursts, as he was starting to hyperventilate.

“Ssshhh, sh, sh, sh. It’s alright. We’ve got you. No one is mad at you, ‘kay?” Roman tried to shush his son, gently stroking his thumbs over his puffy, wet cheeks.

“B-but when the police find out- They’ll put me away!”

“Oh, sweetie, don’t worry about that. You won’t go to jail. I’ve got the police on my payroll. Not only that, but I’ll call my men and they’ll clean up here. No one’s going to find him or know he’s been killed.”

“Are you sure?”

Roman couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, hearing Victor, who finally got up from that filthy floor, do the same. “Yes, I’m certain. Otherwise your papa and I would have been in prison a long time ago, ‘kay?”

Andrew nodded and Roman leaned in to press a short kiss to his son’s sweaty brow. Then, he let go of him to get on his phone and wake up some of his goons, so they could do their job.

While he was busy on the phone, Roman saw Victor hugging Andrew, rubbing his arms and back soothingly and kissing his hair. It made him smile. Zsasz was surprisingly good at being a father. Roman envied him for how easy it seemed to be for him.

When he got off the phone, he told the other two that they’d have to wait here for his men to arrive, before they could return home without a second thought. Andrew certainly didn’t like it and neither did Roman, but it was necessary, lest someone might have found the body and actually called the fucking cops, then. That just wouldn’t do.

Finally, a good twenty minutes later, his goons have arrived and he instructed them quickly. Then, he ushered Andy and Zsasz back to his car, so that they could leave for good. Thank fuck, it had all gone smoothly thus far.

“Victor will take a look at your wounds at home and then you’ll wash up,” Roman stated, holding his son’s hand in his own. He would have put his arm around him, but the blood on him, although dried by then, didn’t allow it for him.

“Yeah, alright. Thank you, dad. For everything,” Andy whispered. He’s finally stopped crying, then, but he was still trembling severely; although that wasn’t necessarily surprising.

As they eventually came through the door, Zsasz immediately walked Andy into the bathroom to take a look at his wounds. Roman followed them, observing the whole thing from a safe distance in the doorway. Apparently, Andrew has gotten away with some bruises on his torso, a cut on his left arm and a split open lip that Roman only registered now in the bright bathroom lights.

“Take a shower, Andy. I’ll come and nurse your wounds afterwards, alright? If you need anything, just tell us,” Zsasz finished his inspection and Andrew nodded, thanking him quietly.

Then, Roman and Victor left Andy alone, until he was either done with washing up, or needed them all of a sudden - whichever happened first.

Frankly, Sionis felt sick to his stomach. This was his son, his baby – wounded and in shock, because he had to involuntarily take someone’s life to save his own. It was wrong on so many levels and it left Roman heartbroken and seething with rage.

“Maybe we should have shown him this side of our business before, already,” Victor mused, putting his hands on Roman’s shoulder and massaging them as he did so often.

Roman scoffed, “Why? So he wouldn’t have been so shaken up, now?”

“I don’t know, yes. I just don’t wanna see him like this again, y’know? God knows how long this will stick with him.”

“I know what you mean… We’ll just have to support him throughout and then he’ll be better, soon,” Roman responded, deep in thought, “That’s what other parents would do, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. I guess we’ll also just have to listen to what he says he needs. I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“Fuck, I hope so. Vic, I-,” Roman heaved a deep, shuddering sigh, “I was so scared we’d lose him. That some rival gang has gotten their hands on him or some fucking shit like that.”

“I know. I thought the same thing. But he’s okay. Shaken up and a little hurt, but he’s alive, at least.”

Zsasz stopped kneading Roman’s shoulders and instead wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling the back of his head. Roman relaxed into the embrace, closing his eyes for a moment, faintly hearing the water from the shower.

Later, after Andy has showered and gotten his wounds taken care of by Victor, he went to bed. Roman and Victor tucked him in, just like when he was still a boy and kissed his cheeks and forehead one after the other.

“Goodnight, baby,” Roman murmured, brushing his son’s hair back.

“Goodnight, dads. I love you,” Andy replied softly, looking up at the two of them with a small, quivering smile on his face.

“We love you, too. Now sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise,” Zsasz responded, then and walked over to the door with Roman in front of him.

Then, they switched the lights off and closed the bedroom door, walking into their own room afterwards and sitting down on the bed. As soon as they sat down, they leaned against each other and heaved sighs of relief.

Andrew was alive and safe. That was all that mattered.

#tw gun violence #tw murder #roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #roman sionis imagine #victor zsasz #victor zsasz fanfiction #zsaszmask #zsaszmask au #zsaszmask fanfic #mlm ship #mlm fiction #mlm fanfic #kid fic

[whump-town]

The Narcissist

My tasteful whump approach of: what if Tobias Hankel had made good on his word and come to kill Aaron Hotchner?

No major warnings apply, whump, angst, and sweet, sweet fluff

Word Count: 5k

If Aaron Hotchner smoked, he’d be blowing through a pack of cigarettes right about now. Gideon had benched him. The older man had taken one look at him and pulled him aside. He’s a nervous wreck. The tremor in his hands visible as his voice had cracked, asking the team to just broadcast what they each thought were his worst characteristics. Gideon let him drive his point home-- Aaron is many things but a narcissist has never been one of them-- and put him in a place where there was only one right answer. Gideon had told him no one would blame him if he couldn’t do this.

“It’s okay if you can’t handle it.”

His stomach cramps at the thought of those words.

Narcissists.

Bully.

Drill Sergeant.

Sexist.

Weak.

Leaning with his weight on his left arm, pinned above his head, Hotch vomits against the side of the house. His knees shake and tears he can’t control the tears that roll down his cheek. He bites back a sob as he falls to one knee, nearly landing in the puddle at his feet. They’re right, he concludes, shaking so hard he’s not certain he’s going to be able to get back up. He’s nothing but a bully. Worthless. Weak.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

Hotch looks up to see a dark shadow approaching him. He sniffles, straightening as his heart pounds. His subconscious drawing up his shields. Something’s not right. “Who are--” he jerks back, blinking dumbly as his brain fails to comprehend what’s just happened. He’s looking up at the sky, flat on his back. A gunshot. He coughs and gags as the thick taste of copper coats his tongue. He’s been shot.

“I condemn you,” the deep voice rasps into the dark.

Hotch just blinks, ragged wheezes leaving his mouth. He’s looking down the barrel of a gun.

“2 Corinthians 5:10 For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may receive the things done in the body, according to what he has done, whether good or bad." The hammer draws back as the sound of the old front door being thrown open rips through the night. “Every sinner must pay--” the hammer strikes.

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

Derek finds Reid.

He’s sitting on the floor with his hands bound in front of him, just waiting for whatever torture comes next. When his eyes land on them, he lets out a broken sob. Drawing his feet to his chest, he shakes his head. “No,” he rasps, burying his head in his knees. “No. No. No!” He starts to rock, keeping his eyes squeezed shut and his body drawn tight.

“Spencer?” Gideon tries to crouch near him but Reid kicks out and pushes himself away.

“No,” he cries. His eyes meet Gideon’s bloodshot and red-rimmed. “No,” there are tears pouring down his eyes. “I killed him,” he rasps. “I killed him, didn’t I?” His tone shifts. His body… Spencer Reid isn’t their rookie. He’s not their kid. He’s a shell. Broken. His voice rasps and breaks as he pleads-- the truth. He needs the truth. “Gideon, you have to tell me. Did I kill him?”

Gideon shakes his head-- oh. “Derek!” his voice is a bark, a command. It’s a level of control and demand that Morgan hasn’t seen or heard of since Adrain Bale. It snaps Morgan’s attention to the man though. “Get Aaron and Garcia on the phone and get out of here. Hankel’s going to them.”

Morgan freezes in shock, processing exactly what that means. “He’s…” his eyes dart to Reid. The younger man’s eyes bouncing between Gideon and Morgan, trying so desperately to figure out the answer to his question. So Morgan doesn’t say it, he just nods and turns around shouting out for Emily. But, by God, he thinks it. He thinks it and it makes his stomach twist and his blood cold: Tobias Hankel is going to kill Hotch.

Garcia doesn’t answer his calls. 

Three calls. 

All to voicemail. 

Morgan drives through the yard, cutting time and not giving a damn. He pulls right up alongside the police cruiser and an ambulance. “Hey,” he shouts, throwing his door open and leaving it as he runs to the first cop he sees. He pulls out his badge. “My team,” he says. “We’re working a case here. Where are Agents Hotchner and Garcia?”

The cop looks him up and down, obviously displeased with being interrupted from his leaning and watching as everyone around them works. “I don’t know,” says with a shrug. “We got some guy waiting to get picked up by the coroner.”

Morgan curses in frustration. “This isn’t some joke to me, man.” He looks around, “is there anything else you can tell me?”

Before the cop can say anything further, Emily shouts Morgan’s. She’s jogging up through the grass, moving away from the crowd of EMTs, officers, and other jackets standing by the side of the house. Motioning for him to join her, he steps back towards the car. Following. 

“Hotch and Garcia are headed towards the hospital,” she shouts. “They’re not sure Hotch is gonna make it.”

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

Penelope Garcia stands completely alone. 

Around her, the emergency room buzzes with its flooded life. Such a stark, dark comparison to her friend. His still chest barred for anyone to see as doctors lean over him. The wound is still oozing blood. A dark vacuuming wound. Sucking. He’s as pale as death and silent. He’s not crying in pain. His dark eyes aren’t scanning every inch of space he can see. 

He’s still and silent. 

From here, she can see the wounds from Adrian Bale’s bomb. She’s only known him since that bomb. That day.

“This is Penelope Garcia with the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” she’s still new to the job. A greenie, the other agents playfully taunt. She doesn’t find it all that funny but this is better than federal prison. “How can I help you?” She’s got one hand holding the weight of her head, the other clicking her pen lazily against the desktop.

She’s not special here. She’s got nothing. She hates this job.

“Miss Garcia,” a weak voice greets. “I don’t know if you remember,” the caller coughs, wet and thick. That’s when she hears the wheezes. “I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good boss but it’s Agent Hotchner.”

She remembers. He’s who’s she’s supposed to be working with. That is before she got pulled to work at this desk all day doing nothing. She’s got about three more months of this garbage before she can be trusted with any of the real stuff. Before she can go work with the teams on the units-- mostly, to work with Hotch and his team. Of which, she still hasn’t met.

“I remember,” she says. She’s not sure what else she’s supposed to say.

He chuckles on the other end but it ends in an awful sounding cough. “Sorry,” he wheezes. “I’m afraid…” he takes a deep breath. “Have you seen the news?”

“No, sir.”

He hums. “Well,” he says, “we’ve gotten ourselves into a spot of trouble.”

From what she can tell, she feels that’s probably an understatement. Through his silence, the short pauses between his quick, shallow breathing, she can hear the commotion of a hospital. She can even hear his heart monitor. An undergrad degree in biology on a track to medical school doesn’t get you much in cyberspace as a hacker but she knows, from the sound of that monitor, somethings not okay.

“I was just wondering if you could do me a favor?”

His voice sounds so soft, nearly subdued almost as if he’s falling asleep, that she can’t say no. “Of course, sir.” She’s really only seen him a handful of times. The first time after he recruited her and several times in passing. Every time she can remember seeing him in the hall or in the parking lot he’d always offered a small, shy wave. Despite her frustrations with being placed on desk duty, she doesn’t hate him.

“I, ugh,” he clears his throat. His voice has softened. He’s certainly losing his battle with consciousness. “Haley,” he rasps her name. “My wife,” he clarifies. “I--I lost my phone and I just want to talk to her.” The hurt in his voice, the desperation breaks her heart. “...hit my head,” he slurs. “I...I--I hit my head and I can’t really… dialing the numbers is hard.”

The man just wants to talk to his wife. He just wants some comfort.

“Kind of silly,” he mumbles. “Could dial here but couldn’t remember the home one. The--ugh-- couldn’t remember the home line.”

She smiles and starts to do as he asks but then remembers the limited information she’s got right now. There’s no way she can access his file, let alone get to his personal information to find his wife’s number. “Sir,” she says, feeling tears start to pool in her eyes. She hates to do this because she wants to help him so badly. “I don’t have access to that information.”

They sit in silence for a long pause.

Hotch is struggling to hold on and thinking hurts but he’s sure there’s something she can do about that still… “Break a rule for me,” he says, tone playful. “I know you hate it down there. Hack my file.” He sniffles, the sound of sheets shifting blocking the line as he moves in discomfort. “Please, Penelope?”

Oh… how is she supposed to say no to that?

“You’d better have my back when they chew me out for this,” she says, setting into the task at hand. It’s pretty easy. Nothing like hacking the database months ago. She’s got half the work handed to her.

“Always,” he rasps.

She finds it easy enough. “Alright,” she says. “I’m dialing her right now.” They both sit in silence as the ringing fills the line. Two rings turn into three and she feels her heartbreaking for this poor man. The line clicks to an end and she smiles sadly at the sound of her much healthier boss’s voice greets the end call. Haley, she’s assuming, cuts in and ends the recording.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

“ ‘s okay,” he slurs. “She’s… She’s pro’ly gonna call back ‘vently.”

Chewing at her lip nervously she offers, “I can stay. If you’d like. I’ll talk to you.”

He chuckles softly and she winces as it ends in more uncomfortable shifting and more of those terrible wheezes. “...don’t hafta.” He chokes on a breath and their conversation takes a pause as a nurse steps in. Her soft voice telling Hotch that he needs to rest and the doctor’s ordered some mild sedatives.

“Can’t,” he whispers to the nurse. “I’m talk’n to my friend Penelope.”

She smiles, blushing.

The nurse responds in kind that Garcia can stay but he still needs to get some rest.

“She’s right, sir.” She cuts in. “I’ll stay and talk to you until fall asleep, okay?”

She can hear the hiss of oxygen which is good because his breathing was really concerning her. When he comes back he sounds better but like he’s half-asleep. That’s probably for the best. “You’re supposed to be on my side,” he says.

“I am,” she responds. “You need some sleep though. For your head.”

He hums in agreeance. “Yeah,” he whispers. “I hit my head.”

“I know.”

She’d talked to him that day until the phone died, even though he only stayed awake three minutes after that. Leaving that day from the office, she’d seen what he’d meant about the news and the “spot of trouble” he’d gotten into. Six agents were dead. She’d cried, right there in the bullpen, for a man she hardly knew.

Since then, she’s really grown to love him. He’s her friend. She loves him.

“Baby girl?”

Garcia turns around and sees Morgan, Emily, and JJ. She stays where she is, tears falling down her face, and leans right into the hugs they pull her into. She needs all the comfort she can get. But the hugging only lasts for so long. There are questions they need to be answered and she’s the only one with the answers.

They give her time. Twenty minutes. Just enough time for Gideon and Reid to come to the hospital

“Okay,” Morgan holds his hands around Garcia’s. Keeping her hands cupped around the warm styrofoam surrounding the shitty hospital coffee Gideon had bought them all. It keeps her hands from shaking so hard. “Can you tell me what happened now?’

Garcia nods and sniffles. She glances up at him once, shying away from his kind gaze. “Hotch went outside,” she starts, “right after you guys left.” Forcing herself to take a steadying breath, she’s able to continue on. Trying very hard to keep her composer. She knows it’s important she tells someone. “I could hear him getting sick,” she whispers because it feels like something she shouldn’t be saying. “You know how he is,” she says, looking up at Morgan. “When he gets like that? So nervous and anxious that he just…”

Morgan nods. He’s seen Hotch work his nerves up like that many times. It’s hard to tell how many times Morgan’s tailed Hotch outside, standing to the side as the man fails to work through an anxiety attack. He’s gonna kill himself one of these days getting worked up like that. Won’t ever let anyone help him, either.

Garcia had wanted to help him tonight. She just… she couldn’t stand to see him like that. Shaking so hard and pale. He’d excused himself after about ten minutes of the two of them just sitting in silence, listening to the other’s going over the plan to get Reid.

“I couldn’t see him like that,” Garcia says softly. “I wanted to help,” her voice cracks and she starts to shake again. “When I--” her breath catches.

“Alright,” Morgan stops her. He rubs her thumbs over her hands. “Take your time. You don’t have to rush.”

Garcia nods and takes a moment, breathing in through her nose. “I’m okay,” she says with a tight smile. Morgan doesn’t believe it. She can tell. Squeezing his hand she repeats herself. “I mean it.” Besides, what comes next is the hard part.

Clearing her throat, she manages to continue. “I was coming outside when I heard the first gunshot,” her voice is already shaking again. “I don’t know-- I didn’t really know what to do? I mean, Hotch has a gun and I don’t so… but I didn’t want something to be wrong and leave him all by himself.” She sniffles a little, laughing sadly at the irony of her own words.

Morgan brushes the tear that falls down her cheek away.

“When I got out there…” she stops, just thinking about what she’d seen.

The porch only had one lightbulb which hung from a strand of wires just hardly holding on. Still, as she stepped out the low light had shown her all she needed to see. The dark silhouette of Hotch’s face and his long body on the ground. There was blood on his face and more pooling onto his white dress shirt. Spreading and falling down the sides of his chest. So much blood.

There was a second man. He’d started talking like he didn’t even see her.

“I condemn you.”

She’d been frozen, in both fear and confusion.

She hadn’t done anything until she saw him pulling the hammer back. Aiming to shoot Hotch again. “Hey,” she’d run at the man with everything she had. Not for a moment did she think about what would happen if the man turned the gun to her. What would have happened then? If he’d shot her?

There’d be two bodies in the morgue.

“Hotch isn’t dead.”

Garcia flinches and looks up at Morgan in confusion. “What,” she rasps, softly.

“You said--” he frowns in confusion. “You said there would be two bodies in the morgue but Hotch isn’t dead. He’s still in surgery.” He leaves out how grim things are looking. That losing Hotch will set off a domino effect. They’ll lose Reid and Gideon isn’t enough. They’ll lose the team. The only family some of them have ever had.

Oh. She nods. Right, no, she knew that. That’s easy for him to say though. He hadn’t placed his hands over the gaping hole in Hotch’s chest. He hadn’t looked Hotch in the eyes, watching as his life blurred out. She had. She’d felt her friend’s heart slowing. Heard his breathing catch, stop, and his eyes dim. She’d been there. She’d held his hand in the ambulance.

She was right there.

She… doesn’t think he’ll make it.

“Yeah,” she whispers thickly. This time she doesn’t let Morgan brush away her tears. She hadn’t told him the worst parts. That she’d hit Tobias Hankel until he stopped moving. She’d watched his blood splatter out around him and she’d caused that.

Then she’d gone to Hotch. Her knees are still soaked with his blood. The grass had just… it was like sitting in mud. Warm mud. His eyes had searched for her in his confusion, his mouth moving to form silent words. She’d held his hand the whole time. Never leaving his side until the E.R. He’d stopped breathing in the ambulance just as it had pulled into the lot.

The worst part is that he hadn’t panicked. While everyone else in the ambulance moved with newfound vigor, he’d finally relaxed. The stress lines in his face had smoothed over and his eyes had calmed of their rapid movement. Through the chaos, he’d just looked at her and as the doctor’s pulled him away he’d squeezed her hand. And she’s still trying to figure out if he’d meant he would be okay or if she would.

“We need to get you checked out,” Morgan says, running a hand over her arm.

She looks up and shakes her head, “no. I didn’t get hurt. I promise.”

He knows she’s not hurt. The blood all over her clothes may not be hers but he’s sat in blood before too. As reassuring as it is to know it doesn’t belong to you… it’s also insanely psychologically damaging to know it belongs to someone else. Let alone that someone else being someone you love.

“I know,” he soothes. “You’re shaking pretty bad and at the very least, a nurse can get us some warm water to get this blood off. Okay?”

For the first time, she looks at the blood staining her clothes. Looking down at her shaking her hands, she sees the blood caked under her nails and dried to her skin. It makes her sick. “Okay.”

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

“Haley’s here.”

Emily is the first person to frown in confusion. She’s been on the team for only a few shorts months. Her relationships with them are rocky but forming. Given how tightly Hotch holds to his personal information she’s not certain but… “Haley is…” she glances to Morgan and then to Gideon when the other man doesn’t respond.

Gideon nods his head solemnly.

Emily’s heart kicks a beat, so hard she has to shake her head to regroup. Just some four hours ago Hotch had commended her on her ability to compartmentalize everything she sees and here she is shirking away because her boss's wife is here. But it’s not about some power dynamic. “But,” she swallows thickly around the tightness in her throat, “we don’t have news for her.”

Morgan stands up from his chair, eyes on the floor and back to her as he shrugs, “she knows the drill.”

A cold film of sweat covers Emily’s skin at just the thought. She knows about things that have happened for this team before she was on it. She just… it’s kind of different when she has some surface-level understanding of who they are. Even if she thinks Hotch is a dick, she doesn’t hate him. He’s better than a lot of bosses she’s had and maybe-- well, don’t hold her to it, but maybe she feels bad about the name-calling thing. Emily watches silently, unable to hear the words being shared between them. She can still see, though. The way Morgan’s hands shake as he recounts the details. Haley just… takes it. She nods along, clinically removed. She’s strong, more than she should have to be.

Turning from Morgan, Haley steps closer into the waiting room. Looking around at the others, what’s left of them. “And the rest of you,” she asks. “The rest of you are okay?”

Gideon takes on the question. He squeezes her shoulder, “Reid and Garcia are in the E.R. They’re getting there…”

Haley nods and wraps her arms around herself. She takes a steadying breath. “He’s gonna-- He’s going to want to know,” she says and Emily feels intense empathy for this woman. “You know he’s going to want to know as soon as he wakes up if they're’ okay.”

If he wakes up.

Gideon nods, “I know.”

“Okay,” Haley whispers and she’s numb, Emily realizes, as Gideon guides her to a chair. She’s numb so she doesn’t break. “I would--” Haley grabs Gideon’s hand. “I would like to see Spencer and Penelope. To make sure they’re okay.”

Gideon nods, “I’m sure they’d like that.” And they will. While Hotch prefers to stay in the background and worry but there’s no secret Haley is too. They both have a strong love for the babies on the unit.

And now… they have nothing to do but wait.

“Haley?” Reid wakes up restrained. His thin arms held down to the bed with itchy velcro. While he isn’t familiar with this in a personal sense, he’s seen his mother laid out like this. He doesn’t even have to test the restraints, he knows he’s not going anywhere. More pressing than that… Haley Hotchner sitting at his bedside.

Haley perks up, smiling when she sees his dark eyes open in slivers. “Hey, sweetheart,” she greets. She stands and comes closer to the bed, taking his thin, cold hand in her own. “How are you feeling?” This man may not be of any blood relation to her or Aaron but she loves him. Her husband loves him. He’s family.

Reid turns his head away from her, tears falling down the corners of his eyes. “You hate me,” he whispers.

She knows only what she needs to. Of course, under the jurisdiction and because the case hasn’t officially “closed” she can’t know that Reid chose Hotch. That his words condemned Aaron to being shot tonight. She does know that Reid is unnecessarily blaming himself for the accident. Because, as they'll soon be able to explain, Tobias was going to hurt someone either way. Haley would agree.

“No,” she soothes. “Of course, I don’t hate you.”

Reid turns to her, eyes haunted and voice hoarse, “but I killed him.”

Haley can’t help the choked sound she makes. Vehemently, she wants to deny that but she doesn’t even know if her husband is alive right now. “You didn’t,” she reassures him because at the very least she knows that’s the truth. This job has already taken her husband’s life. There’s no point in placing the blame on anyone else. “If Aaron dies tonight,” just the thought makes her chest tight.

This isn’t what she’d imagined falling in love with Pirate #4 would look like. A widower in her thirties. Raising their son all alone.

She clears her voice, steadying herself and pushing away the thought. “If Aaron dies tonight, that will have no one’s fault. No one but the Unsubs.” She glances over her shoulder, to the crowd of people-- his team. Their family. She’s seen the guilty little glances they pass her. The hug Garcia had trapped her in… they think they could have stopped this. “This, what happened tonight, is no one’s fault. Not yours, not Aaron's.”

Leave it to her husband to form a team of guilt-ridden sweethearts. She really does love them.

“Do you understand me,” she asks, eyebrow raised.

There are nods and general mumbles but what really catches her attention is the soft, sad smile Garcia manages. “You sounded like him,” the tech analyst whispers. “He’s always so worried about us,” she brushes a tear from her eyes. “Sometimes, sometimes we forget to worry about him.”

But he never lets them.

He’s so under lock and key… preoccupied with an image he’s conjured of what leadership is supposed to look like that he forgets the humanity. The bleeding. The yelling. The life.

Until it’s too late.

A doctor comes to get them. He’s alive, if only marginally. If only just holding on.

His humanity is now visible to them all.

In the mess, there is only a light blanket draped over his thin hips. It leaves his chest bare, visible for them to look long at hard at. To force this memory into their minds. To remember that under those suits there is just a man. A man who is broken and who hurts.

And, in the end, it’s her by his side when he wakes up confused and in pain.

“Aaron,” she pushes his sweat-soaked hair out of his face. Even with his eyes on her, he twists, kicking out in pain. He tries to turn his head, pinched eyes sending tears down his face. If he could cry out, he would, but all he can do is choke around the tube in his throat.

It’s like this--

He wakes for a moment, a glimpse of consciousness, and pain. She’s right by his side. She holds his hand and reminds him that he’s okay. That the team is waiting just outside. Then he falls back into the drugs.

It goes on for three days. Hours and hours of his pained kicks and tears. Nothing she can do for him.

On the fourth day, they take the tube out.

The team visits.

He’s sitting up, not of his own violation. There are pillows all around, supporting his back and sides, and two placed around his head to keep his neck supported. He is leaning heavily to his right, curled into the side of his injured chest. Haley’s tucked his blanket up over his chest, doing her best to conceal the bruises up and down his pale skin. No matter how hard she tries, the chest tube nestled between his ribs makes it’s bloodied appearance.

And it’s the first thing they all notice when they come in.

Then him.

Slack against the pillows holding him and eyes out the window on the wall. Half-lidded as he falls asleep.

“Sir,” Garcia whispers. She’s at the front of the crowd and the only one strong enough to push through her shock to get to him. She wastes no time coming to him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s so good to see you,” she manages between tears.

He smiles when she hugs him. It’s gentle, she’s very aware of the layer upon layers of bandages currently holding him together. “Penelope,” he croaks, sleepy eyes moving down her colorfully addressed body and his smile broadening when he finds no scratches. No harm. His chest aches and he finds it impossible to push out any more words but he hopes she understands.

He can remember a flash of the ambulance ride here. He can’t remember how or why his body hurts so bad but he knows Garcia was there. The faintest feeling of her hand in his, her voice guiding him between glimpses of consciousness.

Garcia smiles kindly, reaching down to squeeze his hand. “I’m really glad to see you, sir.” Even as he is, hardly presently and held together by surgical stitches-- it beats how she’d left him. For the past few nights, she’s woken in a cold sweat hearing his gurgled breaths. The sound and sight of his chest cavity filling with his lungs.

Jason comes next because none of the others can find their courage. “I know you have a sentimental attachment to your ties,” Gideon says, smiling down at his old friend. “But you really do look decades younger without it.” Nearly, identical to the boy that David Rossi had told him about all those years ago. Eager to learn but not fully trusting of their motives.

Still a trouble maker though.

Shame swells in his stomach, another of his failings so broadly laid out in front of them. If David Rossi could see the two of them now, he’d skin them both. Jason had promised to look out for “the boy”, as Dave fondly called Aaron. But the boy has grown out of his shell…

Jason had kicked him out of it with Boston and he knows Aaron wasn’t ready for that.

He ducks his head and leaves Aaron’s side with a light pat of the younger man’s hand.

Derek guides Reid to Hotch, ignoring the genius’s weak protests.

Hotch’s light up, a spark of life in his body as he spots the kid. “Reid,” he rasps. He shifts his hand, dragging it out to touch Reid. To make sure he’s really here. “... okay?” he manages, breathing, taking the strain of so much movement and all his talking.

Reid nods and it takes all of his self-control not to flinch away from Hotch. His skin is freezing. Hotch is always so warm, even just to stand beside. It’s scary and the weight of his guilt pulls Reid down. “I’m--I’m--”

Hotch smiles weakly, a crooked little grin that meets the lazy mirth in his eyes. “Please,” he whispers. “... d’n’t lie t’ me.”

Reid sniffles, tears threatening to fall down his face. As he’s pulling himself into a lie, he’s surprised to find Hotch’s hand just barely raised off the bed. Beckoning him close. For a hug. He wants to stand stoic. For once in his life, to just be the bigger man but he takes one look at his friend at the man he’s lost sleep worrying over, the man who he trusted to save him from Tobias, and he…

He lets Hotch pull him in.

“You’ll be okay,” Hotch promises. Reid tucks his face into Hotch’s neck, wanting desperately to pull more comfort from this hug but it ends because it has to. Hotch holds his hand a second too long, the two of them just looking at each other. “Strong,” Hotch rasps and Reid nods his head.

If Hotch can believe it… Reid has to.

Derek almost doesn’t say anything at all. He can’t find his voice. A part of him wants to just make out unbothered and another part of him wants to gather his boss into his arms and just hug him. Make sure he’s really here. “Don’t scare me like that.” Derek decides on an in-between. He reaches out and playfully messes with Hotch’s hair, making his bed head even worse. “Next time,” Derek says, losing his gusto. He smiles fondly at his friend and reaches down to squeeze his hand. “Next time you pull a stunt like this, I’ll kick your ass. I don’t care who’s boss you are.”

It makes Hotch smile and it creates perfect timing for JJ to steal her own hug. She slips right in beside Derek, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I wouldn’t let him do that,” she promises.

He nods, “...you’d do it yourself.”

She smiles and agrees, “but only if you really deserved it.”

He doubts that.

Emily stands back and attempts to make her getaway unnoticed. She hadn’t wanted to come to the hospital. She isn’t a part of this family, not really, not yet. Garcia had dragged her here though, those sad puppy eyes and a pouty lip. So, Emily caved and she’s regretted that decision since. Especially, when she catches his eyes mid-break-away.

“...okay?” he asks, once again. That seems to be what his main focus is on. The one thing his exhausted brain can pick to identify in each of them.

She wants to scoff or be frustrated with his worry but she looks at his eyes and she realizes that it's a genuine question. He really wants to know. It’s… a strange olive branch to find in the midst of their heated hatred of one another but perhaps she has underestimated him. Maybe, she doesn’t understand him as well as she thinks she does. With a nod, she promises, “I’m okay.”

The ease that sinks into his shoulders is not what she’s expecting.

He struggles to say something else, a mumbled, suppressed something that catches Haley’s attention. She stands and gently runs her palm against his cheek. “Don’t worry about that sweetheart,” she whispers. “Your teams here now, okay? They’re okay.” She wipes his brow, running the side of her fingers along his cheekbone. Smiling when it makes his eyes creep shut, soothing him back down. “Get some rest.”

He nods his head and his eyes fall shut. He’s exhausted. All this talking is hard and he’s hardly managed to stay awake this long all week. “Mmm,” he forces his eyes back open. They move around the room, taking inventory of the crowd. “Okay,” he asks softly.

Haley smiles and keeps up her gentle soothing. “We’re okay.”

His eyes slip back shut. “Okay.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #hotch whump #whump #angst #fluff #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jason gideon #derek morgan #jennifer jareua #emily prentiss #haley hotchner

[wouldduskwood]

Descendants of Despair Part 55

Phil had his head down. He looked gaunt compared to the photos I had seen of him. When he reached our table, he lifted his head and his eyes lit up. “Thanks for coming,” he said as the guards stepped back, allowing him to sit opposite us. I nodded without saying a word, not wanting to give too much of my intentions away yet. It was far easier to build a picture of someone when you had the power. Dan greeted Phil in a typical bullheaded bloke style. I watched, trying to establish a baseline between their casual conversation. It wasn’t an easy task, as both men were doing their best to shelter. I guessed this was because they had a few run ins in the past. I was forced to rely on micro expressions, which is something that I didn’t like to do because it meant staring directly at someone to spot any slight change in their expression. Micro expressions usually only lasted around ⅕ of a second. It tended to make people uncomfortable and self conscious when spending this much time staring at them.

Once the typical small talk had run dry, and I had gathered as much as I could on reading Phil’s facial cues, I finally spoke. “So, you’re innocent.” I stated, matter of factly. Phil’s eyes widened briefly.

“You believe me then?” he asked. I considered his question. Believe him. Not so much. Believe the evidence we had so far that the man without a face was still active, absolutely. But did it mean Phil wasn’t involved in one way or another, not really. Still, when the truth wouldn’t get me what I wanted, lying was nearly guaranteed to. As long as the lie was something they wanted to hear, they’d believe it without question.

“Yes, I believe you. I want to know more about your connection with Michael Hansen and what he has to do with this whole thing.” I said clearly, my tone even and eyes maintaining direct contact. It was a good strategy to convince people that the lie was the truth, even if they were on the fence about it.

Phil smiled. “I knew I liked you. When I get out of here, I am going to take you out for a drink. Perhaps a meal.” I could see Dan was about to speak, and I knew what he was going to say would be something biting about Jake, so I kicked him under the table. The fact that Phil had deflected from the purpose of the conversation concerned me. I was about to respond, flirt if I had to, anything to get the truth from him, when we were interrupted by a form approaching the table. I glanced up and sighed. I had a pretty good idea who our uninvited guest was, so I had a choice. Play it stupid, and hope for the best, or put him off his game. The problem was, I wasn’t 100% sure I was correct in my assumptions, but the risk seemed worth it.

“Ah, my good friend Alan Bloomgate. Nice to finally meet you.” I announced, standing as I did and shaking his hand. This gesture was uncomfortable for me, but it also gave me an element of power in the situation. Alan paused, suddenly off his stride, surprised I had made the connection so quickly. I was thankful that my suspicion was valid. If I had been wrong, the officer would have had all the power.

“Is now a good time to discuss information you may have pertaining to the Hannah Donfort and Amy Lewis Bell cases?” Alan asked, directly to the point. I raised an eyebrow as I considered what he said. The question was stupid really, he knew full well that I had been avoiding that exact conversation. Stupid questions lead to stupid answers, I decided.

“Well, actually now is not a really good time, see I came here to spend some time with my close pal Phil. See, he’s practically family... and, you know how things go when you’re in prison, that time tends to be quite limited,” I announced, unable to keep my snarky attitude to myself, while exaggerating my relationship to Phil. I despised the police in general. They had never done anything to protect me. When I was on the street, they would walk past me like they were blind, even when I was just a kid. It tended to be easier for them, less paperwork and all of that. Unless I did something wrong, then they’d be all over my ass to protect the more upstanding citizens. Of course, my attitude towards them didn’t help matters. Still, it made me feel better.

“I’m sure we can arrange for you to see Mr Hawkins another time,” Alan said, his voice taking on a stern ‘you will not fuck with me’ tone. This riled me even more. I hoped Jake would do something before I ended up getting arrested for assaulting a police officer.

“Well, see, that’s the thing. Mr Hawkins really shouldn’t be in here at all, right?" I paused, thinking to myself 'at least not for everything that the man without a face has done'. "I know you make a habit of going after innocent people, but arresting an innocent man while being blind to the movements of the actual culprit?" I mock sighed, exaggerating it for effect. "Anyway, If you want my opinion on the aforementioned cases, then I’d suggest you cast your net a little further and leave us alone.” I replied, trying desperately to refrain from what I actually wanted to say. Dan and Phil both shot me awkward ‘won’t you shut the fuck up’ glances. However, I couldn’t really be arrested for being a bitch. They could hardly build much of a case on hurt feelings. The best they could do was hold me in a cell for a while. That would be inconvenient but not the end of the world.

As Alan glared at me, I suddenly regretted my response, as I found myself backed into a corner.

“Actually, I was about to tell Mr Hawkins that we would be releasing him on bail, if he is able to make the money,” Alan replied. This surprised me and put me further on the back foot. Just as I was about to dig the hole deeper for myself, alarms started sounding in various places throughout the building. Moving hastily, I grabbed Dan’s arm and motioned he should follow. As Alan’s attention was momentarily distracted, I slid past him and headed into the reception area, walking quickly, but refraining from running. I hoped Jake's alarms hadn’t caused a lockdown. On reaching the reception, I could see that the staff were all staring at the computer screen. Making my way out the front door, I turned briefly to face Dan.

“Can you text Jake the letter D. I’ll be in touch,” I stated quickly then, before he could respond, I was off at a run taking one of my less desired escape routes. I didn’t know whether I could trust him with that simple task, but I hoped he would do that for me, even if I had upset him.

Jumping over the buildings for my escape, I was careful to keep an eye out for the man without a face, but the bigger concern was Alan. I wondered just how much he knew and who he was working in conjunction with. If it was the Government, he now had a good idea where Jake and I were. If it was from my past, then he was a dirty cop and I would have a tail pretty quickly. Either way, I’d fucked up going there and hadn’t learnt much of anything, except that Phil was definitely hiding something. Sliding down the fire escape, I was relieved to see Jake pull up in front of me. He had the door open before I had cleared the small distance to the car. I jumped in and slammed the door, holding on as he sped away.

“I’m so sorry,” Jake growled. “I would have had you out sooner, but from what I could see, you hadn’t gained enough from Phil to make any clear judgements. I knew we had one shot at this...but fuck,” he hissed. I ignored his comment to try and forge ahead. We were in more danger now than we had been since we found each other.

“I think we need to meet up with Dan. He knows Phil better than I do and I have a few questions for him. Then we need to get the fuck out of here, because I have a bad feeling that one of our pasts is going to catch up with us.” I stated. Jake nodded, suddenly looking tired more than anything.

“You’re right, fuck, I’m so sorry, you know that right? I should have been stronger and stayed away from you. You’d only have your own problems to face, not this shit with Hannah and the Government. I screwed your life from the moment I entered it.”

Shit, meeting up with Phil had potentially been the worst idea of my life. Now, not only were we in danger, but Jake had regressed back to pushing me away. Admittedly, I had done the same thing to him in the beginning, but since I had consciously made the decision that life wasn’t really life without Jake, I had been all in. I would manage to live with the dangers of his life and I’d do anything in my power to shelter him from the dangers of mine. After all, couples were meant to share shit, right? And he made me stronger. His defenses, coupled with my own, should be enough to face anything.

As he drove, I glared at him, but he took no notice. Instead his eyes remained fixed on the road in front of him. “Fuck Jake.” I groaned. “You don’t get it, do you? The only purpose I had in my life, before you, was to try and fix the problems I have started. What do you think would have happened to me after that? When my problems were gone, with no purpose? I may have ended up going back to the street. I may have ended up dead. Now I want to live. Now, even after I have fixed my situation, I want to carry on. Because of you, you turnip,” I growled, then shook my head at myself. Jake sighed, slumping in his seat.

“Turnip?” he questioned.

“Ugh, I wanted to let you know how stupid you were being...without being mean?” I sighed. Jake snickered quietly at my response then sighed again.

“Nothing you can say right now will make me feel any less guilty.” He murmured. “I need to feel guilty right now. I need to feel angry and upset. After that, I’ll be more willing to think about our future. But right now, I just need to be angry.”

I nodded thoughtfully and sat back, trying to ignore his presence and give him the time he needed. Eventually he replied. “Okay, you better text Donkey Kong with his new mission,” he sighed with a side smile at me. I giggled. “Wait, why Donkey Kong now?” I asked. “Isn’t it obvious?” Jake replied. “He’s a giant monkey that I could see throwing things when he gets upset, and you are like a very talented jump man that can jump pretty much anything.”

I was glad that Jake had a bit of his humour back, so I decided to encourage him more along this path. “Wait, when did I become a man?” I questioned, unzipping my pants and making a mock show of checking. Jake laughed. “You had better let me check that later, I will be more thorough than you.”

“Hm, yeah I think I’ll allow that,” I giggled as I rezipped my pants. Jake took my hand and smiled. “Listen, what I said before, it’s because I’m scared. It isn’t because I don’t want you. You’ve given my life as much purpose as I’ve given yours. But I’ve given you twice as many problems as you’ve given me.”

“Hm, you’re right.” I replied, pausing and raising my eyebrows as I stared at him. “I can always get a few more, if you like! That way we can be even.” Jake laughed again but tried to turn it into a growl of disapproval. I snickered then pulled out my phone. “Okay, so where are we going to meet Donkey Kong?” I asked. Jake smiled then thought for a moment. “I guess we don’t have a lot of options. Let’s go back to the warehouse. At least we know he knows where that is. We will move on as soon as we have had this conversation...or before it if we see any signs of trouble.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling a weight of dread descend again. Pulling out my phone, I text Dan then sat back, eyes closed, as Jake drove us back to the warehouse.

Part 56

#duskwood jake x #duskwood jakexplayer #duskwood jake x player #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood fanfic #duskwood jakexmc fanfic #duskwood #duskwood jakexmc #fanfiction #fanfic #duskwood jake #jake x mc #jakexmc #hackerman #duskwood alan #duskwood dan #duskwood phil

[softboywriting]

Serendipity | Santiago “Pope” Garcia

Summary: He is everything you never wanted but you fell in love all the same. [Film: Triple Frontier] [tw for violence, gunfire, injury, age difference(?)] [fluff ending] 

Word Count: 2.1k

|Masterlist In Bio|

You grew up telling yourself you would never fall for a military man, a police officer, any sort of authority. Their lives were too rough, too dangerous. You couldn't stand to get a call one day that your husband had been killed in the line of duty. Until you met Santiago Garcia.

Just over six months ago you moved to a small town outside of Sao Paulo, having tired of the city and the noise and corruption. Two of your friends have ended up in prison in the last year because of association with the wrong people. You want nothing to do with it.

You met Santiago while he was on a job and you got caught in the crossfire during a drug raid. It was late afternoon on a Friday and you were picking up some medicine at the pharmacy across from the apartment building where the raid was taking place. Your apartment building to be exact. This is the first time in six months you've been thrust back into the corruption you left the city because of. As soon as you heard the big black SUVs pull up, tearing across the dusty old roads, you knew exactly why they were there. Armed men and women were everywhere, blocking every entry and exit to the town square, cops and special forces flooded the street.

The pharmacy owner promptly walked around the counter, locked the door, and pulled the security cage closed and locked it too. He said something about how this was happening again and you were surprised. The area did not seem that troublesome, it's why you chose to move there. Honestly it does not surprise you though. You know there is a massive cartel that runs the city and outlying towns, but you thought this area was better, far enough away to be quiet and safe.

Minutes after the fleet of cars arrived you see a man in plain clothes, jeans, a khaki green shirt and a tactical vest. He walks toward the pharmacy, sunglasses up on his head. He is flanked by four men in police uniforms, all heavily armed. He looks through the window at you and the man behind the counter, giving a little nod. He is gorgeous, dark eyes, dark stubble, tan complexion and curly black hair. He's not the usual type of special agent you'd seen when you lived in the city. They were always older white men, angry and tired looking with the same ugly military haircut and white button down shirt.

You never got to ask the pharmacy owner what was going on, if he knew who the police were after. Because the next thing you knew gunfire was deafening you, the sound of glass shattering blocked out any thoughts aside from the ones telling you to run and hide. Guteral instinct told you to drop down, and move away from the windows.

You find yourself running up the stairs behind the pharmacy counter and kicking desperately at the door at the top until it swung inward. Inside is a living room, a small home belonging to the owner you assume. More glass shatters and you drop to the floor. Your arm is on fire, aching and burning. When you look at it, you've been grazed by a bullet, the skin open and bleeding but no hole. You curl up against the back of the couch in the center of the room and close your eyes.

Shouting and gunfire is all you hear for about two minutes. Then there is a loud boom like a bomb going off nearby. You look around as a heavy quiet fills the room. There isn't so much as a foot step to break the silence. After another minute or so ticks by you decide to move, to find something to help your arm because it is bleeding a lot and it hurts like a son of a bitch.

The bathroom is small and not very well cleaned but it's better than nothing. You turn on the water and grab a towel from a rack over the toilet. Heavy boot laden footsteps startle you and you turn to see the special agent from before standing in the bathroom doorway.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to break into this place. I was scared." You drop the towel and put your hands up. "I'm sorry."

"You're alive...and bleeding." He steps in and offers his hand. You tentatively take it and he gently turns your arm to see the wound. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah it's just grazed it's fine. Why did you come in here?"

He picks up the towel and presses it to your arm. "I saw you through the window when I passed by. They were shattered when I came back and the police went to storm the apartment building. I came to check on you and the clerk since things kicked off very fast, I knew there wasn't not enough time for you to take cover."

"Oh."

"You did the right thing." He opens the medicine cabinet over the sink and digs around in it. "The clerk was caught in the crossfire, he didn't make it."

"Oh God."

"There's nothing in here to use....you'd think a pharmacist would be better stocked. I can get a medic to look at you." He releases your arm and you hold the towel against it. "Follow me."

You follow after him and stop at the top of the stairs. Why is he helping you? What does he gain from this? Shouldn't he be in there with the police?

"What's your name?"

"You can call me Pope."

"Are you a special agent?"

Pope looks back at you on the stairs and raises his eyebrows. "You're a curious one."

You narrow your eyes. "Yes or no?"

"Do you always talk back to authorities?"

"Do you always come after people caught in the crossfire of your missions?"

"Don't say it like I'm arresting you." He steps back up the stairs and looks at you pointedly. "I came to check because I saw you before everything started and I saw the windows were shattered like I said. Should I have left you to bleed alone?"

You look away and he clears his throat. "No. Thank you, I guess."

"You're stubborn."

You glare at him and he chuckles. "Can we get to this medic you supposedly are taking me to? This hurts."

"Yes, come on. We'll get you patched up."

_____________________

One thing leads to another, and you and Santiago end up at the same bar chatting hours after the raid.  A few drinks lead to going home together, and that leads to seeing each other again and again and again. He is everything you never wanted and yet, you cannot get enough of him. His touch, his voice, his smile. He lures you in effortlessly and you take the bait every time. He tells you how he's trying to clean up the country, to release it from the grasp the cartels have upon it. You're infatuated with his work, his dedication and love for the people. He's a good man with a good soul and you find yourself falling in love so easily.

It's been a year and half that you have been together. There are things you know, things you wish you didn't know, and things you don't want to know about him. He has never hidden anything, he has always been an open book with you and you have been the same to him. Honesty and trust are the core building blocks in the relationship you started together.

There is one thing you have hesitated to ask. His age. It must seem silly, that such a normal thing to share hasn't come up, but truly it has not. When you think about it, falling in love with someone and not knowing that information changes things. It allows for a relationship without hindrance toward a preconceived notion of what a person of a particular age should do or say. You know rationally he can't be that much older, you've got much of the same music taste and the same sense of humor. You just have not asked and he has not mentioned it.

In all honesty you are not sure if you don't want to know because you know he's much older than you think and you'll feel uncomfortable, or if you just don't want a preconceived idea of him that your mind will inevitably create the moment you know. But it's time, you have decided that no matter what you find out, you will not be any less in love with him. You want to take him to meet your grandmother soon and she will definitely say something since he does look a bit older than you. Grandma never holds back when it comes to you and men.

So here you are Christmas morning in his apartment, laying together as the sun rises. You're both early risers, so it's no surprise that today is no different. "Santiago? Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, always."

"How old are you?"

He hums. "I wondered when you'd ask that. Why are you curious now? You're into older men aren't you?" He rolls onto his side and you turn to face him. "You get off on it right?"

"Santiago!"

He laughs and you shove him. "I'm teasing you. But I'm curious too. What's your guess?"

"Well, you've got a little gray." You run a hand over his curls, sinking your fingers into his thick hair and giving a gentle scratch. "And you've got lines outside your eyes when you smile, but that doesn't always come with age. You have had a rough life so you could seem older than you are...hmm."

"Mmmhmm. Your guess?"

"Thirty seven."

He smiles and kisses your nose. "So close."

"Up or down?"

"Mmm just keep guessing."

"Santiago, you're playing with me." You twist your finger around the thin gold chain on his neck. He covers your hand with his and curls his fingers around yours. "Can I have a hint?"

He shakes his head.

"Are you....fifty?"

"Ouch. That is not close to thirty seven, that hurts. Do I look that old?"

"Well you won't give me any clues!"

Santiago rolls on top of you and holds himself up, forearms on the pillow bracketing your head. "I'm thirty nine."

"Turning or?"

"I'll be forty on my birthday next month."

You close your eyes and laugh softly. "My grandma is never going to let me live this down."

"Why?"

"Because I'm only thirty. You're a solid decade older than me. I've told her my typical type and you're so not it."

He leans in and kisses you softly. "Do you love me any less? Am I too old for you now?"

You smile playfully, teasing him. "No, well, maybe. I used to say my limit was five years older."

"Until you met me." He grins and kisses you again. "I broke all your rules. You like me, you like my-"

"Oh shut it." You cover his mouth and he licks your hand. "Hey!"

He rolls his hips down against you and you shudder. "We should get up and open gifts."

"What? You got me something?"

"Of course."

"I thought we said no gifts."

"No, I said don't get me a gift. Everyday with you is my gift." He kisses along your throat and down your chest. "You're more than I could ever want for."

"Santiago...I didn't get you anything. Did you really get me something?"

He hums against your skin. "I did."

You arch against him as he shifts and it pulls the blankets away, making you cold. "That's not fair."

"It is." He crawls forward, covering you with his body and supporting himself on his forearms again. He reaches under his pillow and brings out a square box that he sets on your chest. "It's nothing too big."

You look down at the little gold lidded box. "Wh- no."

"Open it."

"I swear to God." You take it and open it, turning it over in your hand. Out falls a little delicate ring with eight stones in a tiara like shape.

"Are you ready for the big gift?"

You look up at him and he grins like a fool. "This is a big g-"

"I want to give you my last name." He bumps his nose against yours. "Will you marry me?"

"O-oh. Yes, I'll take it. I mean- yes of course I'll marry you!" You slide the ring on your finger and he presses a kiss to your lips. You bring your hands up and grip his back in a crushing hug. Never did you think you would fall in love with a man who is everything you thought you never wanted. But here you are, and you wouldn't choose anyone else.

----------

end

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Header image by delicate-venus

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

#triple frontier #triple frontier fic #triple frontier imagine #triple frontier santiago garcia #santiago garcia #santiago garcia fic #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia imagine #santiago garcia x reader #triple frontier fan fic

[nerdyfangirl67]

Anew - NCIS Reader Insert

Pairing: Gibbs x reader

Warnings: mentions of PTSD and PTSD symptoms, kidnapping, blood, language, Protective!Gibbs, angst, torture, fluff ending!

Word count: 2226

A/N: This is a continuation of Changed. I took some inspiration from the Emily/Lauren storyline from Criminal Minds, but other than that, this one is all mine. You guys asked for it and I hope it lives up to what you were wanting! I would be willing to write an epilogue if you guys wanted. Let me know! As always, I am taking requests so feel free to hit up my question box!!

Living life as you did before the Protection Program, as Y/F/N Y/L/N, took a while to get used to again. But with Gibbs’ help, you were able to stop looking over your shoulder every second of every day. You were able to clear a scene without jumping at every little squeak of the floorboards or creak of a door. You had even almost forgotten about the calls because they eventually stopped, so you figured whoever had been calling you had gotten bored of their little prank. Work had gone back to normal and it almost felt as if you had never left.

The only thing that hadn’t gone back to the way it used to be was your relationship with the rest of the team. McGee tiptoed around you, doing his best to avoid having to work in any close situation with you. Tony treated you as if you were made of glass, keeping you from even the slightest ‘dangerous’ situations. Abby tried anything and everything to keep you in the lab with her all day, even going so far as to beg Gibbs to let you stay with her, instead of going out in the field. 

And Gibbs, Gibbs did his best to always be near you, especially when he felt your emotions spiraling out of control because of one trigger or another. He insisted you stay at his house until you found a place to live, and that was three months ago. Every time you found a place that had potential, Gibbs didn’t like it for one reason or another. It had finally gotten to the point where you stopped showing any places you found to him and instead went to Tony for a second opinion. Tony was just as quick to dismiss them as Gibbs had been though. You finally put the house hunt to rest, at least until everybody went back to treating you like they used to.

Today was actually the first day since you started staying with Gibbs that you were completely by yourself. No one lingering near you or hovering over you as you went about the daily tasks of your life. And as much as you appreciate their concern, you were more than ready for an outing by yourself. It wasn’t as if you were doing anything out of the ordinary. You were simply walking to the nearest grocery store to get some steak and potatoes for dinner, a meal that you discovered was one of Gibbs’ favorite. 

The clear, crisp fall weather, combined with the fact that it was one of your days off, had you in no rush. You walk leisurely, enjoying the time to yourself. 

You were completely unaware of the black, nondescript car that had been slowly trailing you for the last eight blocks. You did, however, notice it as you walk out of the store, and then four blocks later, you saw it was behind you.

An intense wave of fear consumes you as you calculate the possibility of making it back to Gibbs’ before anything went wrong. You had seven blocks to go and you were carrying three bags of groceries. After some quick consideration, you step into one of the boutiques along the side of the street, grabbing a random item of clothing and step into one of the changing rooms.

You rapidly dial Gibbs’ number, feeling your heart constrict as it continues to ring. You almost give up hope that he will answer the phone when his gruff voice fills your ear. 

“Gibbs.” You don’t think you had ever felt so relieved to hear his voice.

“Jethro, it’s me. I-I, um, think someone is following me.” You whisper, the pinging of your nerves sending your heart into overdrive.

“Where are you? I’m coming to get you.” You could hear him moving around in the background, a set of keys jingling along with the sound of a door opening and closing rapidly. 

“I think it’s c-called Fashion for Her, ne-next to that Italian Pizza p-place.” The surge of adrenalin and fear making you stutter out your words.

“Hang tight. I’ll be there in five. I’ll come to get you, okay?” His words are gentle and help settle the rising fear in your body.

True to his word, Gibbs is at the small store five minutes later, promptly making his way to the back of the store. A gentle knock on the changing room door has you timidly opening it. Once you see Gibbs, you throw yourself into his arms, the solace you find in his arms immediately relaxing you. He holds you tight against him, whispering promises of protection and safety in your ear. 

------

It had been three weeks since the incident on the way back from the grocery store. The forgotten silent phone calls had escalated to unmarked envelopes left for you, with pictures of you and Gibbs, out doing domestic tasks, such as shopping or raking leaves. There were even ones of you in Gibbs’ house, washing the dishes and even changing your clothes.

You hadn’t told Gibbs, for fear that he would insist you rejoin the Protection Program. You had just gotten him, and the rest of your makeshift family back and you weren’t ready to say good-bye to them. You had, though, requested leave from the field, spending your time in the office, compiling search results, narrowing down possible suspects, and working on your never-ending pile of paperwork. Gibbs hadn’t been a fan of your request, but after a conversation with Director Vance, which only furthered his irritation toward the situation, your request was granted. 

It was late in the afternoon, on a Friday, and you were just finishing up on the last form you had to complete for the day. You knew Gibbs would be late in getting home, as he was on a stake-out with Tony for the latest case, so you decide to see if Abby and McGee were up for a night out. 

McGee politely declined your offer but Abby was game for a girls’ night out. After a brief chat, you agreed to meet her at the bar in half an hour. You stop at the bathroom on the way back to your desk to touch up your makeup and fix your hair. Grabbing your jacket and bag from your desk, you hurry down to the parking lot. 

Darkness covers the parking lot, with the streetlamps appearing as halos of light over the sinister blackness. You nervously fiddle with your keys, resting your free hand on your holstered weapon as you speed walk to your car. Reaching the door, you let out a sigh of relief as you unlock and open it. Swinging your bag in, you move to settle into the driver’s seat when a sharp blow to the back of your knees has you falling forward, hitting your head on the open door on the way down. 

You struggle to clear the fog that settles over your thoughts and pull yourself together. You reach for your gun just as another blow has you raising your arms to defend yourself. You kick out one of your legs, connecting with someone. 

“You bitch! Knock it off.” A deep masculine voice spits out at you. You know that there was an officer on duty just within the doors of the building so you decide to scream for help as you fought off the attacker. The next blow hits you hard enough in the head to bring black spots to your vision, effectively stopping you from calling for help, and a quick hit after that has you fading into the black.

-----

The next three days pass in a drug-induced haze. You can remember only bits and pieces of the torture and questioning that takes place in those three days. By day four, you’re sure that you are gonna die in this dingy, dark, cold room. It didn’t help that you were only wearing a pair of pants and a bra. For some reason, a reason you didn’t want to look too closely at, you were missing your shirt. You had yet to figure out why you were taken, or who, in fact, was the person behind your kidnapping.

Day five came and went without any contact with your abductors, besides the arrival of a bottle of water while you were sleeping. Your haze was starting to wear off, leaving behind pain, hunger, and intense thirst. You tried to ration the water, but you consumed it shortly after you found it. 

Day seven was the day you finally met the one who took you. You should have figured it would be him. After all, your testimony three years ago had sent him to prison. What you didn’t know was how he got out. You hadn’t heard anything about him escaping, and considering he was sentenced to 75 years to life, without parole, you knew he hadn’t been let out. 

Boris Ivan Petrov, a member of the Russian crime ring in America and wanted felon. You had had the unfortunate luck of witnessing him murder two dirty cops while on a stakeout. One of his lackeys had seen you watching and in that instant, you became a target for Petrov. And now, here he was standing in front of you.

His hair was long and disheveled and he had a scraggly beard growing from his face. Dark bags hung under his eyes, but who he was was unmistakable. 

“Ah, it looks like I finally get to properly introduce myself.” His words, which sound even harsher in his native Russian accent, send chills down your spine. You don’t answer, doing your best to wipe any signs of pain from your face.

“Since you already know my name, I’m not going to waste time telling you. Rather, I’m going to tell you about what I have in store for you.” He stops as he leans forward, trailing a finger down the side of your face. You unconsciously shiver in disgust, earning a hard slap across the face. “You will respect me, woman, if you want to live.” You know his words are an empty threat, as he has no intention of keeping you alive. 

And he certainly proves you right, as he unmercifully tortures you for hours. He doesn’t speak, instead taking delight in the screams of horror and cries of pain he manages to elicit from you. It finally gets to the point where you are welcoming the inevitable end. As much as you wanted to be able to hold on until Gibbs and the team got there, you were starting to believe that would never happen. 

You’re falling in and out of consciousness when Petrov suddenly stops. You’re barely able to comprehend the loud noises that follow. Just as you start to lose your grip on consciousness, a face appears in front of you. You wearily blink your eyes a few times before the face comes into focus. Gibbs’ brilliant blue eyes meet yours, as a gentle hand reaches out to cup your face. You struggle to move your lips, but you can’t make anything come out. 

The last thing you see is Gibbs’ rapidly moving mouth before you lose your grip on the light.

-----

You wake up to the sterile smell of a clean room and the beeping of machines. You blink your eyes quickly, adjusting to the hospital fluorescent light slowly. The tight dryness in your throat makes you cough painfully. You turn your head to the bed table, reaching for the cup of water sitting on it.

“Let me get that for you.” Gibbs’ rough, husky voice greets you and a brief moment later, he is holding the cup up to your lips. You drink greedily, trying to rid the feeling of thirst from your throat. After you finish the cup, you lean back into the pillows, your body already aching from the excursion.

You muster up the courage to ask the question that was dominating your thoughts. “Did, did you catch him?” Your voice catches in your throat as you nervously voice your thoughts.

“Yes, yes Y/N. We got him. You’re safe.” His voice is gentle as he rests a hand on top of yours. “Your injuries were extensive Y/N. They weren’t sure you were gonna make it.” His voice is thick with emotion as his blue eyes pierce yours.

A lump sticks in your throat as you listen to him. You slowly reach up the hand he was holding, moving it towards his face. You trace a thumb over his cheek, relishing in the feeling of touching him. 

“I love you, Jethro. I love you and I want a life with you.” You say, watching as an unreadable expression crosses his face.

He is quiet for a moment before he responds. “I know Y/N. I love you too.” He stands, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And now we have the rest of our lives together. No one is taking you away from me.” 

As he finishes talking, he runs a gentle hand over your face. You let out a sigh of relief as you relax into his touch. As you fall back into the darkness, all you can think of is what your future with Leroy Jethro Gibbs would look like.

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