#idk i always called em with their last name red

[forwardrussia]

Surprise (not) here's my favourite path girls again

#*jumps for joy* #the path #the path game #the path 2009 #ruby red #scarlet red #ruby the path #scarlet the path #idk i always called em with their last name red #whatevs #my art #more liek my fart hahhhhhhhh #ok . #first img is repaint of a ruby model rig screenshot from the game's development kewl #more red dead artsoon probaby i need to draw javier and #definitely more tmnt duh #fave

[grippingbeskar]

salt, ice and fire | frank castle

chapter eighteen - your fathers eyes

frank castle x fem!reader

word count: 5.9k

warnings: canon typical violence, punisher shit, mentions of blood, death, gross stuff u know the drill by now. also we decapitate someone. ya.

a/n: i’m not even an older sibling but why does this make me so emo???? idk. also yes i named the brother bc i’m watching supernatural again. i’m soft okay don’t look at me. how is there 18 chapters of my shit up in this bitch wow okay enjoy!!

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─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It had been an hour since the call from Agent Madani, and you were still in some sort of shock.

They’re going to kill him.

“Where’d you see ‘em last?” Frank had asked, getting in the drivers side of the car while you loaded the boot as fast as you could.

“He’s heading back to base, but it’s a mess. The ‘New America’ men stationed there have gone full riot— they saw the news, thought it was time to take a stand or some shit. Dead bodies everywhere. I have a link through their network— he’s given the order to move the kid, but the rest of them want him dead.”

“Why move him?” You felt sick as Frank pulled off the curb, but it was a fair question. Bobby wanted to hurt you— break the last piece of yourself you still had. Why not just kill him now? You were still six hours away, although with the way Frank was driving, it would be less.

“He said he wanted to finish the job— that he was taking him somewhere he could do that.” A part of you lit up— a part that you had tried to swallow down the past few weeks, something that had been far too easy to do.

“My old house.” You say, and Frank looks at you only for a second before repeating it into the phone. “It’s only an hour away from their base. We still have five between us.”

“They haven’t been able to get him out yet. Too many people.” You’d bought yourself time— maybe a few precious hours, but it would be enough. It had to be. “I’m heading out there now, you go straight to the kid. I’ll tell the rest of the squad to meet you there.”

Frank throws the phone behind him, and you see the red bar of the accelerator hit a new height. The highway stretched so far in front of you that you couldn’t see any end— it was like it went on forever, continuously throwing miles and miles between you and one of the only things you cared about.

“We’re gonna get there.” Frank says, sending your anxiety and you tuck your legs up under your chin. “There’s too many of the Colonels guys out there to make a quick exit.”

“Bobby’s men will shred them.”

“Good. That was always the plan. It’ll take ‘em time, time we need.” Swallowing hard, the seatbelt around your neck feels like it’s suffocating you. “We’re gonna get there.”

“How do you know?” The voice that comes out of you isn’t one you felt related to anymore— that low, commanding tone that sent shivers down your spine. Frank isn’t phased, his hand dropping from the wheel and planting firmly over yours.

“You trust me?” It was simple now— you trusted him with your life, like he did with his. Once a far away idea, now a real, tangled thread tying you to him. You nod once, and you swear he smiles slightly. “I’ll get you there.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Frank drove the next few hours, and you slept where you could. Once you got into the drivers seat, Frank passed out almost immediately. He’d told you to wake him up in an hour, but he needed to conserve his energy, so you let him sleep.

Weaving through traffic, you knew what you were driving into. It was going to be your last few moments of freedom— but nothing would stop you. Not when you were this close. You’d come to terms with the fact he might not know who you are, and as much as that broke your heart, nothing mattered more than his safety. He was your brother. The one you had let your house burn for, the one you’d killed for a thousand times. You owed him this much. It was your fault he was there, your fault he was used as leverage.

Everything you had done was leading to this moment, and when the sign to your town flashed over your head, you took the exit and woke Frank up, trying to swallow down the sickness in your chest.

“Hey, we’re nearly there.” He shot up, moving a lot easier than just a few hours before. The other wounds would hold well enough, but that one on his side was still raw. Madani had said they were taking a few men with your brother, and they’d only gotten him out about half an hour ago. You’d beat them here— giving you an advantage. You’d need all the help you could get right now.

“They already there?” Frank leans into the back seat, pulling out a long gun and loading it up.

“No. We should have… twenty minutes.” You pull onto your street. God— it was your street, your home after so long. The neighbouring houses were exactly how you remembered them— white picket fences, golden retrievers barking at mail men, the smell of someone barbecuing something. It was all so… familiar. “It’s this one.”

Pulling over, you hadn’t allowed yourself to look just yet. There’s been something built over the top of the ruins. A giant yellow ‘for sale’ sign is sticking up in the lawn, and then you see the one thing about this street that you don’t recognise. The house— entirely rebuilt as if you were never there. In some ways, you guessed you weren’t.

“Hey.” Is all Frank says, but it’s all he needs to. He says everything in that one look— that you needed to be good right now, needed to be strong just for a little longer, and you’d have everything you worked for. You both get out of the car, and look up.

“You should get up high. Pick them off.” Watching Frank wince as he bends out of the car, it’s clear he’s not 100%.

“Just like before. Once you see him, go. Madani’ll be there somewhere.” He says, but not with the relief that you feel. Your brother was going to be safe; that was a good thing. “Once your brothers safe…”

“I do what she wants me to do.” A metallic taste in your mouth forms at the words, knowing you wouldn’t see him again. Was that it? “That’s the deal.”

Frank meant… something to you now. What that was, you hadn’t had time to figure out, but it was big enough to distract you from your work, and certainly big enough to risk your life for. You’d brought each other back from the edge time and time again, and even though it had only been a few months since you met him, you don’t remember feeling anything like you do now for anyone you’ve met.

The way he always looked at you like you were something special— the first real person to treat you with some kind of dignity, kindness, compassion. He saved your life, knowing what you were and what you’d done, and you had done the same for him. He stepped forward, hand reaching for yours as he pulled you toward the empty house.

“Once he’s safe, come back to me.” You blink a few times. Once your brother was out, Madani would need to take you in. None of this made sense if you weren’t the link—if you weren’t her informant, she would never get the location to be here today. You had to— “You come back.”

“I can’t. Agent Madani—“

“Screw that.” He busted the lock to the door, and instantly you were looking around, finding possible vantage points of the new layout all the while trying to process what Frank was saying.

“I- I have to make sure he’s okay.” That was all it was. There was only, truely, one person that would override whatever it was holding you to him. One person that didn’t even know who you were. You heard the screech of tires outside, and knew that you didn’t have time. You never seemed to have the time you wanted with him, no matter how long you were given.

“He will be.” The guns strapped to him bulk him up too much, and you can’t get closer, but you heart was beating so fast like he was on top of you. You already know what he’s trying to say before he says it.

“I can’t ask you to do that. He’s… he needs to be away from all this shit. Away from me—“

“That’s bullshit. Kid would be lucky to have someone like you.” You try to blink it away, but a tear drops down your cheek anyway. “It’s not just for him. Come back to me.”

“I will. You know I will.” He doesn’t look so sure. You knew you needed to go with Agent Madani— give her what she wants, hold up your end of the deal. You couldn’t start your life running from another person. But after all that, you’d come back to him. You always would. “You remember that day that I left the hotel, after you stitched my leg up?”

“I remember that night.” You suck in a slow breath, trying not to think about how his hands held your skin, how you knew how they felt everywhere now.

“I left in the morning, and you told me you would leave if I didn’t come back.” He nods, eyes looking over your shoulder and out the window again, checking you were still alone, then locking back on you. “I knew I was coming back. Always. No matter what happens, I’ll come back.”

“You were late.” He looks down at you, hand tangled in your hair. “I told you thirty minutes in that hotel and I’d leave. Waited 45.”

“God, you really have gotten soft.” A grin splits his face, and his thumb traced over that tiny little scar on your head, the one he made with his gun the first time you fought. “Go.”

You shove him towards the stairs, knowing he needs time to set himself up, but he just looks at you.

“Go, Frank.” He looks like he’s in pain, and you can’t tell if it’s his side or you telling him to move, but either way it hurts him. You turn around, hearing Franks’ loud footsteps stomping up to the window of the attic you had spotted, and try to focus. Nothing was laid out the same, but you didn’t need it to be. You could asses— you could find the best spot, and then you would do what you always did. Find a way.

Frank was shooting as soon as the engine to the now pulled up car outside cut out. You shrunk back, covering yourself from the door by the corner of the wall, peeking up to look over out the window and firing a few shots. Two guys were splayed out on the driveway, blood splattered on the white fencing around the front lawn.

“Kill him now! Just fucking end it already!” One of the men was shouting and you couldn’t hold your spot any longer. You know you should, but you couldn’t stand there and wait. You had waited too long already— it was here and now, and a glimpse of brown hair, curly, like your dads, cracked out of the boot of the car, and you ran.

Adrenaline like you’d never felt it spurred every move. Three car loads of people were in front of you and you tore through them without blinking. You swung an open hand across the first man’s face, and felt the flesh split part underneath the sharp end of your fingers. Blood splattered and he fell, so you moved on to the next. Shots were firing around you, but you didn’t flinch for a second, trusting Franks’ eye to keep you safe. Trusting him to keep you safe.

You could see a part of your brothers face now. He was curled up in a corner of the boot of the car, hands over his head. You were distracted, and one of the men clocked you over the head but you recovered quickly, feeling his weight drop away when a sniper bullet tore through his head. There was another man, his focus on the car, shoving other people out of his path. He was the leader of some sort, ordering people in the chaos of bodies, and the shout of his voice was one you recognised.

You ran across the yard, dodging bullets and cracking bone wherever you could. You got your hands around the cuff of his shirt and yanked him back, only a few meters from where the gun in his hand would of been firing at your brother. He struggles, calling to someone, but your fingers are already linked around his neck. The flesh under his jaw gives way, and a familiar crack sounds as his body drops lifelessly to the pavement.

You hold his fractured head in your hands just for a second too long, before dropping it, a loud thud ringing over the shouts of men around you. The numbers had thinned, and you hadn’t realised Frank had dropped out of the second story window, hearing him groaning in pain as he laid into the man underneath him. Two more punches confirmed the man’s fate, and Frank staggered upright before turning around and starting over on the next.

You sprinted downhill, finishing off whoever you could, and your breath caught in your throat when you finally rounded the car.

You saw him.

Terrified, curled up, but unharmed. Your brother— after twelve years, he was here, and real, and right in front of you.

“Please, don’t hurt me.” His voice cries out, and footsteps behind you snap you away from the moment. You take care of your next victim swiftly, using the gun Frank gave you to put a bullet through his eyes, but not before you dragged him out of your brothers eyesight. He didn’t need to see anymore of it.

“Sammy?” You kept your distance, seeing how much the kid was shaking, but when you called his name, he looked up slowly. “Is that you?”

“How—how do you know my name?” He says, arms still wrapped over his head. You could feel how much blood you were covered in; feel it dripping off onto your shoes.

“I…” You lose the words. God— he looked just like your dad. That same curly hair, bright eyes… he even sounded like him. You heard more shots fired, and Frank was okay— you knew it, because the footsteps could be no one but him. “You won’t remember me, but I promise I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I haven’t seen you before?” He asks, the high pitch voice only reminded you how young he is. Your heart broke a little more when he shuffled back, seeing Frank appear behind you.

“It’s okay. You… I have met you before, but you were very young.” You were blinking back tears, and he squinted— curious. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” His clothes were dirty, and there was a small cut on his cheek, probably from where they had knocked him out before chucking him in. “They— please, don’t make me go back with them. They’ll hurt me, they said—“

“No, I promise… God, I swear I will never let them take you again. Okay?” His eyes brimmed with tears, but he nodded, inching forward just a little. “First, we have to get you out of here. There’s some people coming, they are going to make sure you are safe.”

“People?” You nod, and he shakes his head. “No, no I can’t go with anyone. I don’t want to go with them again.”

“I promise you— they will keep you safe.” He was still shaking his head a little, bundled up in a corner, looking over your shoulder. You’d nearly forgotten Frank was there. “He’s a friend. It’s alright.”

“Why are you helping me?” He asks, eyes still squinted. Maybe you had mistaken his curiosity for suspicion, and it killed you that he had to be.

“I… I knew your parents. They would want me to make sure you are safe. I’ve been looking for you ever since they took you.” He shoots straight up, with more energy than you would of assumed he had with the dark rings under his eyes.

“My parents? You knew them?” You nod, going to open your mouth but he was was already talking. “What about my sister? Do you know her?”

“Your sister?” You felt something inside you thaw out— he knew he had a sister.

“They didn’t want me to know about her, but I remembered. They have her somewhere, she’ll be looking for me, too. I don’t want to go with someone else— you have to help me. I want to find her. I have to tell her I’m okay!” He was frantic, standing on his knees in the back of the van, his hands stained with how he grabbed your blood covered shoulders. “They said she was coming— that they’d kill me before she could find me. You have to let me go, I need to find—“

“Easy, kid.” Frank knelt down beside you, his hand easing Sammy down to sit. He was breathing rapidly, and looked pale. “Just… take a second. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

It’s you now that might start crying. It felt like the wind was knocked out of you— watching your brother, alive and real in front of you was one thing, but seeing Frank— Frank, who apparently never misses a fucking thing, talk him through it, counting the seconds for him slow and clear.

In for seven.

Out for eleven.

You knew exactly what you wanted now. God, it was so clear, now it was in front of you.

“I need to…” Sammy started saying again now his breathing was slower, less panicked. “I have to find my…” He stopped talking, looking up at you, eyes locked onto yours. “I do know you.”

“Yeah, you do.” You say, voice choked up. You knew what he was looking at. Where he had your fathers eyes, you were the spitting image of your mother. You saw the recognition, how his face drops when he puts it together. “I’m so sorry, Sammy. I tried to—“

He cut you off, slamming his entire body into yours so hard you nearly toppled over. His arms locked around your neck, so tight it crushed you a little but you couldn’t care less, grabbing him just as tight. He was smiling, maybe even laughing, and for some strange reason he laughed the same as he did when he was just a little baby, all high pitched and squeaky.

The sound makes you breathe again, holding him as close as possible. Your family, your fucking brother was here, in your arms, and it felt like somehow all this had been worth it. If you had to go through everything over again, for this moment, you would. Even with your brother in your arms, though, you knew it wasn’t the only thing you’d go through hell to fight for again.

Frank had a hand on your lower back, keeping you from dropping backwards even further as Sam eventually stopped clinging to you.

“How did you find me?!” He shouted, a giant grin spread across his little face. You never thought you had a motherly bone in your body, but seeing him just made you want to grab him and never let him out of your sight again.

“I never stopped looking for you. They never let me see you, I thought you might of been…”

“I knew they had you! I nearly found you, too! But they told me you were coming, just a few months ago and I thought it wasn’t real, but it was!” A car pulls onto the street, and you grab him, putting yourself in front of Frank and Sam. Franks hand falls on your shoulder.

“It’s Madani.” You knew she would come. Knew that this wouldn’t last, but he was safe. She would make sure of it. You turned back around, linking your hand with Frank’s, who had inched closer to you.

“I never stopped looking for you.” You put your hand on his head, and he smiles again, but it doesn’t last long when he sees Agent Madani walking up to you on the street, two other agents with pale faces taking in the scene. “Don’t worry. She’s a friend, too.”

“You must be Samuel.” She bends down, nodding at you and Frank, and smiling. “It’s very nice to meet you. My name is Dinah.”

He looks back to you, unsure, and the gesture is so small but it means so much to you. To have him look to you. You nod back, trying to look as encouraging as possible while still covered in blood.

“It’s okay. You know how I said before, there’s people that can make sure you never end up here again.” You stood up, and he did the same, following you close behind.

You lead him away from the scene, but he doesn’t seem phased, which only makes the pit in your stomach a little bigger. He must be used to it— to seeing things like this. It made this decision a little easier. If he was with you, this is all he would see, and even if the prospect of leaving him moments after you got him felt like a piece of yourself was being torn out, you knew you couldn’t stay with him.

“I’ll let you guys have a second. Then we have to get moving.” She looks at you, sympathy painted on her face as she heads back onto the front lawn, trying to shoo away the gathered neighbours. Stopping at the car, you bend down again, noticing Frank has given you your space, talking with Madani.

“You sure you aren’t hurt?” He shakes his head again, eyebrows nearly crossed.

“Don’t make me go with them. I…”

“You have no idea how much I want you to stay with me. I’ve been trying to get to you for 12 years— and I’ll visit as much as they let me.” You try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“As much as they let you? Where are you going?” He looks over your shoulder again, constantly analysing where he is, who’s around him.

“I’ve done… I’ve done some really bad things to find you, Sammy. I don’t regret it, not one second; but I have to own up to it now you’re safe.” You can feel the moment closing in on you, Frank and Agent Madani coming up behind you. “You’re gonna be okay, and I’ll be around, I just… god, you look just like him, you know.”

“Like who?” His voice was so small.

“Just like Dad.” He hugs you again, clinging onto your bloodied clothes. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

“I don’t want you to go away again.” He cries into your shirt, and you do your best not to cry with him.

You needed him to go. You needed him to be safe, and to know he wasn’t in danger anymore— Bobby was still out there, and you couldn’t give him the security you know he needed. Whether you were locked up by the FBI or hunting down the rest of the gang on your own terms, you needed to know he was safe. And happy— seeing that kid smile made the last twelve years worth it. Agent Madani calls your name, and you look at her, still clinging to your brother.

“We need to get going. The rest of the Bureau is on its way, and they won’t wait before…” She looks down at Sam, and smiles kindly, choosing not to finish her sentence in front of him.

“Madani.” Frank says, his voice low.

“Castle.” He says something to her you can’t hear, and Sam finally lets you go.

“Alright. I have to go, now. You’re gonna go with some really nice people, and they’ll make sure you’re—“

“I don’t want to.” He says, a little more defiant. He wasn’t a baby anymore, and he sure as hell had good reason not to want to go with anyone, even you.

“I don’t want you to go either, but I have to sort this shit out and then I promise I’ll come see you.”

“Why? You haven’t done anything!” He turns to Agent Madani, having to look up pretty high to see her. “She was just trying to help me! It’s my fault— I promise she was just… they would have killed me. You want them to kill a kid? Huh?!” Christ, even though you haven’t seen him since he was a baby, he sounded more like you that you thought possible.

“We just need to talk to her for a while. Make sure everything is sorted out.” Madani says, trying to reason.

“Everything is fine. I’m fine right here.” He says, and you may have your mothers face, but he has every bit of her attitude. He moves away from her, holding you by one arm, and to your surprise, grabs Frank as well, who looks down at Sammy like he’s seen a ghost.

“We need to go. Now.” She says, losing her patience as she looks down at her phone.

“Okay.” You take Sams face in your hands, seeing his cheeks already smeared with blood. “Okay, I need you to do this for me. Just go with her, and I swear to God I will come back for you, but it isn’t safe for me either. We still have to find—“

“Bobby. I know. He told me he was coming for you.” Sam says. “You promise I’ll see you soon?”

“Promise.” You hug him, and he stands to the side, Frank looking down at you.

“You promise you’ll see me real soon?” He says, and you smile, laugh, then grab him and kiss him as hard as you can. You don’t care everyone’s watching, that everyone can see— you’ve spent too much time without the people you love, and you aren’t wasting a second of it now. And you do, love him, even though it makes you feel sick and scared and all too consumed— you love the shit out of him, and he kisses you right back. You let yourself think he’s telling you the same.

“I’m coming back for you. I promise.” You whisper, and Frank leans into you, his forehead pressing to yours. “Just like you said. I just need to know he’s okay.”

“He will be. I’ll—“

“Frank, he’s not your responsibility. I’d… I’d never ask you to do that.” Your eyes flutter open, watching as he looked at you with some kind of intensity you felt nearly naked under.

“I know.” You can’t help it, leaning in to kiss him again. “You say the word, and I’ll get you out of here right now.”

“It won’t be long. I…” You weren’t going to make a promise you couldn’t keep. In truth, you have no idea how long it would be. It could be hours, years… she could be planning to take you to Rikers and lock you away for good. Whatever happened, though, you’d come back. You knew that. “I’ll come.”

“You better, or I’ll have to come find you.” He says into your hair.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Shaking his head, he links his arms around your back and crushes you to him, all but devouring every one of your senses.

“I have to go.” The sirens of cop cars sound around the corner, and you pull away at the sound but he just pulls you back. “I have to.”

“I know.” You pull him back this time, allowing for one, two, three more seconds of pure, pure happiness.

“I have to go.” You open the care door, mouth still on his. Everything is coming to a point— things feel sharp and raw and you have a name for that thing your feeling right now, the thing that’s been eating at you for a longer time that it should of. You know what it is, and that it’s not the right time or place but he kisses you again and you can’t help it. “I have to go,I—I love you. I have to go.”

You drop into the seat of the cop car behind you and the door is closed by more agents who appear out of nowhere. Through the tinted window you can only just make out his face, how his mouth is open and he hasn’t moved an inch from where you left him, and you can’t see anything more as you are sped out of your childhood street, and straight to the headquarters of Homeland Security.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You should go, too.” Madani says, and Frank is still glued to the sidewalk like an idiot, watching you get hauled away in handcuffs. Like they’d do anything to hold you. “They might not kill you, but they’ll try.”

“What are you gonna do with him?” Frank nods over to where the kid— your brother, was sitting in the back of an ambulance. Madani blew out a breath.

“Social services, probably. He’s going to need a lot of help, and who knows what kind of shit he went through in there.”

“So you just ship him off?”

“Why are you trying to make me the bad guy here?” She turns to him, and Frank can’t take his eyes off the end of the road where you disappeared.

He thinks he could of blinked and missed it, that fucking word you said. He can’t even hear the sirens anymore, you were that far away. And he didn’t say it back. Said nothing at all— just fucking stood there and watched you go, staring down the street.

“If we don’t do this now, everything I’ve built— everything you’ve done for the past year goes to shit. If they find out I was working behind their backs and never brought her in, I get fired and the Gnucci’s lawyers get the case thrown out. Him and the rest of his family walk free. Are you willing to risk that? Especially now, with him out there?” She nods at the kid, but he’s still staring down the road. Madani looks too, and clearly puts it together. It probably didn’t help that he’d kissed you before you left. But what else was he gonna do? “I saw that, before. Since when were you and her…”

“You really goin’ there with me right now?” She put her hands up.

“Okay. I won’t ask.” He shakes his head, turning to face her. “He’s not going far. For now, we put him with a foster home. Keep him close as we can. I don’t want to seperate them.”

“Be a lot easier for them to be together if you let her go.” Madani sighs again, ignoring the buzzing of her phone.

“I told you both, I would do everything I can, but I’m not a miracle worker.” She goes to answer her phone and walk away, and something overtakes him. He can see the kid sitting there, alone, staring down the road like he was just seconds ago. “Some things need time. I need to put this all together, legally, or we’re all back where we started. The Gnucci’s have money— which means they have good lawyers. One slip up, and we lose everything, and I can’t control the fall out of that.” He knew what that meant— that you’d be the CIA’s next target, like you are now, and all this shit would of been for nothing. But he’d wait, if that’s what he had to do.

That little boy was gonna be waiting for you, too. The only family that kid had ever known just walked in and out in less than ten seconds. His face, all sad and tired, was tugging at strings Frank didn’t know he had left, and something about him, seeing a little bit of you in those big eyes… something in him just switches, and he’s grabbing Madani on the arm and saying something he’s probably going to regret.

“Let me take him.” Her face drops, and he thinks she laughs for a second before she realises he’s serious. He should laugh too. It was fucking ridiculous— a kid, a twelve year old, tagging along with him. Now, of all times.

“You?” Him. “You want me to hand over a vulnerable child to a known felon? A man who just racked up a higher body count that most of my agents have in years on the force, in less than twenty minutes?” He looks out at the yard, the bodies being carried away, then sees the kid out the corner of his eye, watching too, not flinching or even reacting. He felt…bad for him.

“Or take your chance in the foster system. You and I both know how well that can work out.” Madani looks at him then, the inference clearly enough to make her think for a second. “Come on. At least you’ll know I’ll be close to the city. You know I won’t be far.”

“Because you’re waiting for her.” She looks at him a final time, assessing him like she did when she first met him, interrogated him. He nodded once, and watched as she went over to Sam. His head snapped up when she started talking, and he looked him in the eyes, and it was then that Frank realised what he’d done. 

His vision and his brain was foggy with the memory and though of you, and now this kid was looking at him and he was fucking terrified. He didn’t know why, really. Maybe it was the part of him that was still so attached to kids. Your brother wasn’t that much older than Frankie Jr. would of been by now. Probably would look a lot like him too. Head of hair that messy, it was making Franks stomach churn just to think about it.

He didn’t know why he’d said what he did to Madani, but he did know you, and maybe that was why he’d done it. He knew you’d feel safer if your brother was with him, the only person you trusted since getting out. He knew a lot of things about you, now he thought about it, and yeah— that was exactly why he’d said he’d look after him. He was important to you. And you... you were everything to him.

Sam hopped off the back of the ambulance, walking over to Frank slowly, his head tilted a little to the side, and Frank thinks he might be in over his head again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

tag list:

@stress--relief

@hellskitchens-whore

@blkwayne

@itwasthereaminuteago

@margoo0

@daisykins

@paryl

@urlocalgeek

@hello-lisa1026

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@lemon-world1

@officalpetergriffin

@batcreep

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@yourfriendhenrywinter

@peaky-shelby

@hollandorks

[diospore]

Okay here's one of my ocs his name's Akemasa Usamimi

(Infodump Under break. I wrote it at 3 am a month ago.)

Idk I like the name. Naming MHA characters is low-key hard for me because I always feel like the names I pick are both amazing and kinda trash, which is fair because I don't speak the language so it's harder. I get em by mixing and matching until I get a meaning I like. His specifically I chose 朱將 (Vermillion Red + To Help) and ウサ耳 (The term for costume rabbit ears?). The color refers to his hair color. The last name refers to his antennae, rabbit ears are an old term for antennae like that.

His quirk is called Radio Signal and it's those two radio antennae on the top of his head. He can emit various signal types such as radio or electrical to connect with the tech in the world. As a result of his quirk, he is a good engineer and can hack most things if given time. However, the antennae are very sensitive to touch and outside signals. He gets migraines if you grab them, and he has trouble focusing if he's in an area with many signals like near a phone or radio tower, an airport, or a signal jammer. Theoretically, if given a boost of some sort, his signals could probably be strong enough to induce migraines or disrupt the signals in the human body, but he's not strong enough for that right now.

Hero Name would be something like Radio Star: the Antenna Hero? Work in progress there lol.

Personality-wise he's a bit of a fun person and a dork. He enjoys pranks, gaming, and tinkering with machines. He's loyal to a fault and a bit of a clueless idiot sometimes, but he is well-meaning.

He has anxiety, PTSD, ADHD, and an undiagnosed disorder that causes his hands and feet to go numb or get incredibly cold sometimes.

His backstory, he has three older sisters and a single father. His mother was killed in a villain attack when he was very young. He blames himself for this and this is why he wanted to be a hero.

He was originally in the support course but got transferred into one of the hero courses.

I imagine his voice would sound like Peridot from Steven Universe but lower.

#mha #my hero academia #mha oc #my hero academia oc #bnha oc #queue #dio's art tag

[fruitcoops]

hiii i've just spent the last 36-48 hours reading your works and oh dear do i lOVE your writing and this universe :') . i dont know if you are taking requests but i think it would be kinda interesting (and low key hilarious) if you would write the lions reacting/reading thirst tweets? idk if this is a dumb idea or not but just like some of them reacting to them and going "well i'm actually gay/married so.. no!.. but thank you!"

Part two of the six-month celebration, everyone! Thank you thank you THANK YOU to everyone who submitted comments--I had over 60 come in, and while I couldn’t include them all, reading them was a true joy. The Lion Pride channel was something I started writing on a whim; I never expected it to grow like this <3 Much love to all of you!

TW for alcohol mentions and thirst tweets (nothing explicit)

“Why do I always fear for my life around you?” Sirius asked as Marlene settled into a cushy chair to the side of their table.

She smiled, catlike, and crossed her legs primly. “Because only Finn appreciates me.”

“That’s just the Aries connection, Cap,” Finn said with a smug grin.

“We’re both Leos, Harzy.”

“Eh, close enough.”

Remus raised an eyebrow at her. “You should probably start asking questions before this devolves further, Marley. He’s gonna keep digging himself a hole and we won’t get anything done.”

Marlene’s smile returned with a vengeance. “That’s where you’re wrong, Loops! We’re not doing any questions at all today.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Read it and weep.” She tossed a small posterboard at him like a frisbee; he caught it, barely, though both Talker and Sirius had to duck out of the way. Marlene faced the camera and winked. “Welcome back to Lion Pride, everyone! Today I’m here with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Thomas Walker, and our wonderful cubs to react to your comments on our videos!”

“Bet you thought we’d never see ‘em, huh?” James asked.

“The comments fall into four categories: thirsty, funny, mean, and sweet. I will be reading two of those groups, and my lovely fiancée will be reading the others because she is the human embodiment of sunshine.”

“If you make Dorcas read the mean ones, I’ll be sad,” Leo laughed.

Marlene gave him a look of disbelief. “You think I’m passing up a chance to roast you guys? Puh-lease. We’re starting off strong with some thirsty, thirsty comments! Loops, you’re up first.”

“This is going to be fun,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair.

She cleared her throat, then turned a smoldering look on their table. “I didn’t know I had a freckle kink, but then Remus Lupin appeared and now here we are.”

“Oh, shit,” Remus muttered, covering his face with his hands as the others howled with laughter.

“Lupin has been looking sexy as hell on the bench for years now. I'm so glad people are simping over him like he deserves,” Marlene read. “And there’s a little heart emoji, just for you.”

“This is every one of my nightmares come to life,” Remus said, though his voice was muffled by his forearms.

James lifted his glasses to swipe away the tears of mirth that had gathered in his eyes. “Are you kidding? This is everything I have ever wanted.”

“Y’know, it is so good to see people drooling over this hot piece of ass at last,” Finn sighed, reaching over to ruffle Remus’ hair as his face turned bright red.

“One more, and it’s a good one,” Marlene warned. She licked her lips, then had to take a moment to laugh before speaking. “I feel like Remus Lupin is the type of guy to bake you muffins—”

“Accurate,” Leo said.

“—but is also a kinky motherfucker.”

Remus’ mouth dropped open as the table erupted into cheering. Logan pumped both fists in the air and Sirius was laughing so hard no sound came out; Talker sank so low in his chair that only his head and shoulders were visible as he applauded.

“Why do people comment these things?” Remus asked, barely above a whisper. “Holy fuck, I’m engaged!”

“Speaking of…” Marlene raised her eyebrows and Sirius smile drooped.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. Buckle up, Cap!” She rolled her shoulders out. “Get someone who looks at you the way Sirius Black looks at a hockey puck.”

Remus snorted; James’ laugh was so short and sharp that it set everyone else off as well. “That sounds like I have a hockey puck fetish!” Sirius complained. “Which is so, so not true!”

Finn made an ‘ehh’ noise, and he leaned around Remus to smack the back of his head. “Hey!”

“Next one!” Marlene announced. “Sirius Black was my bi awakening.”

A beat of silence passed. “Is that it?” Sirius ventured, looking nervous.

“Yep.”

“Aw, man, that one’s lame,” Talker said, shaking his head. “Everyone thinks Cap is a little hot.”

Remus shot him a look. “A little?”

“Fair. Marley, I dare you to find one person who wouldn’t tap that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Me, though that dovetails nicely into the last one for our lovely captain. Ahem. I understand why Remus is with Sirius: he's hot as hell and rich, I'd hit that too.”

“Oh, fuck, you’re right,” Leo gasped. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

Finn and Logan turned to him in unison with a mix of disbelief and offense written all over their faces. “Dude.”

“First of all, Leo, you found yourself two hot rich boys,” Remus interrupted. “Second, that comment is forgetting that he’s funny, and smart, and nice, and—”

Seconds after the initial cover, Sirius took his hand off Remus’ mouth as if he’d been burned. “Did you just lick me?”

“Moving on! This is in all caps, so be prepared.” Marlene shuffled through her posterboards and turned to Leo with an ominous smile. He glanced toward the camera in mild fear. “What does a person have to do to get some hockey player ass?! Like why is Leo Knut so fine?!”

“Amen!” Logan called as Leo blushed.

“According to six of the seven people at this table, the answer to that first question is to be a hockey player,” Talker laughed. “The world may never know the answer to the second, sadly.”

“Lily could play hockey,” James said, resting his chin on his hand. Every single one of the others rolled their eyes. “She could! She’d be so good at it, too.”

“We know,” Finn groaned. “You only mention it every other day.”

“Speaking of the lovely Mrs. Potter,” Marlene began with a sly look as she held up a new card. “Do James and Lily Potter need a third? Asking for me specifically.”

James paused, dumbstruck, while the others drummed their hands on the table. “…no?”

A general sigh of disappointment went up. “I was really hoping he’d say yes,” Leo said.

“Ask Lily next time,” Remus recommended.

James turned to him and blinked slowly. “What are you insinuating, Loops?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Don’t worry, James, you’ll like this one,” Marlene assured him. “James Potter is the ultimate dilf.”

“You’re damn right I am!” James whooped. “Vindication, bitches!”

“Marley, what have you done?” Talker whispered. “He’ll never shut up about that, now.”

“Oh, never,” James all but cackled. “I’m officially a dilf, you guys!”

“I hate you,” Sirius groaned.

“Tremzy, are you ready? We’ve got a couple very special ones for you,” Marlene said.

“Anything to get us out of this hell,” Logan begged.

“In that case: Logan Tremblay’s ass is better than Sidney Crosby’s. I said what I said.”

A pleased flush rose to his cheeks as Finn and Leo high-fived over his head. “Really? Thank you!”

“And they would be correct!” Finn announced. “Best ass in the league.”

“Come on,” Remus scoffed, though he was smiling.

Marlene cleared her throat to get their attention. “I don’t think I can legally read this on air without being censored or getting the video taken down, but…”

She turned the board around; all seven of them leaned forward to read it, then slowly looked at Logan, who turned vivid red. “Mon dieu. Is that—someone commented that on a video? Like, for people to see?”

“I feel like I need to bleach my eyes,” Sirius said just as Finn began shaking with silent laughter.

Leo’s face fell. “You wrote that, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Finn wheezed, scooting forward to fist-bump Marlene. “We wanted to see what you guys would say. Fuckin’ hell, your faces.”

“Alright, Talkie, are you ready?” Marlene asked around her laughter. “Seeing Thomas Walker with a baby makes me want to have his babies…please hit me up.”

He held up his index finger and took a second to laugh before responding. “If that’s Noelle, yes. If that’s anyone else, I’m flattered, but absolutely not.”

Logan made a face. “Ew.”

“We have two more,” Marlene warned. “For some very special people that aren’t here today, but I think you’ll like them anyway.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust the look on your face.”

“Daddy Dumo makes me swoon.”

A muddle of horrified noises echoed through the studio as all seven of them cringed. “Oh, my god, that’s my dad!” Logan yelped, covering his ears. Sirius looked vaguely ill and Remus’ shoulders crept toward his ears; James shuddered.

“The worst part is, we all know he can get it,” Finn said with a grimace. “God, I feel like I just heard someone talking about my parents having sex.”

“I’m sure he’ll love to hear that,” Marlene laughed. “Last one, from one of our truth or drinks.”

Remus went pale half a second too late. “N—”

“Hope Lupin is a milf.”

A broken noise escaped his mouth and he clamped his hand over it while Talker rubbed his back in sympathy. Sirius shook his head. “Somehow, that’s worse than Dumo’s.”

“Whoever sent that in, show some respect!” Leo said indignantly as Remus bonked his forehead against the table. “Hope Lupin is a lovely woman!”

“I think they noticed that particular fact,” Marlene pointed out, earning herself several scandalized shouts of her name and a whine from Remus. “That’s all we have for thirst comments! Are you ready for some funny ones?”

“Anything,” Remus pleaded. “I am begging you, anything else.”

Marlene shook her head as she stood, still smiling, and kissed Dorcas on the cheek when she entered the frame. “Go for it, love.”

“Dorcas!” they all cheered, lighting up immediately.

“Hey, guys, it’s been a while!” She curled up in Marlene’s vacant spot and took her own posterboards out from underneath the seat. “Alright, let’s rock and roll. Pascal Dumais is the team dad and nothing will change my mind, and Tremzy is the annoying youngest child.”

“That is so accurate,” Sirius laughed, leaning just out of range of Logan’s playful punch. “Whoever commented that has no idea how right they are.”

“We’ve got a whole sibling dynamic thing going on,” Talker agreed. “Tremzy’s the baby of the family, Cap is the quietly chaotic middle child, and Pots is the older brother that starts shit and inevitably gets blamed for however out-of-control it gets.”

Dorcas nodded. “You are one hundred percent correct. In a similar vein: Pots was the dad jokes friend before he was even a dad.”

“Painfully so,” Leo confirmed, shaking his head as they all groaned in agreement. James looked rather smug about the whole thing. “So many puns.”

“Oh, you’ll like this one,” Dorcas mused as she drew a new card. “If Tremzy looked directly into my eyes for even two seconds, all of my problems would be solved. I am sure of it.”

“Yes,” Finn and Leo said in unison.

“It’s something about the eyes, I think,” James added. “They just stand out so much that it’s a little startling straight-on.”

Logan looked to the camera and stared at it, unblinking; it zoomed in slightly on his face. “Everything will be fine,” he said with mock solemnity. “Your problems are solved.”

“Well, that was terrifying,” Sirius said drily. “Got any more for us, Ms. Meadowes?”

“Of course I do! We’ve got quite a few for Loops and Leo.” She took a sip of her water before getting comfortable again. “My favorite thing about these videos is that we can all see Loops get steadily buffer as the season goes on. Good for you, king!”

“Flex! Flex! Flex!” the six of them chanted; Remus rolled his eyes, but slid his sweater sleeve to his elbow and flexed his forearm, resulting in enough hoots and hollers that they could probably be heard a block away. Talker fake-swooned into Leo’s arms and Remus lightly whacked him on the shoulder.

“Remus Lupin looks like he has squishable cheeks,” Dorcas read aloud.

“He does!” James cooed, scooting over and reaching out.

Remus narrowed his eyes. “I swear to god I’ll bite you.”

Sirius cupped his face between his palms and kissed his nose, then pinched both his cheeks gently. “Ta-da!”

“How many of these do we have?” Remus asked, though his voice was a bit muffled by Sirius’ hands.

“Just one more for you, and it’s my personal favorite.” Dorcas assured him. “I love how the team probably had no impulse control until Loops joined.”

Sirius let go of his face and dissolved into laughter as Finn nearly fell on the floor. “Oh my—you think he has impulse control?” Talker slapped the edge of the table as he shook his head. “Absolutely not. Hell no, Loops is the first person to do stupid shit with us.”

“Yeah, I just don’t get caught,” Remus added around his own laughter. “Everyone thinks I’m such a hardass goody-two-shoes and it lets me get away with so much more than you delinquents.”

“Speaking of delinquents,” Dorcas continued. “This one is from our ‘Taste Testing Sexy Alcohol’ video: ah, yes, now I know how to do a body shot. 10/10, very educational video.”

“Do not take educational advice from us,” Finn blurted instantly. “I know this is a joke, but please exercise caution. That video was a ton of fun but a nightmare to recover from.”

Sirius winced at the memory. “I took two naps and then wished for death for a full day.”

“On a lighter note, who’s ready for some Knutty appreciation?” Dorcas smiled at her cards. “I've only had Leo Knut for a season and half, but if anything happened to him, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

“Big mood,” four of them said simultaneously.

Leo turned to the camera with a concerned look on his face. “That’s a meme reference, but are y’all okay?”

“No,” Dorcas answered. “Especially not this next person: Sometimes I do something productive and then I remember @LeoKnut is a 19 year old professional athlete who radiates happiness and with two of the hottest boyfriends the good lord has made, and then my bowl of packaged ramen seems less impressive.”

“I’m proud of your ramen,” Leo said, even as the corners of his mouth twitched in a smile. “And I appreciate the note about my boyfriends, because they are definitely the hottest people the good lord has made.”

Talker stuck his lip out in a pout. “Rude.”

“Sorry, Talkie, I’m biased.”

“Last one before Marlene comes back, so you’d better enjoy it!” Dorcas announced. “Did the Lions effectively utilize girl power when they wrecked toxic masculinity, yes or yes?”

“Can we utilize girl power?” Remus wondered, resting his shin on his hand. “Isn’t that exclusively for, y’know, women?”

“We can utilize himbo power,” Finn suggested.

James gave him an offended look. “Not all of us are himbos!”

“Okay, but you definitely are.”

“I am not!” James held up his fingers to count. “There are only, like, three qualifications, right? I might be strong, hot, and respectful, but I’m not dumb so it doesn’t count!”

“Pots,” Remus said quietly, hiding his smile for half a second. “Buddy, that was four things.”

James paused, then sighed in resignation. “Ah, fuck, I’m a himbo.”

“You really are.”

“At least we don’t promote toxic masculinity.”

They raised their waterbottles in a ‘cheers’ motion as Marlene and Dorcas switched spots; Marlene stretched her arms over her head and grabbed the new boards. “I’m back, beloved himbos. Talker, Leo, you are beloved by the people and have no mean comments. Cap, we’re starting with you.”

“Are they actually mean mean?” he asked.

“Sirius Black seems like a little bitch. Not in a bad way, necessarily. He just. Seems like he'd be a little bitch."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Oh, okay. That answers one question.”

“He’s not a little bitch,” Leo said. “Pouty on occasion, but not a little bitch.”

Remus gave him a long look, then shook his head. “Yeah, I mean, you teared up a little when Hattie got a splinter in her paw but didn’t even yell when you almost sliced your finger off while making dinner.”

“Duality of man,” Finn said sagely.

Marlene cocked an eyebrow. “Finn O’Hara’s hair kind of reminds me of Garfield the Cat.”

“Alright, that’s just rude.”

“It does not!” Logan gasped at the same time Leo made a noise of agreement.

Finn turned to him in utter betrayal. “Nutter Butter, I thought you liked my hair!”

“I do!” Leo defended. “But they’re not entirely wrong. It’s very orange in the sun.”

“I’m never going to forget that,” Finn muttered, staring at the floor.

“Ugh, it bothers me so much that Lupin just objectifies Black all the time!” Marlene read in a high-pitched, nasal voice. “No respect in that relationship!”

Sirius raised his eyebrows. “Pardon?”

Marlene stared at it for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I have no idea what videos they were watching. Do you feel objectified in your relationship, Cap? I know the opinion of total strangers really bothers you a lot.”

“I’m really glad you picked up on that,” he said with false gravity. “Yeah, it’s such a bummer when my hot fiancé says I look nice. Such a blow to my self-esteem.”

“That was supposed to be a roast against me,” Remus said, looking amused. “Talk about backfiring.”

“Are you ready, Pots? This one’s pretty brutal,” Marlene warned. James nodded and Finn linked their hands for moral support. “James Potter is a swiftie and you cannot tell me otherwise.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “…yeah? That’s true? T Swift is a regular occurrence on the locker room playlist.”

“Also, James Potter looks like someone who would think black pepper was spicy.”

“Now that one is mean,” he complained as the others burst out laughing.  “It’s not my fault I have sensitive taste buds!”

“Oh, honey,” she said under her breath as she took a new card. “Get ready, Tremzy. This first one is short and sweet: Logan Tremblay looks like a lesbian.”

“That is not an insult,” Logan laughed. “Every lesbian I know is rad as fuck. I wish I looked that good in a leather jacket.”

“I just realized Logan doesn’t look short cause he’s next to bunch of hockey players, he’s short cause he’s 5’9.”

The smile slipped off his face in a millisecond as the others roared with laughter. “Quoi?”

“Oh, she got you good,” Sirius gasped, patting his shoulder clumsily. “Holy fuck, can I frame that?”

“That’s not what it says.” An edge of distress appeared in Logan’s voice. “Marley, that’s not what it says.”

James sat on the floor with the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes. “You’re fucking—whoever sent that in, you are my new favorite person. Jesus.”

“Do you need a second to recover before we move on?” Dorcas asked as she draped her arms over the back of Marlene’s chair. “The next one is our biggest section by far.”

“It’s the sweet ones, yeah?” Leo asked.

“Right.”

“It might be a good idea to do those before Lo spontaneously combusts.”

“Agreed!” She swapped with Marlene and hauled a short stack of posterboards out from their hiding place with a smile. “A hug from Dumo can probably solve any issue.”

“Facts,” Logan said. “I could really use one right about now, too.”

“Has anyone noticed how blue Leo Knut’s eyes are?”

“Yes,” the six of them chorused.

Finn gave him a dreamy look. “Every single day.”

“When I first read this one, I thought I wrote it,” Dorcas said with a snort. “Someone give Marlene a raise. No reason why, I just love her.”

“Can we do that?” Sirius asked, looking toward the camera crew. “Can we lobby to give you guys raises? Because you definitely deserve it after all the bullshit you deal with to make these videos watchable, and Marlene, you’ve drawn the short end of the stick ninety percent of the time.”

“How?” she called off-screen.

“You have to actually talk to us and try to get answers.”

“Fair.”

Dorcas finished scribbling something down on her notepad. “Just making a note of this conversation for future reference. Moving on! Sirius Black and James Potter are a prime example of hockey husbands, and I adore them.”

“The ironic part of that is that we’re both in committed relationships, but we’re basically married,” James mused.

Remus shook his head. “You guys are so married. Lily wanted to get you matching rings for your birthday, Pots.”

“That would be so cool!” they said in perfect unison. Remus turned to the camera and spread his hands in a case in point motion.

Dorcas stifled her laughter before moving on. “This one is cute. Give Remus Lupin all the hugs! I feel like I could tell him he’s an inspiration and he’d be so nice about it—” She paused to glance up at them. “—this next bit is in parentheses: all the LGBT Lions give me that vibe, but Cap and Knutty are super intimidating so I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Leo’s face fell and Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “I’m not intimidating!” Leo protested. “I thought we already went over that! Loops gives fantastic hugs, but I want some, too.”

“He definitely deserves all the hugs in the world, but I promise I’m nice,” Sirius said, a bit softer than usual. “Is it because we’re tall?”

Dorcas half-shrugged. “Probably. It’s a little startling at first. Oh, I could’ve written this one, too: The Venn diagram of men I trust and the Gryffindor Lions is a full circle.”

Talker beamed at the camera. “Thank you!”

“So many hockey guys are such douchebags,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “I’m really glad we don’t do that shit.”

“Me, too.” Dorcas slid her old card under her chair. “Sirius Black’s hair looks so soft and I just want to touch it so bad.”

“It is so soft,” Remus agreed immediately. “You have no idea.”

“Everyone wants to touch Cap’s hair,” Finn said, sighing. “It’s so majestic.”

“I need a haircut.”

“No, you don’t,” Remus said as he tugged a stray curl. Sirius hummed.

“This one is from the interview some you did with Jules and Katie: these hockey boys being so soft with kids is my aesthetic! Like, it’s just so adorable to see these big, intimidating dudes be so, so sweet! Love them all!” She turned the card for them to see. “And then they added a heart at the end.”

“It’s impossible to be around those kids and not be happy,” James said. “They’re just too cute and wonderful.”

“Yeah, I love kids.” Finn nodded. “Especially the Dumais and Jules. They’re a hoot.”

“Jules would die if he heard you say that,” Remus laughed. “The hero worship is still going strong with most of you.”

“This one made me laugh when I first read it, but it’s really sweet,” Dorcas informed them. “Anyone else feel like we were deceived these past five years into thinking Cap was this hard-ass man, when in reality he's a cuddle bug who definitely captures and releases spiders instead of squishing them?”

“You weren’t deceived, I was just closeted,” Sirius said. “Also, I absolutely squish spiders.”

Remus gave him a look. “No, you do not. That’s my job. I’m the catch and release person if I can get away with it.”

James shook his head. “The third week of practices you saw a spider and threw me at it.”

“You did what?” Finn asked.

“There was a spider in my stall,” Sirius sighed, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else. “And Pots and I were talking so I didn’t see it until I almost sat on it, and my brain decided the only logical thing to do would be to grab him and shove him toward the spider.”

“That was after you shrieked,” Talker added. “Like, literally shrieked. I’ve never heard anyone make a noise like that.”

“Alright, alright,” Sirius grumbled. “We get it, I don’t like spiders.”

Remus shrugged. “But you are a cuddle bug. They got that part right.”

“We’re in the final two!” Dorcas announced. “This one has some pictures to go with it, so it’s on my phone. Fuck Romeo and Juliet, I want what these bitches have.”

“It’s us!” Leo cooed as the phone made its way down the line. In the upper corner of the screen, the photo appeared—it had been taken in New York, and Logan’s whole face was alight with happiness as Leo and Finn each pressed a kiss to his cheek. The camera caught him mid-laugh, so his eyes were closed and his chin was tucked slightly into Finn’s Strand hoodie.

“That’s my screensaver,” Finn said with a grin, pulling his phone out and turning it toward the camera without moving away from Leo. “One of my favorites.”

“I forgot you took that one,” Logan murmured. He hooked his chin over Leo’s shoulder and kissed his cheek; the four others at the table gave soft are you seeing this? looks to the camera and Dorcas smiled.

“Pots, I think yours is next. I hate to break it to you, Talkie, but they didn’t get any of you and Noelle.”

“We don’t take a ton of pictures together,” Talker said as James took the phone. “I mean, we take a bunch of selfies, but we don’t live close enough to each other to actually post that often. What picture is it, J?”

James was staring down at the picture with an unbearably sweet expression. “It’s our wedding. That’s my favorite one, actually.”

Like Logan, they had been captured while laughing—Lily was bent slightly at the waist as James clapped, his glasses just as askew as the flower crown on her head. It was impossible to tell who had told the joke originally, but they were both radiant in the sunset.

“That’s a really good one,” Sirius said with an unreadable look on his face.

“Well, well, well, fancypants, you two got a video.” James wiggled his eyebrows and Remus leaned in to see.

“What kind of video? One of our tikt—oh. Oh, this is so cute.” He shifted his chair over as the short edit began to play. “D, who made this?”

“A fan.”

“It’s really impressive,” Sirius said without taking his eyes off the screen. The edit was a series of photos, both on and off the ice; Sirius knocking their helmets together, then Remus looking back over his shoulder, then both of them in the water playing chicken in the sun. It was a slideshow of their life and their love.

“Can you send that to me?” Remus asked when it was over. “Cause that’s super cool.”

“Sure thing. Are you guys ready for the last one?” When they all nodded, she drummed her fingers on the posterboard and cleared her throat. “Arthur appreciation hours. He deserves it after managing to control the team.”

A cheer went up—all seven stood and applauded, half-laughing and half-whooping. “Miracle worker!” Sirius called.

“Best coach in the league!” Finn added.

“Most tolerant man to ever walk the earth!” Remus raised his water in a toast and they tapped the plastic edges together, nearly spilling all over the table.

Dorcas’ eyes crinkled in a smile as she turned to the camera. “That’s it for today, Lions! Tune in next time for more content of our boys, and thank you for such wonderful comments!”

[bibbawrites]

The Little Princess - Single!Dad Charlie

Request: None 

Word Count: 1531 words

Warnings: none that i can tell?

Summary: Part 1 of the single dad!Charlie series, just some cute fluff and introduction to little Margaux Ivy Gillespie 

A/N: okay so i need some input, i’m not sure if i should just make this the adventures of single dad!charlie and him raising his daughter on his own, or introduce the reader as a love interest at some point the original plan was the reader meeting charlie’s daughter, but i had inspiration to write this instead and i kinda really enjoy single charlie trying to be a good dad while juggling working full time and not worrying about a love interest?  idk, if you guys hate this please let me know 

Tag List:  @happinessinthedarkesttimes​ @littlemissaddict @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @headheartbellarke @lovesanimals​ @bartok-the-bat @juliefromaustralia @multi-universe21 @rangerelik @kaitieskidmore1

“Come on Owen, we’re going to be late.” Charlie called, leaning down to pick up his three year old daughter from her spot on the couch. 

“Where we going Daddy?” She asked, snuggling into her father’s arms, and Charlie couldn’t help but smile. 

The little girl in his arms was the light of his life. She was born when Charlie was just 18, and her biological mother had been 25. Although her conception had been an accident, the little girl was anything but that. From the moment he first held her in his arms, Charlie promised to never let anything happen to her. Her mother had left her with him when she was just three days old, along with a note saying that she really couldn’t handle being a mother yet, and that she was really sorry. He should have realised something was up when she had insisted he name the baby himself, whatever he wanted, and she didn’t have any complaints when he decided on Margaux Ivy, despite the fact that she had hated both of those names every other time he had brought them up. But he was too in love with the feeling of being a new father to even question it. 

“Going to set Princess.” He told her, as Owen entered the room, his hair a mess and one shoe in his hand. Margaux giggled at the sight, pulling a face at Owen. 

“You look funny.” She told him and Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. 

“She’s not wrong.” He agreed as Owen struggled to put his second shoe on. After a moment he succeeded, turning to the father daughter duo with a playful eye roll. 

“The honesty of three year olds.” He said, and Charlie laughed again. 

“Gotta love ‘em.” He joked, and Owen nodded in agreement, smiling at Margaux.

“Couldn’t live without you, could we Maggie?” He asked and Margaux poked her tongue out at him, which he quickly mimicked. 

His nickname for the toddler had come from an inside joke. When Owen had first met Margaux, he had only heard Charlie refer to her as Mags, so naturally the blond boy had assumed her name was Maggie, and even after he found out her real name the nickname stuck. 

Charlie smiled at the interaction, before opening the door and letting Owen pass them, before locking their door and together the trio headed down to Charlie’s car. 

-

Not long after, they arrived on set, jumping out of the car quickly to avoid being late. Margaux ran ahead of them as they quickly rushed towards the rehearsal area where they were supposed to be meeting Kenny and the other cast members. 

They made it to the tent with less than a minute to spare and Kenny shook his head, although they could easily tell he wasn’t really upset. 

“Take a seat boys.” Kenny told them, and Charlie quickly scooped Margaux up before sitting down with her in his lap. He pulled a colouring book and some crayons out of the bag he carried for Margaux’s things, and placed the book on the table before giving the crayons to the toddler. 

"Thank you Daddy.” She said, and Charlie smiled, pressing a soft kiss to her head before looking up to listen to Kenny run through how the next week was going to be working. 

“Daddy.” Margaux whispered, and Charlie glanced down at her.

“What’s up Mags?” He replied quietly, not wanting to interrupt the meeting. He knew if he missed anything important Owen would let him know. 

“Look.” Margaux pointed to the colouring book. “I coloured it good.” 

Charlie smiled, kissing the top of her head again. 

“Very good.” He praised. “Don’t forget the duckies too.” 

Margaux gasped, picking up the yellow crayon quickly. Charlie couldn’t help but smile as he watched her colour in, in awe of how perfect this little human he had created was. She truly was his greatest achievement. 

He zoned out, watching on as the three year old coloured, only zoning back in when Owen grabbed his shoulder to let him know they were leaving. 

“Come on Mags, Daddy has to go get dressed.” Charlie told her, picking up the crayons. “You can go colour with Aunty Tori.” 

The girl in question grinned from across the table, happy to look after the small girl while Charlie filmed. 

“I would love to colour with you Margaux.” Tori agreed, standing up. Charlie placed Margaux onto the ground, the toddler rushing over to Tori as her father packed up her stuff. Charlie handed the bag to the assistant choreographer, and smiled as he watched the younger girl lead his little girl out of the tent, before standing up and heading off, ready to start his own day. 

-

“Did I miss anything important in that meeting this morning?” Charlie questioned later that evening, as he and Owen walked to get dinner after a full day of filming, Margaux between them holding both of their hands. 

“Swing!” Margaux squealed, and the two of them swung the three year old up between them, both smiling at her excited giggles. 

“Nothing we didn’t already know.” Owen informed him, as they reached the burger shop and joined the line to order. 

“Oh good. I was kinda distracted by Mags.” Charlie admitted, and Owen grinned. 

“Aren’t we all? You’ve got us under a spell Miss Maggie.” He cooed. 

“No, I Princess, 'member?” Margaux mumbled, pressing her face into Owen’s leg. 

“My bad, Princess Maggie.” Owen corrected, running his hand through her messy curls. A woman exiting the store smiled at the sweet scene. 

“Oh, what a lovely little family. Your daughter is very cute.” She complimented. 

“Thank you.” Charlie said quickly, trying to hide his laugh as Owen went bright red. The woman nodded in response before walking out the door. 

“Why did you say thank you?” Owen questioned when the woman was far enough away. 

“Cause. We are a lovely little family.” Charlie shrugged. Margaux pulled on the bottom of Owen’s hoodie and he lent down to pick her up. 

“Aren’t we Mags? Owen’s our family, isn’t he?” Charlie asked, leaning over to press a soft kiss to the three year old’s hair, and Margaux nodded. 

“Yeah.” She said, resting her head on Owen’s shoulder. Owen smiled softly. 

“Well I can’t say no to the Princess can I?” He mumbled. 

“No!” Margaux squealed. Charlie laughed, stepping forward to order for the three of them, content knowing that his pride and joy was safe with his best friend. 

-

By the time they got back to their apartment, ate their meals, and Charlie bathed Margaux, it was time for the three year old to go to sleep. In fact, it was time for all three of them to go to sleep. 

Charlie tucked Margaux into her bed, the little girl snuggling into the toy penguin he had given her as a baby. She couldn’t sleep without it. 

“Night night Daddy.” Margaux mumbled sleepily, pulling on Charlie’s shirt so that he would lean down, and kissing his cheek when he did. 

“Goodnight baby girl, I love you.” He whispered softly, kissing her forehead. 

“Love you too Daddy.” She replied with a yawn. 

She reached out towards Owen, who had been standing in the doorway watching, making grabby hands at the 20 year old. He came over, crouching down next to her bed, and Margaux smiled sleepily. 

“Night night Papa Owen, love you.” She said. Owen’s eyes widened, and he glanced at Charlie for reassurance. Charlie smiled at him, placing a hand on his shoulder, feeling Owen relax under the gentle touch. 

Owen lent over, placing a soft kiss on Margaux’s head. 

“Nighty night Maggie. Love you too.” He whispered. He stood back up and quietly the two men left the room, flicking the light off and the small bunny night light on as they left. 

“Papa?” Owen questioned once they were in the hallway, Margaux’s door pulled to behind them. Charlie shrugged. 

“If you want it. If you don’t I can tell her to stop.” He replied. Owen shook his head quickly. 

“No, no, I love it. I’ve always wanted to be a dad so...” He trailed off. “Not that I’m her dad cause obviously that’s you, and I’d never try to replace you or be you cause that would be wrong and-” 

“Owen.” Charlie cut him off. “It’s fine. I think it’s really sweet.” 

“Yeah?” Owen asked softly. 

“Yes.” Charlie replied. 

“Okay.” Owen grinned. Charlie returned the smile. 

“We should probably get to bed, we have to be on set early.” He said after a moment of silence. Owen nodded.

“Yeah you’re right.” He agreed. A wide grin appeared on Charlie’s face. 

“Goodnight Papa Owen.” He teased. Owen groaned. 

“It’s just creepy coming from you, Daddy.” He retaliated, and Charlie cringed. 

“Yeah no, let’s not do that.” He said and Owen laughed. 

“Agreed.” He replied. Charlie smiled, pulling Owen into a quick hug. 

“Night Owen.” He mumbled. Owen took a step back. 

“Night Char.” He replied, before heading down the hallway to his own room. 

And with one last glance into Margaux’s room to check on the sleeping toddler, Charlie did the same. 

#dad!charlie #single dad!charlie #charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie fic #owen joyner #owen patrick joyner

[gamergirl929]

I’m Coming Out (Krashlyn x Daughter!Reader)

@discordedme Request: Hi, your writing is amazing 😍😍 and i look forward to reading your ficlets every time you post. As a request could you possibly do one where r is Ashlyn Harris's daughter that she had when she was still a teenager (like 16). And reader is now on the national team with Krashlyn and they act like parents, and just fluff (maybe like a first cap or injury, idk). You don't have to it would just be really cool. Thx. 😁

NOTE: I discussed with the requester and tweaked things a bit to differ from the request, BUT I hope everyone likes it nonetheless. 

ALSO going to add in this prompt as well, they’re VERY similar. 

Anonymous Request: Can you do a Krashlyn kid and just their interactions with them and the team? (They are also a soccer player)

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you sink a goal in the back of the net, whistles and claps sounding from the side of the pitch.

“WAY TO GO BABY!” Ali yells, your cheeks flushing bright red.  

“THAT’S MY GIRL!” Ashlyn yells.

From out of nowhere you’re lifted into the air, your mother hugging you tightly to her chest.  

“Oh my god, we’re just at practice.” You mumble under your breath, your cheeks now blood red.

Ali laughs as she makes her way towards you and Ashlyn.  

“I think we’re embarrassing her.”  

Ashlyn grins mischievously, digging her knuckles into the top of your head, your sweaty hair now even messier than it was before.

“Mommmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” You whine, your bottom lip jutted out.  

“Yeah mommmmm!” Emily mocks you, hazel orbs widening when you sprint after her, the woman screeching loudly as she runs away.  

Kelley shakes her head as she watches you chase Emily, eventually catching her and tackling her to the ground.  

“Kids, right?” She grins as she ‘tries’ to rest her elbow on Ashlyn’s shoulder, though she’s unable to thanks to her height.  

Ashlyn shakes her head as you and Emily tussle on the ground.  

Ali rolls her eyes, making her way over to the two of you.  

“Knock it off you two!”  

The two of you sit up, glaring playfully at one another before you turn to Ali.  

“SHE STARTED IT!” You both yell at the same time, turning back to one another, giving each other a playful shove before you’re again playfully wrestling.  

Ashlyn shakes her head, turning to Kelley.  

“Idiots.”  

                                                           ***

Ashlyn would admit, she had you WAY too young.  

Getting pregnant at 16 was never what she had planned, but when she DID have you, you were the best thing to ever happen to her.  

You kept her head up when she was feeling low, you were there for her when she joined the NWSL and eventually when she joined the USWNT.  

You weren’t far behind, the older you got, the more interest you showed in soccer, following in your mother’s footsteps and joining the NWSL before you were inevitably called up to the USWNT.  

Many said it was because your last name was Harris, but those in the NWSL knew it was because of your talent with the ball and as a forward, something that pleased Ashlyn to NO end.  

Of course, as you grew, Ali Krieger became a constant in your life, the woman a mother figure to you even before she and Ashlyn got together, WHICH you always knew they would.  

You knew even before Ashlyn did that the two would be together, neither even realizing they looked at one another like they had hung the stars for one another.  

You hoped one day you would find a relationship like that.  

You clear your throat, pulled from you trance as Ali gives you a nudge.  

“Seem a little distracted.” She whispers and you shrug.  

“Maybe a little.”  

On the other side of you, Ashlyn lets out a snore, the woman having fallen fast asleep during movie night.  

“What’s on your mind kid?” She asks, smiling when you move to rest your head on her shoulder.  

“You and mom.” You mumble, Ali’s brows furrowing as she turns towards you.  

“Just how you guys were so oblivious.” You snicker, Ali rolling her eyes playfully, cheeks flushing.  

“Oh, we were?” She asks and you snort.  

“You were, you guys used to just stare each other like a couple of weirdos.” You stick your tongue out, Ali wrapping her arms around you.  

“It was your mother who was the oblivious one.”  

You grin, glancing at the woman who’s snoring softly.  

“I mean, she’s pretty oblivious, about everything.”  

Ali giggles, reaching around you to run her fingers through Ashlyn’s hair, the blonde smiling in her sleep.  

“That she is.”  

You hum, snuggling between the two of them, leaning heavily against the sleeping blonde beside you, the blonde whose arms slip around you.  

Ali wraps her arms around the two of you, making you the innards of a Krashlyn sandwich.  

Eventually, you and Ali fall fast asleep, joining Ashlyn in the world of dreams.  

                                                           ***

You had NO clue why you were so nervous, but you were, you knew they wouldn’t love you any less after you told them, still though, you couldn’t shake your nerves.  

“Hey, what’s on your mind?” Emily asks from her seat beside you on the bus.  

You shrug, humming softly.  

“Just thinking.”  

Emily hums, eyeing you out of the corner of her eye.  

“It’s more than that.”  

Your eyes widen when you feel Emily lean closer, the woman’s nose pressed against your cheek.  

“Get off me you weirdo.” You laugh as you playfully swat at her, the defender pouting.  

“Hey! This weirdo is worried about you!” She huffs dramatically and you smile, resting your head on her shoulder.  

“I guess I’m just nervous.” You shrug, Emily’s brows furrowing as her head rests on top of yours, your cheeks flushing as she does so.  

“Why is that?”  

You hum.  

“I have to tell mom and Ali something, and I’m just nervous.”  

Emily hums, grinning.  

“Krashlyn are like the least judgmental people on the planet.” Emily scoffs and you laugh.  

“I know they are, I’m just overthinking it.”  

Emily slips an arm around you and your cheeks flush darker.  

“Whatever it is, it’ll be alright, and if it’s not, I’m not afraid to square up.”

You shake your head, barking out a laugh.  

“I’d love to see that.”  

Towards the back of the bus, Ashlyn and Ali share a glance, the two smiling.  

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ali whispers and Ashlyn nods.  

“Ohh, I am.”  

                                                           ***

Starting had always been something you loved, it didn’t happen too often considering the USWNT had some of the best forwards in the world, but when it DID happen you tore the field up, something Ashlyn and Ali watched with pride.  

This game was no different, Ashlyn and Ali beaming as you race down field, the ball at your feet, running as fast as, if not faster than Christen Press.  

Ashlyn lets out a howl as you slip the ball right between the goalkeeper’s legs, sinking it into the back of the net, a massive grin on your face as you throw your fists in the air.  

Emily races down field towards you, jumping on your back, something Ashlyn and Ali watch with a grin.  

“You think she’s ever going to tell us?” Ashlyn whispers, Ali shrugging.  

“She’ll tell us when she’s ready.”  

The two smile, softly as you pull Emily into a headlock, ruffling her hair with a chuckle, the blonde pouting when you let her go, her hair a complete mess.  

You snort as you, tenderly fix her hair, the blonde’s cheeks flushing as you tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.  

“Let’s go Sontron.” You give her a playful shove, the blonde sticking her tongue out as she runs back down field, preparing for play to start again, her own cheeks pink as she takes her place on field.  

                                                           ***

The first to get to you after the game is of course, Emily Sonnett, followed by Krashlyn, the pair wrapping their arms around the two of you.  

“Great game baby.” Ali ducks down, kissing the top of your head.  

“As always.” Ashlyn grins, messing up Sonnett’s hair much like you had moments ago. “You too Sonny.”

Emily smirks.  

“Oh, I know.”  

You roll your eyes, giving her a nudge.  

“Shut up over there.” You tease, the blonde rolling her eyes.  

“Make me fool.”  

Ashlyn and Ali share a glance as the two of you start to wrestle, uncaring of the fact that the two of you are currently wrestling in front of cameras, and a stadium full of fans.  

“You think they even realize they’re into each other?” Kelley whispers to Ashlyn as she makes her way towards the group.  

“Nope.” Ashlyn shakes her head.  

“Wait, is Y/N gay?” Megan asks with a grin.  

“She hasn’t come out to us yet, but I mean...” She nods to where you’re wrestling with Emily, the two of you stilling, eyes wide and faces red when you realize Emily is on top of you, the two of you abruptly springing apart.  

Ali looks at Megan, who then turns to Ashlyn, the two nodding.  

“Yeah, totally gay.”  

“The gayest.” Tobin adds, appearing from nowhere alongside Christen.  

“Remember, let her come to you though.” Christen smiles, the woman smiling when she realizes you and Emily are staring at the group of women, your eyes wide.  

“Wh-What?” Emily stutters, running her hands down her jersey nervously, whereas you’re rubbing the back of your neck.  

“Yeah is there something on Em’s face?” You snort, earning a slap on the arm from the aforementioned blonde.  

Ashlyn shakes her head with a grin.  

“Nope.”  

Ali giggles, leaning against her wife.  

“Nothing at all.”  

                                                           ***

Your parents are literally, two of the gayest women in history, and you were completely and utterly nervous to tell them you were gay.

You weren’t sure what it was that made you nervous, you knew they would accept you as you were, but still, your stomach cramped with nervousness, your hands shook and your heart raced.  

“Okay, seriously, you look like you’re about to vomit.” Emily snorts at dinner, and you shrug.  

“Just...”  

“Thinking?” She fills in, a smile stretching across your face.  

“Yeah.”  

Emily glances around for a moment before grabbing your arm, your cheeks flushing as she drags you outside to the front of the restaurant.

“Alright, spill.” She says as she leans against the restaurant's outer wall, her hazel orbs narrowed.    

You sigh, leaning back against the building beside her, your eyes on the street that’s packed with cars, beeping loudly, the New York lights cascading down on their metal exteriors and glass windows.  

“I’m gay.” You mumble, Emily’s eyes widening momentarily before rolling them, though inside, the woman’s heart is racing.  

“Seriously?” She snorts, your eyes widening as you turn towards her, your cheeks flushed.  

“What?”  

“That’s all?” She nudges you and you shake your head.  

“I know, it’s stupid to be nervous about, right?” You huff, Emily shaking her head as she rests her head on your shoulder.  

“I mean, it wasn’t hard to tell me, right?”  

You grin, resting your head on hers.  

“Telling you anything is easy, I mean, you’re you.” You shrug.  

Emily smiles, her eyes fluttering shut as she slips an arm around you.  

“And you’re you.”  

                                                           ***

It’s later that night when you’re knocking on your parent’s door, the door opening seconds later as if the women were expecting you.  

Ashlyn steps aside, letting you in before she pulls you into a headlock, digging her knuckles into the top of your head.  

“He-Hey!” You groan, trying to wiggle out of her hold, but of course, to no avail.  

You grumble as you drop down on the end of the bed, though it’s seconds later before you’re pulled up in between Ali and Ashlyn.  

“So, what’s on your mind short stack?” Ashlyn asks, slipping an arm around you. 

You take a deep breath, your eyes fluttering shut.  

“I’m...” You swallow hard, licking your lips.  

“What is it hun?” Ali asks worriedly, a hand on your back, meanwhile Ashlyn peeks around you, sending her wife a massive grin, the blonde HOPING you were going to finally tell them what they already knew.  

“I’m gay.” You confess, the room going silent for a moment before Ashlyn groans.  

“Thank god.” She sighs. “I thought you were going to tell us you were straight.”  

Ali gasps.  

“Ashlyn!” She giggles, smacking her wife in the back of her head.  

“What she MEANT to say was, we respect you and would love you, no matter WHO you love...” Ali smiles, wrapping her arms tightly around you, giving you a squeeze.  

Ashlyn grins.  

“She’s right, you’re perfect just the way you are.”  

You smile softly, burying yourself in their embrace, simply being, between the two women you consider your parents.  

“So...” Ashlyn hums, smirking. “Does this have ANYTHING to do with a certain blonde we all know?”  

Your eyes widen.  

“A certain, clumsy, sit down comedian we all love?” Ali adds, grinning when your cheeks redden.  

“No...” You murmur, the two women snorting loudly.  

“Bullshitttt.” Ashlyn says, earning another nudge from Ali.  

“She likes you too you know.” Ali grins, your eyes widening further.  

“No she doesn’t.”

Ashlyn snickers.  

“Kid, are you blind?” She teases. “She totally does!”  

Your brows furrow in question, a smile playing on your lips.

“You think so?” You grin, Ashlyn rolling her eyes.  

“Yeah, she’s definitely gay, she’s as hopeless as most lesbians.”  

You smirk, a brow arching.  

“As hopeless as you were when you were in love with Ali and couldn’t tell her?” You challenge with a smirk, the blonde rolling her eyes.  

“Touche.”  

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #krashlyn x reader #ali krieger x reader #ashlyn harris x reader

[get-shiggy-with-it]

#1 Victory Royale

✧ pairing: college student!spinner x student!afab!reader

✧ word count: 4.4k

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, light angst, mostly soft/fluff, smut, could be hate fucking if you squint, afab reader but no pronouns, this is pretty tame, by like my standards, I wrote this at work, not really a warning, but it felt like you needed to know that

✧ summary: relationships suck and Spinner is starting to think maybe he does too

✧ ao3 mirror

✧ a/n: Hey y'all, welcome back to more college au bs from me. This is set in the same universe once again as all my other college pieces. A very sweet anon asked if we'd ever get to see more of Spinner, so here he is! Also with another cameo from shiggy's bitch (endearing) cause I can't help myself.

“Ughhhhhh….”

Spinner’s groaning echoed through the tiny apartment, the heavy sound of creaking couch cushions under his weight following.

“What?” his long-suffering roommate shouted out their bedroom door, rapidly shoving clothing and a toothbrush into an overnight bag.

“Uggghhhhhhh!”

He let out with another, louder dying animal wail. He’d been like this since they woke up—wallowing in some strange concoction of self pity and Red Bull on the kitchen floor when they walked in for water two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” they mumbled, tossing their bag to the floor and marching, more than a little disgruntled, into the hall. “What do you want?”

Spinner was sitting upside down on the couch now, feet up against the wall tapestry and cotton candy hair splayed out on the floor. He stared blankly as his friend came into view—arms crossed, frowning at him from the end of the hall—and opened his mouth once more, letting out another garbled grunt that had one of the neighbors pounding twice on the wall to shut his dramatic ass up.

“Dude seriously, are you gonna tell me who pissed in your cereal or are you just gonna scream until the guys next door kick a hole through our wall?”

They almost felt bad as he looked away, sniffing and letting himself slump farther off the sofa until he was sprawled completely on the hardwood and staring, glassy eyed, up at the ceiling.

When he finally spoke a full sentence, his gaze was locked on the water stain above him from a year ago when the upstairs neighbors flooded their apartment trying to make jungle juice in the bathtub.

“I don’t know, I’m just in my feels as the kids say,” he sounded so dejected—strange for someone who was perpetually energized to a frustrating degree—that their shoulders immediately slumped from a hardass square to a softer, more sympathetic angle

They padded over to join him on the floor.

“Care to elaborate, oh roomie of mine?”

There was a pause and Spinner tapped his nails against the hardwood idly before responding.

“I guess I’m just feeling, like, fucking I don’t know,” he sighed, knocking his head against the dusty boards, “left out I guess? That’s not quite right, but it’s just Magne mentioned last time she came to The League meeting that Jin was seeing somebody and it just got me all introspective and weird…”

“Hm,” his roommate hummed thoughtfully and studied the way the textured white ceiling gave way to the rings of brown water damage, like a dead and dying flower, “I thought you and Jin weren’t ever that serious?”

“We weren’t,” Spinner groaned again and rubbed his eyes. “We went on like, one date a year ago and I haven’t thought about it really at all since then. I’m not sure why hearing he’s got someone else now made me so fucking...jealous I guess.”

“I mean, maybe you just never really gave yourself the time to process it?” they asked and received only an annoyed huff and accompanying groan. “Sorry, should have asked if you were looking for advice or just wanting to rant. My bad.”

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s just…”

Spinner trailed off and they shifted as the hard floor bit at their back and made it ache. The muscles were sore already as it was, and Tomura blowing their fucking back a few times a week wasn’t really helping. They’d created some kind of perpetually horny monster, but something told them cracking a joke about it wasn’t really going to help the situation much. Thankfully, Spinner found his way to filling the silence a minute later.

“I don’t think it has anything specifically to do with Jin. Yeah I liked him, we’re still really good friends and I don’t feel like I need him to be more than that. It’s just that—and this is gonna make me sound like a massive asshole—but with you and your new fucking boyfie and now even Jin finding someone to date I just keep seeing reminders everywhere of how motherfucking isolated I am.”

“Oh,” they felt their face burn a bit, guilt frothing as they were forced to acknowledge the fact that in all the time they’ve spent holed up with Tomura, Spinner had been discarded like an old Steam game, bought impulsively on sale and never played again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been prioritizing you—”

“No, no, no shut the fuck with that,” he waved his hand to cut them off and pushed himself up on his palms. “I know I’m not being fair about it, and I really am happy for you guys, but idk man….I just feel like I’m never gonna find that you know?”

Beside him, his roommate remained sprawled out on the floor like a homicide tape outline and was just as deadly quiet.

“I just,” he continued, running an angry hand through his hair, “I know I could be such a good partner. Like I’m funny and I’m not a fucking creep, which is actually a plus to most people.”

He shot a side glance down and they rolled their eyes, sitting up and knocking his shoulder roughly till he toppled back to the dirty floor and they stood above him.

“Fuck off,” they chuckled.

His roommate watched as the laughter seemed to infect him like a bad cold, creeping down the back of his throat and shaking in his chest.

“No I’m serious, I would be such a fucking great boyfriend. I give goddamn top quality cuddles and I actually know how to do laundry, what more does one need truly?”

“Damn bro, you’ve known how to fold your own clothes this whole time?”

The giggling spread into the quiet space, rocking through both their shoulders and leaving the air feeling light—fresh like the first nights of Spring. When it finally petered out into friendly silence, they were both far lighter.

“I just like the way you fold my t-shirts, the sleeves don’t get those weird creases when you do it,” he muttered and stood, doing his best to fix the wild pink locks that stood on end from his fidgeting.

“Yeah I’m sure,” his roommate rolled their eyes and turned back down the hall.

When they left for the night to stay over with their boyfriend, Spinner tried not to acknowledge the way he subconsciously glared at their back as they walked out the door, skipping yet another League meeting to swap spit with that guy from their English class.

He tried even harder not to think of how their bed would be warm and their legs would have legs to tangle with, their chest have a chest to lay against, while he heated up instant noodles in the microwave and fell asleep alone on their living room couch.

Not to mention that tonight was the big tournament with that new group on campus. He was really banking on his bff (best fucking friend as they were always sure to clarify) and him teaming up to crush those assholes from The Commission or whatever they called themselves.

Fucking lame as shit name in his opinion.

In any case, he’d have to settle for Magne again, and she was such a loose cannon they were sure to get their asses handed to them. She was a great fucking tank, he’d be the first to admit, but strategy was not a strong point of hers and they desperately needed that tonight.

He could feel the sinking weight of failure rolling in the pit of his stomach already even as he dragged himself into his room to tug on an old pair of jeans.

It bothered him way more than it should, the idea of losing some gaming tournament that, by all means held little to no actual significance.

Spinner knew the stock he’d started placing in games was growing to an unhealthy degree.

He knew that.

But self awareness rarely did anything to alleviate the irrational fear of failing at one of the only remaining consistencies in his life.

It stung worse when the tournament kicked off and by the third round, Spinner was the only remaining League member in the brackets.

“Fucking shit…” he muttered to himself, the small basement room alight with the blue glow of the monitor and the sound of frantically smashing controllers.

Behind him on the couch—stolen long ago from the theater building—Magne held him by the shoulders as he grit his teeth and leaned into the movement of his avatar on screen.

“You got this babe,” she shouted, cheek pressed up to his ear. “Make ‘em eat shit for me!”

“I would if you stopped distracting me,” Spinner hissed back.

Really it wasn’t Magne’s aggressive and somewhat bloodthirsty style of encouragement that shook his focus so badly.

It was his opponent.

The fucking president of The Commission sat, thighs spread and pressed to his, resting your weight on your elbows and snarling beside him in the couch.

Your face was split in this heart stopping grin as you quite deftly dodged all his attempts to get a hit in and managed to land a few of your own in the process.

And you looked really hot doing it.

Which was definitely just a side effect of the punch he (didn’t) drink and the body heat fueled temperature of the room—sweaty skin against sweaty skin making his mind wander against his will.

The shifting in his seat was absolutely just to illogically make him move faster and had nothing to do with how tight his pants now seemed.

So much for not being a fucking creep.

Your teammates were gathered in a circle behind you, enraptured and exuding the kind of smug confidence that said quite clearly The League was fucked from the second they walked in.

Not even two minutes later your hands were thrown up, punching the air and your team piling over the back of the couch to drown you in a sea of celebratory limbs.

Spinner felt himself deflating even as he was toppled off the couch by your screaming members and The League collectively cursed in the background.

Truthfully he’d known the chances of winning were slim.

Ever since his roommate started getting busy with classes and clubs that ‘looked good on their resume,’ The League had gone downhill rapidly. It was a problem since long before that Shigaraki guy swooped in and stole them away, but Spinner couldn’t stop himself from lowkey holding that against him.

The League had consumed so much of his life in college, functioning as a haven where he was finally respected and belonged to an extent he’d never experienced before.

The stink of failure and loss, not of the game but the only space he’d ever really occupied without complaint, burned his face and made the room feel more suffocating than usual.

Magne looked as though she wanted to give him one of her signature—and admittedly very comforting—hugs, but the deadly look of disappointment on Spinner’s face must have made her think twice.

The rest of his team seemed to read this sudden downward shift in the room as they began to filter out, climbing the steps onto street level and away from the suddenly stuffy, uncomfortable meeting spot. Normally everyone would stay and finish off the drinks snuck past the janitorial staff, eating Doritos until well past midnight. This time they couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

He couldn’t really blame them.

The multimedia building was a strange place after hours. Once Spinner might have called it something rare and liminal, now it felt more like a prison.

He stood, packing up the consoles a bit more roughly than necessary when someone cleared their throat behind him.

He turned to see you, standing alone with hands on your hips and scowling like you were the one who just got their gaming reputation ruined.

“Dude what the fuck was that?”

Spinner bristled at the knife sharp point of your tone.

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “You seriously waited around to rub your win in my face?”

You rolled your eyes and took a step closer around the couch. “I’m not talking about the fucking game dumbass. Why the hell are you pouting like I stole your fucking candy or some shit? You ruined the vibes man.”

“If anyone was ruining the vibes, it was you and your cocky ass team.”

Spinner felt himself stepping closer too, pulled in by the celestial weight that accompanied any kindling argument.

“Me?” you pointed to your chest and scoffed, “Wow, I was really hoping you’d actually possess a bit of emotional maturity, but if this is how you get after a loss I’m not shocked your fucking club is bleeding members.”

At some point the two of you had gravitated close enough that he felt the puff of your last breath on his cheeks. Two comets, ready and willing to collide.

“I’m not being the asshole in this situation, you know that right?” Spinner glared down his nose at you, heart pounding in his ears. “Maybe you shouldn’t make fucking unfounded assumptions about people you don’t know.”

“So then why are your panties in a twist over a fucking game?” you retorted.

He was peripherally aware that your eyes had taken on the same laser focused quality as they had during the last round. Determined and locked onto him without sparing a glance to anything else.

It was this same undivided attention that he’d envied in you as you played, and as Spinner felt it trained on him, his pants once again felt uncomfortably restrictive.

“It’s not about the fucking game okay!?” his voice came out hoarse and far more petulant than he’s been aiming for.

Though he quickly felt the embarrassment give rise to a secondary heat as you both breathed each other’s air and searched the face across from you.

“Then what is it about?”

That strange, unexplainable, inexplicable rush of potential filled the small gap that remained between your bodies—the kind of tension Spinner was beginning to think he’d never feel again.

He’d kissed plenty of people. Almost more than he’d like to admit, or that they’d like to admit more accurately.

But when his flickering eyes found your hard stare still and unwavering from his, it felt incredibly natural to lean in and press his lips against your fading frown.

It was slow going, the few centimeters that separated you seemed like miles as he moved slowly, never breaking eye contact until his mouth was finally slotted over yours and you weren’t pushing him away.

There was still a bit of lingering confusion, as this was decidedly not what either of you appeared to be expecting from the prior conversation. That coupled with the fact that Spinner wasn’t entirely sure he remembered your first name made the feeling of your tongue prodding at the seam of his lips all the more startling.

When he gasped, you slid your hands up his chest and licked into his mouth. Tongue tangling between breaths, Spinner felt himself getting lost in the familiar and coveted taste of another mouth, another body, another hand that grasped, that desired, that wanted him.

***

Your knees dug into the cushions on either side of Spinner’s thighs as you bounced in his lap. He fought to keep his eyes open against the pleasure of his cock sinking into you over and over again, so he could watch the way your head was thrown back and your chest heaved with the exertion.

He dug his hands into your hips and let his head hit the back of the couch, feet planted on the floor to help his hips thrust up into you, earning him some of the prettiest, stifled moans he’d ever heard.

Truthfully, he had not expected to fuck you. He figured you might be down to just make out for a bit until the cleaning staff came and booted you from the building, but both your pants had quite quickly and naturally found their way to the floor.

Neither of you spoke much, which he was thankful for. That would have been far too complicated of a conversation, especially considering you really didn’t know each other all that well.

Spinner usually liked to do a bit of ‘getting to know you’ type activities before he hooked up with people, which he did with surprising frequency for somebody so starved for a long term thing. Sex just fucking felt good and it was this eagerness that was his downfall. Most people he’d fucked around with seemed to read the urge to get into their pants as a diminished interest or emotional attraction and Spinner ended up with more friends with benefits than actual friends...or benefits.

Regardless, it was fine by him that the only form of communication passing between you for now were scattered groans of pleasure and the wet slap of your ass against his thighs.

He’d nearly forgotten how fucking amazing pussy felt.

For no particular reason, Spinner had always found himself fooling around with bodies more similar to his own. Not that he had any real preference, though the lack of experience often made him a bit nervous in the whole ‘pleasing your partner’ department, despite many helpful lessons from his roommate.

That was all to say that Spinner was incredibly thankful you reached down to guide his hand that had clumsily begun rubbing circles on your clit. That is until you simply knocked it away and went back to riding his dick like a fucking champ.

Then he did speak.

“Wanna make you cum,” he mumbled and really did sound like he was pouting this time.

You peered down at him, slowing your pace so you sat flush in his lap, grinding his cock deep against your walls. Spinner keened as you clenched around him, pussy so deliciously warm he felt himself near to drowning in the feel of you.

“Mm fuck,” you panted, leaning in to steal a few more messy kisses from him before lifting up and enveloping him in the slick heat all over again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” he nipped at the column or your throat, careful not to leave any lasting marks just in case. “If I’m finishing, you’re fucking finishing.”

You pulled back and stared at him for a moment. He felt you purposefully tightening around him just so he would squirm under your curious gaze. After a moment you smirked and rolled your eyes again, taking his hand and guiding his fingers back to that little nub just above where his thick length was seated inside you.

Spinner was proud of his dick, it was hefty but not so long that it was a hassle to fit—just enough to reach all the important bits. He was sensitive as hell too most of the time, so just about any pressure felt amazing. But the best part of it was watching whoever he was fucking fall apart on his goddamn perfect cock.

So when you whispered, “Like this,” and showed him the rhythm and motion you liked, he pulled himself back from the brink to pay attention, speeding up until that look of cooled control slid right off your face.

“Ahh, yes fuck...” the words tumbled from you freely now. “Shit, yeah just like that—”

Spinner could get fucking drunk off the low groan that left you as he planted his feet more firmly and bucked his hips up. He must have hit something good by the way you choked and moaned boarding on too loud, though he had neither the heart nor self control to stop you.

“Feel good?” he grunted, picking up the pace and force he thrust into you, so that you had to loop your arms around his neck and hold tightly as he speared you on his cock.

“Fuck...yes..” you whimpered into his shoulder which did wonders for his ego.

Spinner kept up his rubbing frantic patterns on your clit and feeling the gradual constriction of your walls around him—the coil growing tight and ready to snap. He nudged your cheek with his until you pulled back a bit to face him.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, sucking your tongue into his mouth for a moment and tearing himself away so he could watch as you came undone around him.

You gave him a strange, soft look and pressed your forehead to his, eyes zoned in on only him.

The rest of the room, the whole fucking basement and campus melted away under that stare.

Your nipples peaked through your shirt, brushing against his as you were jostled into him by the movement of your hips. As you reached your peak, words devolved into increasingly breathy gasps. It took Spinner an incredible amount of concentration not to fucking paint your insides then and there.

Your pussy was so goddamn tight and warm and milking him just right, it was a fucking impressive feat to remain staunchly at the edge of his peak as your mouth fell open and your fingernails scratched at his back when you finally came—the telltale spasms around his cock and the near sobs coming from you more than enough indication.

He lost himself well and truly then.

Lost in the false sense of intimacy that came with being allowed to see you fall apart, this person he barely knew yet made him feel immensely important in that moment. Your breath and spit was in his mouth, the smell and feel of you soaking his length pushed him beyond the realm of conscious thought.

There was only a deep and burning need to be closer to you. So, so much closer.

His hands moved of their own accord, hooking under your thighs and flipping your bodies so your back hit the cushions and he hovered above you. The angle allowed him to slide deeper, pulling out and thrusting his hips in fast, hard strokes that hurtled him towards release.

Spinner couldn’t keep himself quite now either, panting and moaning and gasping unashamedly with his eyes screwed shut as you took his cock so unbelievably well.

It wasn’t until your hands, softer than he’d imagined, cupped his jaw and pulled him down to meet you that he was brought back down from whatever higher plane of existence his impending orgasm whisked him too.

Your lips weren’t nearly as frantic as the rocking of his thighs, the slap of his balls against your ass. The sweetness was an odd but welcome contrast.

“I’m gonna—fucking mm...” he tried so hard to get his tongue to form the words but he could feel himself slipping further as you started clamping around his length again.

“I know,” you breathed against his lips, faces pressed together and unmoving eyes steady on his own. “Ahh, inside if you want.”

He did want.

Oh fuck did he want nothing more in that moment to stay sunk in your warmth and pump you so full, but the last few remaining logical braincells reminded him that was not a great idea. Not without a more in-depth conversation neither of you was in a state to have.

“Shouldn’t...” he groaned and moved to pull out but your ankles locked around his ass and forced him back down.

“It’s okay,” you huffed and rocked into him, squeezing around the sensitive head of his dick just once, just right and that did him in.

It was something in the way you looked at him, so that he could feel nothing but secure—nothing but safe wrapped up in you. Something about the way you pressed him closer, in the movement of your thumb on his cheek.

It scratched some deep seated, lonely itch in Spinner.

Made it feel like this meant a hell of a lot more than it probably did.

In seconds he was blowing his fucking load right into you, milking himself in your heat until he was spent and overstimulated. You were kind enough to pull him to you, turning your bodies so you laid side by side on the coach, his softening cock slipping from you in a gush of release.

For a minute or so, neither of you spoke, just stared, long and comfortable at the stranger you’d just fucked on the gaming club couch.

Well.

Fucked wasn’t really the word he’d use at that point to describe what you’d just done, but anything more than that felt presumptuous.

You broke the silence as he nuzzled into your palm.

“You really needed that didn’t you?”

Spinner couldn’t help the familiar, infectious laugh that rattled in his chest. He liked the smile it earned him, far more genuine than any others you’d worn that night.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

You hummed, nodding in response. “Mm, me too.”

And somehow, for no real logical reason, Spinner knew you understood. That you felt the same isolation, the same starvation for love, for holding weight in someone else’s world.

That the games were just a placeholder, a way to fill the space, to get lost in other lives, in other stories where he did matter. Where his actions had foreseeable and measurable worth. That’s why it hurt to lose. Not for the glory, but for the destruction of the only remaining diversion from how empty his reality felt.

Even if it wasn’t really.

Even if there were friends and benefits and friends who offered both. His roommate could let him rest his head in their lap on movie nights or sleep in his bed on occasion when the heat went out and he got cold too quickly. But none of that quite filled the hole like you now, holding his face and knowing the struggle without him having to explain it.

Nothing like you pulling him in and kissing him too familiarly for someone he’d only known a day.

Magne used to say something about shit like this. Something like how people bond in train cars when there’s a rat eating a slice of pizza and you all watch it happen. Some weird camaraderie forged in the shared experience of life being a little fucking freaky a lot of the time.

That was how it felt when you slipped your leg between his and brushed your lips together again. Content to lay, half naked in the media building basement, making out with some guy you beat at Smash and fucked right after.

Reveling in the brief but meaningful feeling of mattering in some small, strange way to someone else.

Of holding weight.

Of being held.

#spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #spinner x y/n #spinner x you #college au #mha angst #student!reader

[livexdolan]

The Cage - Part One

A/n: so hi! This is a UFC based fic about Grayson Dolan. This is an AU with an OC. There is no face claim as of now but they might change idk. I’m not going to ramble lol I’m just very very nervous. Anywho please enjoy and let me know what you think! There will be many parts to this series by the way lol so this part is kind of slow but just wait aha

Word Count: 5924

Warnings: fluff, mentions of death, explicit language, and triggering topics (maybe?) mentioned

“I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to be famous- never telling anyone but I’ve always wanted to know- wanted to get in the head of someone famous and see what they go through- but I could’ve never guessed this was how I was going to find out.

It all started when I was 22, fresh out of college, with a crappy assistant job at a publishing company in Los Angeles, California. Having been stuck at this job for almost three years and never even having my articles read, I was starting to lose hope that I would never be more than an assistant. Until one day…”

“Lily! Get in here! And bring me a coffee!” I scurry to Mr. Lane’s office, clutching the coffee I had just gone and grabbed for him, stopping by my desk to grab my notebook and pen.

I opened his glass door and put his coffee down on his desk, pushing up my glasses as I opened my notebook and clicked my pen, looking up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say what he needed me to do. He looks at me, his eyes bright at first but quickly losing their color and he sighs as though he’s already exasperated, “What is this?” He holds up a copy of a story I had put on his desk.

Oh jeez, another rejection. I push my glasses up again and start to stutter out an explanation in a quiet voice, “Well, I-I heard you talking to some of the reporters about need-needing a new story for next week's issue and well, I-I already had an idea so I thought I’d-” He cuts me off with a quick raise of his hand and a stoic look on his face, giving nothing away.

“Look,” he sighs and rubs his face with both hands before continuing, “It’s not a bad story, but it’s a half-baked idea. That’s your problem. That’s why you haven’t gotten a byline yet- you can never deliver a full idea- let alone a full article, do you understand?”

I look down, refusing to let him see my cheeks burn red and my eyes water. This is what he says every time I give him an idea. “Do you want to be a journalist?” He questions.

I make eye contact with him quickly lifting my head and squaring my shoulders to try and seem more confident, “More than anything, sir.”

“Well then, I have a proposition for you.” He gets up from his chair, his tall, lean body going to perch on the corner of his desk as he looks up at me his blue eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint, “I’ll give you a lead, and if you can follow through and get me a full 12000-word article by Monday, you can keep your job and I might throw you a lead here and there. But if you fail to deliver…” He pauses momentarily, thinking over his next words carefully, “you lose your job.”

I gasp and try to reason with myself for a second, making a mental pro-con list before replying quietly, “What’s the article on?”

He shakes his head and smirks lightly, filling my stomach with more unease, “No, you have to agree to the proposition. Then, I will tell you the story.”

Can I do this? Can I risk everything? I mean, that’s what my life’s been so far, a lot of risks and sacrifices. But is this a sacrifice I’m willing to make?

What would mom do? I sigh, “O-ok. Okay, I accept. Now, what’s the story?”

He claps his hands together excitedly and looks up at me with a boyish grin, he moves swiftly behind his desk and grabs an envelope, handing it to my shaky hands, “Grayson Dolan, he fights tonight here at the arena, go with a press pass, get an interview with him and ask him a couple of questions. Oh, and make sure we get a quote.”

I stare at him open-mouthed, frozen to my spot, “What? The Grayson Dolan?! You and I are both very aware that he refuses to do interviews. This isn’t even possible.” I say without trying to raise my voice too much.

Jace just leans back in his desk chair, lacing his fingers together and putting them behind his head, “Not my problem- it’s yours now. If I don’t have that story in my hand Monday morning, just pack your things up and leave, got it?” He smirks up at me.

I just silently walk out of his office and back to my desk, sitting down and putting my head against the cool wood surface. I don’t know if I want to cry or punch myself in the face.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“And then he told me that if I accept- but fail to give him a story- I lose my job!”

“Wow! I never liked that guy, you know. He gives off such- such a douchebag vibe.”

I can’t help but chuckle at my dad’s voice dropping a little, he hasn’t been big on cursing since mom passed. At first, it was weird because both my parents cussed when I was growing up. But after mom passed, dad decided that, ‘there’s enough hate in the world’ and that he’s not going to add to it with foul language.’

“I know Dad, but what am I supposed to do?”

“Don’t accept it! You should never risk your whole career on whether or not some guy is feeling up to an interview!”

“Ok, one-” I start, “it is not just some guy! This is Grayson Dolan! And two,” I lower my voice and chew my lip, a bad habit I picked up in middle school, “I already agreed.”

“Of course you did!” he sounds exasperated and I pull my phone away from my ear a little out of reflex, “You are just like your mother, you know that?” he sighs and the line goes quiet.

“Daddy?” I whisper into the phone. He stays silent. It’s my turn to sigh and fall back onto my couch. I mutter into the phone, “He wouldn’t tell me the story until I accepted. I have to go get ready, I’ll talk to you after the match. I’ll be sitting ringside so look for me, ok?”

“Ok, I will. I’m still not happy about this.”

“I know Dad, you’re not happy with two-thirds of the things I do.”

That gets a reluctant chuckle out of him, “I guess you’re right. Good luck, by the way. If anyone can get an interview out of Dolan- it’d be you. And if you can’t, your childhood bedroom would love to have you back.”

“Ha-ha. Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you too baby, I’ll see you soon?”

“Dad,” my stomach drops at his hopeful voice and I can’t bring myself to tell him the truth, “Maybe, bye.”

I hang up the phone before he can say anything and I sink into the couch.

I wake with a start, my neck sore from the back of the couch. Oh no. I grab my phone in a haste, I turn it on and my whole body sags in relief when the time shows up; 6:45.

I have about an hour and a half to get ready, that’s enough time!

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Wrong. Very wrong. I feel a wave of heat wash over me, igniting my anxiety as I look at the time on my phone; 7:45.

I quickly put on my normal, light makeup consisting of moisturizer, skin tint, blush on my cheeks and nose, giving me an almost sunburnt look. I shape my eyebrows a little, fix my glasses, and put on my chapstick. I quickly brush out my short, wavy hair and clip back the front parts. I shake my head slightly to get my bangs in place and do one last check in the mirror before heading to my closet.

Too pink. Too casual. Too tight. Too- ugh where did I even get that from? I start moving the hangers faster, getting frustrated with my lack of options. I move past a pastel purple dress- wait. I go back to the dress and grab it off the rod, holding it up in the light.

When did I buy this? My eyebrows furrow as I look at the beautiful and delicate dress that I must’ve forgotten about. I pull it off the hanger and slowly put it on, saying a silent prayer that it fits.

I smooth the soft material out and look in the mirror. I’m pleasantly surprised by how the dress fits. It’s silk with spaghetti straps and is a lilac color with little flowers all over it.

I don’t have time to overthink my outfit now. I throw on my roommate’s white Timberlands, grab my black purse, making sure my ID, wallet, and phone are all tucked safely inside. I grab my press pass and put the lanyard around my head carefully.

Taking a deep breath, I walk out to the living room where my roommate is sitting waiting for me to come out.

I clear my throat and try not to look too awkward. Ryan looks up from her MacBook and gasps, tossing her laptop onto the couch next to her, she moves over to me, her long legs gracefully walking around the coffee table.

She investigates every part of my outfit, making me feel small and self-conscious. Before I can stop myself, I start rambling in a quiet tone, “Is-is this too much? Do you th-think it looks okay?”

She grasps my shoulders and a wide smile makes its way onto her face, “Of course, you look amazing!” I smile at her and she winks at me, “When that pretentious ass sees you- he might want to do more than just let you interview him.”

I snort and roll my eyes and she laughs, “Yeah right,” I mumble.

She walks over to our coat rack and pulls off a small black cardigan, “Here, I know it gets cold in there,” I smile gratefully and take it from her, folding it over the crook of my arm and taking a deep breath.

I start to walk towards the door and she calls my name, I look back at her as I open the door, “You look hot Lil- knock ‘em dead,” I smile at her and nod, walking out before I get sappy.

I pull into the busy parking lot of the arena and gulp down my bubbling anxiety. I find a parking spot, towards the back of the lot seeing as I don’t get bothered by having to walk a little. I go up to the line, seeing a sign that says, ‘PRESS ENTRANCE HERE’ I smile at the worker looking at me and pointing to the Press sign and then at my pass hanging around my neck, he nods.

I go towards the other entrance and show a different security guard my pass and he opens a door for me, I smile up at him, “Thank you-” I glance at the small name tag, “Don.” He blushes slightly and coughs.

I blush too and walk through the door quickly. I realize that I’m ‘backstage’ and can hear the fans cheering for one of the main card fights happening. I check my small watch and see that it’s going to be another hour or so before Grayson Dolan fights.

I take another deep breath and start walking forward, trying not to look like a lost puppy and failing when a man wearing a UFC crew shirt comes over to me with furrowed brows, “Who’re you looking for?”

I look at him, his deep voice vibrating against the walls, “Grayson Dolan,” I answer back.

He gives me a once-over and I try not to make a face when he meets my eyes and smirks, “Oh, he’ll like you.” I furrow my brows but decide not to question it as he points down a long hallway, “Four doors down, take a right, then the last door on the left is him- the one that’ll say, Grayson Dolan.” I thanked him even though he was a bit rude, and made my way down.

Once I turn down the hallway I see someone sitting outside one of the rooms on a single chair. I make my way closer and my heart drops into my stomach when I see it’s a girl sitting outside Grayson Dolan’s room, “Hello? Are-Are you okay?”

The girl looks up at me from her phone and gives me a once-over, except it’s different from the way the worker did- she looks annoyed with me. She stands up, her high heels making her about an inch or two taller than me, “Who are you?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage up.

I cough to clear my throat a little, taken back by her abrasive tone, “I’m a reporter- Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine, and if you’re here for Grayson Dolan- he won’t talk to you.”

“I- I’m sorry, why do you say that?” The woman steps closer to me and I try not to gag at the smell of her cheap, overused perfume. I step back from her and she straightens up slightly, glowering at me.

“Just run along, maybe you’ll understand when you’re grown,” She says, looking back at her phone, when she glances up and sees I’m not leaving she rolls her eyes, “Grayson Dolan doesn’t talk to reporters. I wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t actually a reporter anyway, you’re probably just here to fuck him, huh? Get in line,” She laughs.

My whole body feels like it’s on fire. I don’t understand why she’s being so rude and malicious towards me but I have to get this interview. I can’t let people like her bring me down anymore. When she gives me a fake smile and sits back down, I decide to be the bigger person. Not snapping back at her and ignoring her. Because she doesn’t know me and she doesn’t know what I’ve been through.

The door opens before I can say anything anyways and we both look over, startled. A man looks over at us, then turn and glances back inside the room before he nods, looking at me, and asking what my name is, “Lily Taylor, here with Ace Publis-” I try to tell him but he cuts me off opening the door wider and my eyes widen as he tells me to come in. I try to keep from laughing when the girl asks if she can come in but he just shakes his head at her, I turn around quickly before he shuts the door, “If I were you- I wouldn’t lie to others and say you’re around his age, it’s very obvious that you’re old enough to be his mom,” And the door shuts on her shocked face.

I realize my heart is pounding in my ears and that is probably the meanest thing I’ve ever done, “I should probably apologize,” I whisper to myself and jump slightly when I hear a deep chuckle.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Taylor?” My shoulders tense at the familiar voice and I turn around slowly, facing a couch with a very amused Grayson Dolan sitting on it.

“I- I’m so sorry for being so rude to her. I didn’t mean to be.”

“Why do you think I’d care about her? She’s been sitting out there for two hours,” He laughs and I think he caught the raise of my eyebrow but ignores it, “I asked you once, Ms. Taylor, I don’t like repeating myself.” He reminds me of his question.

I square my shoulders, “I’m here with Ace Publishing & Co., I would love if you could answer some questions for me,” I smile at him, trying to come off as friendly.

His amused expression drops and he scoffs, “You’re one of them? God- here I was hoping you were a die-hard fan. Was going to make you feel very special,” He smirks at me and I scrunch my nose out of habit at his gross words. I quickly stop, realizing I need this, “Frank- show Ms. Taylor out please,” He sighs, and my eyes widen and I stick my hands out and Frank stops moving for a second.

“Wait! Wait! Please I-” Frank huffs at my refusal to move and grabs my arm as I move closer to Grayson, “Please. I wouldn’t be this adamant if I didn’t need this. Please. My career is counting on this moment. Please, I will get down on my knees and beg if I have to, please,” I put my hands in a pleading gesture, hoping he’d take pity.

He holds his hand up to Frank and he lets go of my arm, I sigh and straighten up a little, hoping to gain back some of the dignity I seemed to have lost, “What do you mean?” He cocks his head to the side curiously and I blush, glancing at the ground.

“My boss he uh- he told me that if I don’t get at least a quote from you I can kiss my job goodbye and well, it’s not the best job but I’ve worked my ass off to get where I’m at and he’s being unfair and I understand that this isn’t your problem and I understand why you don’t like to talk to interviewers-”

He cuts me off, “You know why I don’t talk to interviewers?” I look up at him and nod meekly, “Why? Explain it to me,” he crosses his arms and I think he might be upset with me.

I look back down at the ground and take a breath, glancing back up at him through my lashes, “You don’t do interviews because doing an interview is personal and revealing. You’re scar- scared to let the world see who the Grayson Dolan is because you don’t think they’ll like you as much.”

He cocks his eyebrow and uncrosses his arm, sighing, looking away from me to the wall, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he contemplates for a minute, “You got like 20 minutes to ask me whatever you want, and no stupid questions that all the interviewers ask, okay?” I nod and move to sit in the chair next to the couch.

“Do you mind if I record this? I’d like to keep this paper-free, meaning I don’t have a notebook out and try to write everything down. We’re just going to have a conversation and let it flow. I can stop recording at any time if you say something you’d like erased. I’m not here to expose you, just here to get to know you. As a person. Not as a fighter. I’m not going to ask you anything about how being a fighter’s been or what your inspiration is. I’m going to ask you about you. As a whole. Because the UFC is not your personality,” I explain to him, pulling my phone out and pulling up my voice memos app and looking back up to him, waiting for an answer.

He stares at me until finally, I say his name quietly, hoping he’s okay, he blinks and flushes, shifting, “Sorry, y-yeah, that’s okay. I just- I didn’t expect you to be like- acting like a human.”

I laugh and start recording, “Maybe that means I’m a bad journalist? I don’t know- I feel like it’s easier to connect and get the questions in without papers and cameras and all that other stuff.”

(this part is going to be a dialogue as though we are just listening to the recording)

“That makes sense, and no I can tell you’re going to be great, you treat me like I’m just- a guy, which doesn’t happen often.”

“I bet, you don’t deserve that though. Okay, I’m going to start us off with some icebreakers- so tell me what your childhood dream job was, your favorite ice cream flavor, and 3 things you do on the weekends.”

“Oh, jeez, what is this- first day of 6th grade? Fine- Uh, I always wanted to be a pro wrestler, that was my dream job as a kid. My favorite- vegan- ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip. And, uhm, three things I do on the weekends...okay okay I got it; eat, sleep, workout. Now you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Miss Reporter. If you want this to flow you gotta participate as well.”

“Okay, fine. Uh- as a kid I always wanted to be a veterinarian, and then when I was like 10 I realized I wanted to be a writer. My favorite ice cream flavor is probably mint chocolate chip as well. And on the weekends...I’d probably say; read, watch fights with my dad, and drink tea with my best friend at a cafe.”

“Every single weekend?”

“Yeah, my dad lives on the other side of the country so we do a FaceTime call and watch UFC together. My roommate has a job that takes up a lot of her time during the week so we go to this small cafe by our house every weekend.”

“Wow.”

(this is where the rest of the interview would be but, for later in the timeline, we aren’t going to cover every question she asks him :))

“Okay, now tell me about your family. Where you grew up, were your parents married, did you have a dog, and how do you think this all helped make you the man you are today?”

“I grew up in New Jersey; my dad left when I was 10. I’m allergic to dogs and cats, so I have a parrot named Gizmo. My mom never remarried and my sister lives with her. My brother and I moved to LA when we were 18, with no money, no job, just hope. We went to a gym and asked them if they’d train us. The next thing I knew, my brother was getting a job working at the gym and becoming one of my trainers. I learned how to fight and used my wrestling experience and worked my way into the UFC.”

“You didn’t answer my last question.”

“Yes, I did.”

“No, you told me how you got started in the UFC. I don’t want to know about that- everyone knows that story already. I want to know how you think the things you went through as a child have shaped you as a person.”

“I- I guess- I don’t know, to be honest. I don’t think much of who I’ve become so that question is hard to answer.”

“Why do you say that? You are one of the most accomplished men in America.”

“To others, but this- I wasn’t supposed to be a fighter. Everyone sees me as accomplished but I just feel like this was an accident. There was no great event in my life that caused me to become an MMA fighter- it just happened.”

“You don’t believe in fate, Mr. Dolan?”

“No, I don’t. Do you, Ms. Taylor?”

“Yes, I believe that we all have a path we are meant to follow and that everything happens for a reason.”

“Why?”

“Because- I don’t know- it’s nicer than the alternative to me, I guess. I don’t want to live in a world where nothing has a reason behind it. We’ll move on to the next question. You don’t disclose personal information; relationships, family, children, etcetera.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Why is that? Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“The same reason I said earlier as to why you don’t like interviews; you are scared people will see the real Grayson Dolan and not like you as much or think you’re different.”

“Are you like- a profiler or something? Why do you think that?”

“I’m not a profiler- I’m a journalist. It’s my job to look for clues, pick up on the small things about someone no one else would notice.”

“Ok, I’ll accept that. Is it my turn to ask you questions?”

“No that’s not how this works.”

“You said you wanted this to be like a normal conversation, did you not?”

“Yes, I did say that, but-”

“Okay, well, I don’t know about you but normally when I’m getting to know someone- I get to ask questions just like they do.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know...if you’ll go out with me?”

“What? Like on a- like on a date?”

“Yes, a date, Ms. Taylor.”

“Uh- I don’t know, maybe, I-”

“30 minutes to the fight, Dolan! Gotta get you warmed-up!”

(the story is back to normal now)

“So?” He questions as he stands up and I try to gather all my stuff. Trying to push down the butterflies while I stop the recording. I just continue to get more flustered, especially when he puts his hand out for me and I shyly take it, he pulls me to my feet and I stare at him through my lashes.

“I- sure. On one condition,” I smile slyly up at him and he raises an eyebrow at me, I ignore the unfamiliar feeling between my thighs at the look on his face and continue quickly, “You have to win this fight. I’ll be in the front row watching. If you win- I’ll go out with you.”

He smiles and then chuckles, “I thought you were going to make it hard? I could win this fight in my sleep baby, I’ll let you know the time after the fight, just stick around, yeah?”

I snort and roll my eyes, ignoring the pull on my heart when he calls me baby, “I’ll be there,” He smiles at me again and I jump a little in surprise when I feel his warm, large hand on the small of my back, he opens the door for me and leads me into the hallway.

I try not to laugh at the face of the Instagram model when she sees Grayson’s hand on me, “I’ll be looking for you in the front row, just so you know.” He teases.

I smile at him and kiss him on the cheek, “I’ll be the one cheering the loudest. Knock Em dead!” I walk away quickly and glance back seeing him standing there, his right hand gently going up to touch the spot I kissed and we both blush. My heart drops into my stomach when he looks over and sees the model. I have to turn the corner and get to my seat so I don’t see how he reacted. He wouldn’t sleep with her right after asking me out, would he? My subconscious snaps back; you barely know the man! Maybe he does this all the time! I push her down and ignore the bad feeling in my gut.

As I sit down in my seat, everything that just happened hits me and I slouch into my seat, what. the. fuck. I’m going on a date with Grayson Dolan! I got an interview with Grayson Dolan! I kissed Grayson Dolan on the cheek! I bite back a smile and take out my phone, taking a video showing me smiling at the camera, then flipping the camera around and showing off how close I am to the octagon. I sent it to my dad quickly.

He responds almost immediately.

*From Daddy: Wow!! So cool! Have tons of fun! Not too much though! Not ready to be a grandpa...yet ;)

I snort and roll my eyes, responding and then turning my phone off when the lights in the arena dim.

*To Daddy: Lmao, shut up. I’ll try to have fun though! The main card is starting! I’ll talk to you later, love you <3

After I watch a few of the fights before Graysons’, I take some pictures and jot down some information about the fights and who won, knowing it’ll add more substance to my piece.

I watch as the whole arena transforms and the whole place is bursting with barely-contained energy and the place goes dark. Suddenly, lights start beaming and music starts playing, I smile at the Kid Cudi (each fight he uses a different Cudi song) choice for tonight- Enter Galactic as it blasts through the speakers everyone goes wild, Grayson moving swiftly to the octagon with his head low and singing the song softly to himself. I can tell he’s not the same Grayson I was talking to, he has flipped the switch- as he told me he does- and is now The Grayson Dolan- UFC Fighter and Champion.

He takes his shirt off and I blush at his tan skin, the rippling muscles making my brain go straight in the gutter. The ‘doc’ pats him down and puts vaseline on his face. I try not to laugh at how weird he looks with his eyebrows slicked down.

He makes his way into the octagon and I see him scanning the front row when his eyes land on mine. I smile at him but he just gives me a curt nod in response before turning away. I’m taken aback by his attitude but I know he has to stay in his fighter mentality.

The other fighter, Dominick Reyes, comes in and he has a good amount of people cheer for him but the majority of the arena boos when he comes out. I know that having some of how this fight goes in my article will make it look better because it’s such a big deal, so I jot some notes down, some about Grayson and some about Reyes.

I subconsciously chew on my nail, scolding myself when I realize what I’m doing. He’s going to win. I tell myself to calm down, I’ve never been to a fight before so the chaotic and anxiety-filled energy around me must be getting to my head.

The ref announces them both, and then they go to the middle, Grayson goes to touch Reyes’ fist, but Reyes pulls back and smirks at Grayson, “C’mon pretty boy,” he sings.

Grayson’s jaw clenches and he starts moving around the octagon, Reyes slowly falling into a pattern of chasing him around. Grayson continues to step to the right until suddenly, he moves to the left, and Reyes doesn’t see it. I watch in astonishment as he puts all of his power into the punch, hitting Reyes perfectly on the temple. Reyes drops to the ground and Grayson’s about to follow him to the mat but the ref stops him, officially calling the fight. Grayson looks over at me, my mouth hanging wide open and he smirks, winking at me.

That asshole just winked at me.

I stand up quickly, cheering loudly with everyone else and he shakes his head, turning back to his team as they run into the octagon to hug him. Once Grayson is done with everything and the crowd starts shuffling out, Grayson comes over to me, “D’you see that?” He smiles and I smile back.

“Yeah, yeah, I saw,” He chuckles and grabs my arm pulling me into him.

I gasp as I hit his hard, sweaty chest, “You’re sweaty,” I scrunch my nose up and try to pull away but he tightens his grip, staring down at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You owe me a date,” He responds and I roll my eyes, ignoring the hammering of my heart at how close we are to each other.

“What time and where?” I say, acting bored.

He chuckles down at me, “I’ll pick you up at 5:30. This Saturday. Just bring your beautiful self and don’t worry about anything else.”

“What’s the dress code?” I raise my eyebrow and he shrugs.

“Whatever you want to wear, although I’ll tell you right now they might frown upon you wearing lingerie or something like that.”

I snort and as he moves away from me a little and we start walking behind his team I realize that I’m a lot colder than I realized, rubbing my arms subconsciously and realizing that I left my sweater in the car damn it.

Grayson notices me rubbing my arms and bumps my shoulder, “You cold?”

“A little. I have a sweater in the car, I’ll be fine.”

He frowns as he opens the door to his dressing(?) room, “I have a jacket you can wear.”

He goes over to a chair in the corner and grabs a big, soft black jacket with DOLAN on the back and the UFC and Reebok logo on the front. I shake my head, “No, r-really it’s- it’s okay,”

“Just take it, you can give it back later, s’not a big deal, I don’t need it. I’m way too hot right now.”

He hands it over to me and I look down at it in his hands and then glance back at him, crossing my arms. He rolls his eyes and comes over to me, putting it on my shoulders and looking down at me, “Just wear it. Please?” He whispers and I flush, seeing that if I moved too fast our lips would be touching.

I nod softly and he steps back. I take a deep breath and put my arms through the sleeves and the jacket immediately warms me. I relax into the warmth and pull it tighter around me and he smirks, “Like you in my clothes.”

I blush and look down, “I- I should be goi-going,” I point my thumb at the door and he bites back a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll see you Saturday then?”

I nod and stutter out a response as I walk back to the door, “Y-yep! 5:30! Wait- I didn’t give you my address o-or my phone num-Ow!” I yelp in surprise when the door handle digs into my lower back and he can’t hold back his laugh as he walks over to me, trapping me between him and the door.

I swallow at his large frame covering me up, his arms resting on each side of the wall by my head, I can see his large biceps and the veins running up his arms in my peripheral vision. He smirks and leans down, “Check your pocket,” he says softly and I look up at him with furrowed brows.

I slowly move my hands to the jacket pockets and after digging around a little I feel a small piece of paper in the right pocket. I pull it out and open it up. I glance up at him in surprise at the digits scribbled onto the paper.

“H-How did you- why-” He cuts me off by moving away from me, my body on fire from how close he had been to me.

I move off the door when he motions for me to move and he opens the door, “Ms. Taylor,” He says, trying to hide a smirk.

I scoff incredulously and walk past him, stopping outside the door in the cold hallway, I turn back to look at him before I walk away to go have a panic attack in my car, “Mr. Dolan.”

A/n: okayyy so I know it’s bad and I’ll be editing it soon but I’m posting this on an ipad lmfao so please cut me some slack.

Tag List:

@pineappledols @episkygrant @georgia302 @dolan-habits @leahs-existentialcrisis @persistence-ofmemories @bubsdolan @ohdolans @vinylhazza​ @vintagedolan​​ @astrodolan @zeusgrayson @deeperdolan @blindedbythelightt @dolsobsessionz @evergreendolan​ @dicedols @plantbasedgray

#grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan smut #ethan #grayson #grayson dolan imagine #my writing #the cage!grayson dolan #grayson and ethan #g.dolan #grayson dolan smut #imagines #dolan #ethan dolan x reader #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan fic #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan au #Grayson Dolan OC

[lumilasi]

I’ve been struggling to write this one for a month or something now, so I decided to give y’all a sneak peek on the latest Spinaraki one-shot request I’m writing. IDK when I’ll finish it tho, I’m still struggling to decide how to end it. Also I’ve been wanting to focus on writing all the remaining chapters for Depths as that one is nearly finished. Tomura/Tenko is almost home.

Anyway, here’s the sneak peek:

Going through the third week, the weather was still very warm, so warm that Spinner finds Tomura awake one night, clearly unable to sleep due to the heat - or maybe he was insomniac, at this point he wasn’t sure.

Tomura was only wearing loose-fitting black pants with a thin canvas to them, glancing up at him from the couch he’d sat on, TV running in the background while kept on low volume, probably had been to try and not wake him up. Spinner could tell he was sweaty from the heat with how his hair was sticking to his skull. It was totally just the hair he was looking, not anything else.

”Your AC seems to be malfunctioning.”

Checking on it, Spinner notes he was right.

”Damn. I’m sorry. Guess gotta call someone to repair it tomorrow.”

”M’fine. Used to sleeping very little anyway.”

Huh, so maybe he was insomniac?

Spinner sits down next to him hesitantly, trying his best not to look while also kind of looking - again. What was with him lately anyway? He’d seen people half naked before during his schooldays in boys’ locker room, and on the beach and so on. Why did Tomura being like that bother him so much?

”Heh. Spooky folklore and urban legends reruns during the night? Guess it makes sense, fits with the dark atmosphere.”

Spinner looks up at the TV screen, quickly realizing what Tomura meant. There was a show he’d seen before, talking about urban legends across the country. This episode was one he hadn’t seen before, revolving around ancient ninjas or something.

”Well would ya look at that? What a coincidence.”

Tomura muses out and Spinner looks at him confused, before looking back at the TV. The episode legend was talking about some sort of group of supposed near mythical ninjas of assassins or something. Wait weren’t those kinda the same thing?

”What’s this legend about? Never heard of it.”

”It’s called the Yokai King. A master assassin of legendary skill that people to this day debate whenever he existed. According to the legend all the assassins under his command were some form of yokai, from bakenekos to kitsunes, and even a jorogumo.”

”W-what? Really?”

Tomura shrugs, cracking his neck slightly.

”From what I understand - and what the show is talking about right now - it is suspected the ”yokai’ were just humans who used a name of a creature to describe them. There are some rumors that these people might’ve had special kind of mutations that give no outward changes but ’internal’ abilities that cannot be seen.”

”Huh...that’s...kinda cool? I mean as a legend, the assassin part is a bit...”

”To be fair, the legend states the Yokai king only sends his ilk against those he deems unworthy of life. In most stories the victims of his children - as these underlings are called, though how many of them actually are his kids is a debated matter - have been criminals of worst kind. Child abusers, rapists, serial killers, stuff like that. Rich Tax frauders.”

”.....what?”

Tomura turns to look at him with a smirk. That smile was giving him a weird funny feeling, but Spinner was too focused in on the story to care about it.

”There’s more modern versions of the tale about his ’children’ going after rich landlords who abuse their wealth.”

”So they just...”

Spinner makes a slitting motion across his throat, gaining a slight shake of head from Tomura.

”Not always. The ’death’ dished out isn’t always physical. Sometimes it can be mental, social, or financial kind. Tax frauders end up dirt poor, prideful child abuser holding up appearances gets shunned away from their community, etc. To some people there are fates worse than simple death.”

”O-oh...”

”Yeah. I think in a lot of tales the King typically has four assassins; one for each type of ’death.”

Tomura holds up his finger now, smirking amused at how closely he was listening.

”First, is the ’financial death’ often known with the nickname Tanuki. This one is typically the one in charge of dealing with unruly greedy people and leaders, making sure they lose all they hold dear - their finances and influence typically.”

”Why Tanuki?”

”There’s lotta stories about it. Some say the first holder of this title in the legend was an actual one, or had Tanuki-like tendencies with gambling, playing tricks on people and such.”

Tomura shrugs, glancing at the TV briefly. The program was currently discussing this same topic, but Spinner found himself more interested in hearing Tomura tell it, as he seemed to have knowledge of the legend.

”Second is usually either known as the Jorogumo or Snow woman. As you can guess this ’child’ is typically a woman in these legends, often linked to the more psychological death - though arguably they also often literally kill their prey. She is often depicted as stalking their victim for a while, keeping an eye on them and causing psychological turmoil. Other times she’s said to even lure the victims into a trap, until it is too late.”

”...Kind of clicheed in a way, that the woman does that.”

”That’s how these old folk tales are. Didn’t make ’em. Plus there have been some stories from what I remember that dispute whenever this ’child’ was always a woman.”

Tomura shrugs and cracks his neck, now holding up a third finger. His red eyes looked almost like they were shining in the surrounding darkness, with the TV screen reflected on them. It was kind of eerie but also mesmerizing to look at.

”Third, the kitsune, is said to be the one for social deaths. This one will burn all the bridges around you, making you isolated for everything and everyone you had control over, before devouring you. In the same sense the kitsune also protects the victims from the person they punish.”

”And...the...last one?”

Tomura holds up a fourth finger now, the light from TV dimming down as the screen switched to a darker scene.

”The Shinigami. The ultimate death. This one’s often said to be the yokai king’s strongest child, for they represent an absolute death. No mercy, no second chances. If this child goes after you, you are a goner.”

Tomura drops his hand slowly, and Spinner swallows down hard, frozen in place. He stares at the pale face for a long moment, up until Tomura closes his eyes suddenly, starting to snicker. It eventually grows into a full blown laughter, making Spinner blush and frown, asking what was so funny.

”Your face! You’re real freaked out.”

Shigaraki laughs and tries to get his breath back under control, wheezing almost.

”It’s a folktale Spinner, a legend. Not real. Relax.”

”Can you blame me for getting spooked? It’s dark and you’re really good at storytelling stuff like this apparently!”

#spinaraki #fic sneak peek #this scene is Tomura lowkey telling Spinner exactly what he is #but Spinner doesn’t realize it lmao #you’ll understand once I finish this thing #shigaraki tomura #bnha tomura #spinner x shigaraki #bnha spinner

[wooyunhwa]

kingdom of welcome addiction | three

view pinned post for masterlist / links to the rest of the parts!

Genre: smut

Pairing: demon!san x fem!reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: graphic violence, blood drinking, overstimulation, orgasm denial, crying kink, corruption kink, praise kink? idk, alcohol drinking, virgin mc

Synopsis: When you accidentally summon a bloodthirsty demon boy to your bedroom, you form an unexpected contract with him.

A/N: I’m a little too whipped for this san tbh,,, Thank you for reading and comments are super appreciated as always!

“Go talk to him!” 

“Yuri, he’s way out of my—”

“C’mon, you look hot! You haven’t been out with us in like, over a month. Have some fun for once.”

“The worst he could do is reject you,” Chaeyeon piped in at your side. 

Easy for them to say. Your friends were practically models, of course they would think getting a guy's number was easy. 

But either way, you couldn’t take your eyes off him all night. Tall, perfectly proportioned, entirely graceful. His jet-black undercut hair was styled up neatly in such a way that one side fell gracefully over his eyes. Admittedly, he was no San, but he was gorgeous.  There was no way you’d be able to get his number, but your friends were right about one thing. You could really use some fun. 

You knocked back the rest of your drink, and it stung the back of your throat just enough to give you the confidence you needed to approach him. 

Your friends watched, mouths agape as you somehow managed to score his number—he typed it into your phone with graceful fingers, caching in into your contacts under the name Seonghwa. A fittingly pretty name for such a gorgeous man. When you walked back to the table, your friends' eyes were wide in both jealousy and shock, and you felt incredibly powerful for just a moment.

“The way you’re looking at me, it seems like you didn’t think I’d actually get it,” you joked, leaning against the table to stir the ice in your empty glass mindlessly. 

“Well, uh... we kind of didn’t. Not that you’re not pretty or anything, but that guy is out of all our leagues. Like pretty much everyone in this bar’s league, actually.”

“No guarantee he’ll actually call me. It could be a fake number,” you shrugged. 

You kind of couldn’t believe you were able to get his number either, but it did give you a much needed confidence boost. You didn’t need your demon boy anymore, you could actually get a human. A gorgeous one at that. Of course, this human boy probably wouldn’t clean your bathroom for you. Or look so goddamn hot doing it. 

You glanced around the bar confidently, making eye contact with Seonghwa and giving him a flirtatious wink. 

You weren’t usually big into going to bars, even with your friends. Rather, you preferred a chill night in watching movies or playing Cards Against Humanity. But your friends had been nagging you for nearly a month to go out with them, their constant invites finally coming to a head when you accepted out of the blue. You’d been so focused on your secret nightly rendezvous with the hot demon boy in your bedroom that you’d rejected them over and over, blaming a “mountain of school work” and “midterm stress”. While both of those things were true, you had basically discarded your social life to lust over a pretty demon boy. You knew now that he was a bad idea, and you needed to move on.

For the last week, you’d been agonizing over him. You hadn’t re-summoned him since you saw him last—the night he choked you until you passed out with his dick inside you. There were two big reasons for this. 

First, you were a bit embarrassed for passing out on him, although you knew that was nowhere near your fault. Your first time with a guy, and you pass out? Of course, his demonic hands were around your throat literally asphyxiating you, but you still felt slightly ashamed at the idea of him seeing you like that, and even taking the time to re-clothe you afterwards. You didn’t know if you could even look him in the eyes after that.

Secondly, and this was admittedly the biggest reason: you knew that you were no longer desirable to him. Your appeal to him was undoubtedly your virgin tears, blood, aura, whatever. You were a virgin, your very presence was like crack to him. But you’d fucked him. Well, started anyway, but it definitely counted. You weren’t a virgin anymore, not by his instinctual demon standards at least—not in the way he needed you to be. And what were you without your virginity other than some insignificant human soul in an endless sea of human souls? He didn’t need you anymore. 

But there was also the issue of the fact that he wasn’t human, and never would be. If all you did was contract him into sex, wouldn’t that just make him your demon prostitute who cleans your house sometimes? You didn’t have a contract last time, but it wouldn’t matter now anyway. There was no way he’d risk going contract-less again, especially if you weren’t a virgin anymore. 

So you decided to move on. He was bad for you in every way, a bad habit you needed to break. An addiction you needed to give up on. 

But it was certainly easier said than done. 

He haunted you, in your dreams, and even while you were awake. His post-it on your wall, taunting you, although you didn’t have the heart to rip it off. It wouldn’t matter if you did, anyway, you’d memorized his summoning phrase by heart. It was practically burned into you like a brand—a constant reminder of his hold on you. Even the inhuman taste of his lips lingered on yours for far longer than they should have.

You shook your thoughts of San from your head the best you could, refocusing on just having a good time tonight. You almost forgot the outside world existed with how much you’d been isolated with San in your apartment. It felt nice. 

You finished your night with a few more drinks, waving bye to your friends as they hopped in their ride-share. The bar wasn’t far from your apartment, and you lived in a relatively safe neighborhood, so you weren’t exactly worried about walking home by yourself at night. 

You had been drinking, but you didn’t necessarily feel drunk, perhaps just a little wobbly as you made your way through the neighborhood. A sign reading “road construction” blocked your path, and you noticed the sidewalk was completely cut off for the next few blocks. Walking all the way around would have taken forever, so you chose to cut through an alleyway to access the back entrance of your building. It was one you were familiar with—you’d taken it several times when you wanted to cut down your trip, but never at night. You walked through, keeping close to the wall lining the side because it offered the most visibility. It was quite dim, only the dull flickering of a rusty street light overhead giving any sense of light. 

Then you saw it. 

To your left, you caught a glimpse of crimson red shining almost like neon in the dim, flickering light of the alley, and then a glimpse of a fang sparkling bright white. You stumbled back, hitting the brick wall behind you. 

“Where ya goin’?” he taunted, taking another step forward. You couldn’t make out the features, but they were distinctly demonic. Your fight or flight instinct kicked in, except you somehow skipped right past those and straight to “freeze”. You were entirely frozen in place, your limbs scrambling to decide the best path of action. “A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out here all alone.”

You darted to the right just as he closed in, immediately tripping over your own feet into the closest object, a dumpster. You turned on your heels to see his fangs bared fully, pearly and bright in the dark alley. 

You opened your mouth to scream, but the sound was suddenly dampened. A hand clamped over your mouth with a suffocating force. Before you could realize what was happening, you were shoved to your knees, skin scraping against the cold pavement. 

“Don’t move,” a voice hissed in your ear. San. You’d know that deep voice anywhere. You tried to choke out a few useless words, but your voice was helplessly muffled beneath the hand viced against your mouth. “Be quiet. I’m saving your life.”  

He shoved you by the shoulders behind a stack of large wooden crates next to the dumpster. You kept your head down, but you could make out their silhouettes in the dim light, although San’s figure blocked your eye line from getting a good view of the aggressor. 

"Low life," San growled, his words spitting out venomously. "What, you have nothing better to do than hunt humans? Pathetic." 

You heard the harsh, gritty tone of the figure speak, still veiled in the shadows. "San?" The figure laughed jovially. Something about it was incredibly unsettling. "What are you, some sort of human patrol? Or do you just want her for yourself?"  

"She's mine," he hissed. You couldn't see his face, but you could picture it twisting in anger from how maliciously he spat out his words. 

"Yours, huh? I know you like ‘em pure, but not enough to take another demon's prey."  

Was he implying you were still a virgin? But that wasn't—

"Leave," San snarled. "Before you make me do something we'll both regret." 

The figure took a step forward, unveiling himself in the light, though you could still barely make it out from behind the crates and with San’s figure blocking your view. 

“Fuck off. I was here first,” the demon spat.  

“I said… she’s mine.”

San lunged forward, but the demon dodged easily, throwing his fist forward to land a blow on San’s cheek. San shook his head furiously before moving to throw his own punch. 

The demon ducked to evade, but San anticipated it. His figure whipped around to the back of the demon, his body moving like a flash, almost as if he had phased out of reality. He swung his leg up with a fierce kick, sending the aggressor flying back into the alley wall, cracking the bricks in a cartoonish circle around him. You had no idea he could fight like that.

The demon faltered to his feet, shaking his limbs out casually like it was nothing. These demons were no joke—you wouldn’t have stood a chance running from him if San hadn’t been there. You’d be dead. 

The demon's mouth curled up into a snarl, baring his fangs ferociously as he lunged in San’s direction. San evaded easily, flashing around to his opponent’s side. 

“You’re clearly not very bright,” San taunted, delivering another kick to his core. The demon fell back again, lurching forward over his stomach with a pained gasp. He staggered against the wall, lifting his gaze to San closing in. 

San had him entirely cornered. His hand viced around the other demon’s throat, holding him in the air with a surprising display of strength. The demon’s feet scrambled hopelessly to find the concrete, dangling inches above the ground. Is that the kind of strength he was capable of? Holding up an entire body in the air as effortlessly as he would toasting a champagne glass? 

San shot a glance over his shoulder, black eyes glistening villainously under the dim lights. "Close your eyes, lamb. You're not gonna want to see this one. Trust me."

Your eyes squeezed together just in time for you to hear a sickening crack of bones snapping. Then complete, deafening silence for a moment.

You cracked one eye open as you heard his footsteps approaching you slowly. Your vision adjusted to see him knelt in front of you, seemingly surveying you for injury. 

"What the fuck was that?" you choked out. “Why was he—”

"He’s a rogue demon," he explained, shooting a deathly glare at the decapitated corpse. The sight was grisly, but somehow, the fact that the body wasn’t entirely human gave you some degree of solace. "Patrolling for souls. You’re an easy target. They can smell your pretty scent from a mile away."

You took another glance at the fresh corpse, stomach churning at the gruesome sight. His head was ripped cleanly off. Did San just do that with his bare hands? 

San gripped on to your forearm, squeezing hard. You noticed his hand shaking, just slightly. "C'mon. We need to go. Where there's one rogue, there's bound to be more. You smell like a walking piece of meat right now to them. If there's more, they know you're here." He tugged you to your feet. “Lead me to your apartment, okay darling? It’s close, hmm? Until then, you need to stay quiet. You talking—well, let’s just say it makes you easier to detect.”

You walked hesitantly but briskly the rest of the way to your apartment, legs shaking beneath you with every step. San kept a protective arm wrapped tightly around the small of your waist the whole way, but you couldn’t help but feel shaky. 

The minute you got home, all the questions you wanted to ask him flooded your brain. He guided you by the shoulders to the bedroom first, shutting the door behind you as if you had something to hide, despite being alone in the apartment. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you wouldn’t give him the chance.

“How did you find me?” you barked. “I haven’t summoned you in over a week. How did you know where I was?”

“I know,” he grumbled under his breath. Was he keeping track of the days like you were? You didn’t think he cared. “I’ve been, uh... I’ve been keeping an eye on you,” he responded, shifting his eyes to the side for a minute. Breaking eye contact wasn’t like him.

“You’ve been doing what? Like spying on me? I didn’t know demons could watch over humans like that. I thought you just came when you were called.”

“We can’t. We’re not like angels.”

“Angels? Ugh, never mind, not the point. So how did you—”

“I have some connections. It doesn’t really matter. The point is, I saved you back there. And you need to be more careful.”

You sighed. “What, so you care now?”

San nodded hesitantly. “I—I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I care a bit more than I should. About you.” His eyes drew up to yours, reeling you in like a magnetic pull. Except his gaze was less fierce than usual, just intense. Serious. 

“What are you trying to say?”

“I try to stay objective. About humans. It’s my job. Write contacts, steal souls. I’m not supposed to feel anything. And I’m certainly not supposed to alter fate to save one.”

Alter fate? Were you supposed to die tonight?

You paused. You were suddenly incredibly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, despite the implications of what he was saying. You were falling head first for him, but you couldn’t afford to have your heart broken. You were trying to move on. 

“Can you get me some water? My head is killing me,” you asked quickly, hoping you could change the subject when he came back.

He nodded, hoisting himself up from the edge of the bed, and came back with the glass, setting it on the night table gingerly. He was being uncomfortably gentle, and you weren’t exactly sure what to do with him. 

“I have a question,” you started hesitantly, using the lull in the conversation to move it elsewhere. “The demon. In the alley. He said I was pure. What did he mean? Because we—”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m not sure either. We certainly did do that, but I can smell it too, unmistakably. I’d know that scent anywhere. It’s driving me insane.”

“So I’m...”

“Still a virgin,” he finished. His tongue drew over his lip between the slight part of his teeth in thought. “I can only guess it’s because I’m not human. My body is, but only technically.” His eyes trained on you again, this time glimmering with a hint of desire. “Speaking of. Your smell is entirely distracting to me right now.”

He wasn’t the only one distracted. You hadn’t entirely forgotten what he looked like, of course, but you were still surprised every time you saw him. He looked hellishly attractive, glistening lightly with sweat, shirt clinging to his muscles tightly. You weren’t being subtle as you glanced at him up and down, practically drooling. You saw a familiar smirk twitch up on his lips, flashing and a brief display of fangs. “What’s that look for, lamb? Hmm? You look cute when you’re drooling over me.”

You shook your head, embarrassed. “Don’t you need to be going anyway?”

He leaned forward slightly, just enough to be able to reach you with his hand, brushing it along the cut of your jaw. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here tonight. Alone. If the rogues caught on to your scent, they’d be able to track you here.”

“But won’t you get in trouble without a contract?” 

“Who says we can’t make one now?” he asked, fixing his gaze directly with yours. He was right. You hadn’t really thought of that.  

“Alright, let’s say I asked you to guard me tonight. What do I give you in return?”

“Your body.” You paused, breath hitching in your throat as he dragged his fingernail along the skin of your neck again. “You’re free to decline but… I’m hoping you’d want to finish what we started as much as I do.” You glanced at your phone on the nightstand for a moment in thought, breaking eye contact, but he tipped your chin up to meet yours immediately. “What are you thinking about, darling, hm? That boy who gave you his number?”

“How did you—”

“I told you. I’ve been watching,” he explained with a charming smile. 

“Asshole. That’s creepy,” you grumbled through your teeth. It was creepy,  but another part of you couldn’t help but be flattered. 

“So, what do you say?” he asked eagerly, leaning in until you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. 

You couldn’t deny, his body had been on your mind pretty much constantly since you’d seen him last. You craved the feeling of him inside of you again, the warm closeness of his skin pressed against yours, his hands exploring every inch of you. Most of all, you craved the hungry, insatiable way he looked at you, that made you feel desired in a way you’d never felt before.

“You’re not gonna choke me out again?” you teased, but you already knew your answer, pretty much either way. 

“No promises.” He winked charmingly, brushing his lips against yours. A tingle rocketed through your spine, the single fleeting taste of his lips the only incentive you needed for your next words.

“It’s a deal,” you confirmed, leaning into the feeling of his lips against yours. He pulled away with a teasing smirk. 

“Such a needy little human. Don’t get too eager, now. I like to have a little fun with my prey first.” He winked, flashing his fangs. You imagined them sinking into your skin, the sensation of his tongue dragging along your wound. You couldn’t believe how addicted you were to being a glorified blood donor for a sadistic house-demon. 

You whined a bit as he pulled away, breaking all contact with you. 

“San—” 

He clicked his tongue against his teeth mockingly. “Needy little thing. Don’t worry, we’ll have our fun tonight. On my terms, of course.”

He teased you mercilessly as you went about your night, brushing himself up against you in the kitchen, lingering his lips just over your skin as he spoke to you and pulling away right when you tried to make a move. The restraint he was exercising just to get a rise out of you was impressive, and you pretty much fell right in his trap. You were squirming at the mere idea of his touch, knees nearly buckling under you every time he brushed against you. You were going mad.

You were washing dishes in the kitchen after eating a quick midnight snack with him. Your drinking in the bar earlier had you hungry for whatever was around, and due to the quickly growing pain of arousal, you wouldn’t be sleeping any time soon. 

You felt his hands around your waist first, pulling your back into him from behind, his lips littering feather-light kisses on the back of your neck. Your hair stood on end, goosebumps pilling up on your arms as he kissed so very lightly. He nipped lightly a few times at the surface of your skin, fangs grazing sharply against the nape of your neck, then moving down to your shoulders, pulling down the collar of your shirt to get better access. 

You felt him growing hard against you from behind, his rock hard bulge pressing into your ass. You wiggled against it, and he delivered a harsh bite to the skin of your shoulder blades, not daring to break skin yet.

“Don’t tease me, lamb,” he purred against your skin, administering a harsh slap to the side of your ass. You hissed at the sting, but you couldn’t help but tease him again to see his next move. You pushed your hips back with a stronger force now, rocking your ass up against the form of his dick through his pants. A low growl rolled through his throat. “Testing me, hmm? Someone’s getting brave.”

You felt his teeth sink into the flesh of the back of your neck, and you whimpered at the sudden pain. He lapped at it slowly, softly, seemingly savoring every taste. You whined as he drew his tongue across your skin. “So… how do I punish you? I told you we were on my terms,” he sang sweetly in your skin, almost menacingly.

His hand traveled from your waist to the waistband of your small pajama shorts, pushing his fingers down to tease you through the fabric of your panties. You couldn’t help but let out small pants and moans as he finally gave attention to the dripping wet neediness between your legs, but you still needed more. He circled his index finger around your clit excruciatingly slowly. The sensation of his tongue on your skin and his touch through your underwear was almost more painful than none at all. You squirmed and writhed under the touch you’d been craving all night, letting out breathy moans as all your arousal from the night compounded.

He flipped you around suddenly, your back making contact with the cold counter. He lifted your shirt off, and you fumbled with the hem of his shirt, grasping desperately as you tried to remove it from his head. He smirked against your lips as he picked you up by the hips, hoisting you up like you weighed nothing. You clawed at him desperately to keep your balance as he led you to the bedroom, tossing you back on your bed like a toy. He stripped himself fully, his dick springing out from his pants excitedly. 

His eyes trained on your body hungrily as he crawled over you. “We’re playing by my rules today. Be a good girl, okay?”

You nodded, eagerly accepting whatever terms he had in order to feel him against you. You weren’t quite expecting his next words, though.

“You don’t cum unless I tell you to. And trust me, darling. You don’t want to know what happens if you disobey.” His lips twitched into a sadistic smile, marveling at your body as he kissed down torturously slow. He ripped your shorts, then your underwear, teasing his tongue and lips over your thighs for a while as you squirmed. Then, finally, giving you what you desired most. His tongue against your clit, warm and wet, washing you over with immediate pleasure like you’d never felt before.  

The sensation of his tongue against you was almost more than you could handle, and you were practically writhing and thrashing at the sensitivity. Heat rose in your core, flooding through your whole body. Your every nerve felt like it was on fire. He worked his tongue devilishly, leaving no part of your pussy untouched, dancing it along your clit like it was his only reason for existing. His tongue practically worshipped you, and you ate up the soft moans and growls that escaped him. His eyes were darker, but not fully consumed with black yet, as he glanced up from between your legs for only a moment, before going back in hungrily.

It was getting harder, nearly impossible actually, to keep your body from rocking itself into orgasm. It built inside you, a knot twisting at the base of your stomach, ready to burst at any moment. “San, please can I—”

“Cute. Begging. It won’t get you anywhere, darling,” he sang mockingly, his hot breaths washing over you. 

“Please—” Tears spilled over in your eyes, pouring down your cheeks as the sensations intensified seemingly exponentially. “Please please please,” you pleaded, not caring how desperate you sounded. You couldn’t take it. 

“There are those pretty, pretty tears,” he cooed. “Keep crying for me baby, then maybe I’ll consider letting you cum.”

Not that you had a choice, but you obeyed. The tears came and came as you thrashed under him, holding yourself back so much that you ached. You’d never been so restrained, for a moment you even wondered if this is what San felt like every day when holding back his urges.

He came up from between your legs for a moment to lick the salty tears from your face, dragging a fingernail under your chin. You squirmed needily under him, and although you knew begging wouldn’t get you anywhere, you felt you had no choice. 

“San—”

“Yes, lamb?” He met your eyes, and you could barely keep them open with the overwhelming sensations. 

“Please, I need you to… please. I can’t take it anymore.”

His wet tongue slid over your cheek, lingering his fangs over for a moment, then came up to meet your gaze. “Fine. I’ve had my fun for now, I suppose. But keep crying for me, mmkay? You’re cute when you’re helpless.”

He made his way back down, torturing his lips over every inch of your shoulders, breasts, stomach, hips, until finally settling between your legs again. The first brush of his tongue was nearly enough to send you over the edge, but you held out for a few moments, letting him get your completely riled up again. 

His fingers found their way inside you, only pumping a few times before you were completely putty in his hands. You shook as the orgasm rocked through you violently. San gripped your hips tightly as you thrashed, keeping you steady. You’d never cum so hard in your life, even when picturing San while you worked your vibrator. Somehow, he was ten times better. A million times, even. 

“Good girl,” he praised, stroking your stomach for a few moments before going back in with his tongue. You couldn’t control your hips from bucking violently as he lapped at your folds, completely drenched from your orgasm. You cried out—the sensitivity was almost too much to bear. “Now be a good girl for me and cum again.” 

“Ah—sensitive—” you whined, thrashing against his hands holding you down. You felt him smirk against you, indicating he knew exactly what he was doing. It took him barely even a few minutes to work you into your second orgasm, whimpering and shaking as you came down. Tears leaked from your eyes, some left over from your original bout, some fresh from the overstimulation. He came back up to lick them off your cheeks with a satisfied grin. 

“Good little lamb,” he purred. You loved his praise, even if it had a condescending sting to it, it felt so amazing dripping like honey in your ears. 

You were surprised how well he was keeping himself together, unlike your previous sexual encounter with him, where he’d completely lost control to his demon instincts. His eyes were darker than usual, a deep, sinister blood red, but not black. Nowhere near. That was a part of him you wished you didn’t have to see again.

You writhed under his touch as he swiped a finger between your folds, testing your wetness. “I’ll try to be gentle for this one,” he growled. “No promises.” 

“Fuck me, please,” you breathed against his lips, bringing your hand down to guide the tip of his dick right between your legs. 

He thrust in slowly at first, taking his time adjusting to every small movement. He shook as you watched his eyes flicker to black for a moment, then back to red, again to black, then red, as if he was fighting with himself. He pushed all the way in this time, bottoming out inside of you. You cried out, experiencing such complete fullness for the first time. He wasn’t enormous, in fact you’d say his cock was just the perfect size, but he was much bigger than any toy you’d ever used. 

“Fuck, those pretty little noises are gonna drive me crazy,” he growled lustfully, thrusting out and then in again fully. You threw your head back in pleasure, taking in every sensation of him stretching you out, his dick hitting exactly the right curves inside you, places you didn’t even realize he could reach. 

He fisted his hands in the sheets beside your head as he thrust in and out, alternating slow and fast in a way that made your head spin completely. He kept eye contact with you the entire time, the same hungry and magnetic gaze he always had, except there was something beneath the surface this time. Something softer, almost loving. You didn’t have a mind for romance now, though. 

Your mind could only process the feeling of him inside you. His fingernails dug into the sheets with so much force you swore they were going to rip to shreds in his grip. He latched his teeth onto your neck forcefully, drawing blood. At the same time, you felt him lurch inside of you, shaking and growling as he spilled out inside you. Warm cum dripped around his dick as he slid out slowly, and there was another warm sensation you could make out—blood spilling from your neck. 

“San—San—towel, now,” you demanded anxiously, the two dripping fluids making you feel a bit uneasy. He took care of the cum first, wiping it off the blanket, then lapped his tongue on your wound a few times before sticking a bandage on it. Where did he get that, anyway?

“You’re a mess,” he commented teasingly, a cheeky flash of fangs dancing up on his lips. 

“Yeah, thanks to you,” you grumbled, running your palm over the bandages securing your bite marks. “I can’t believe you didn’t… y’know.”

“Lose it?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Trust me darling, it was the hardest thing I’d ever done. Your taste is especially intoxicating. Your pussy tastes even better than your blood, somehow.”

You laughed at the unexpected compliment. It felt weird for such a hot guy to be talking to you about the taste of your pussy at 2am. A demon, no less. You almost felt embarrassed in his gaze, despite just fucking so intensely. You were suddenly incredibly self-conscious about your naked body as he watched you. You wrapped yourself in your hands, shrinking down slightly as you concealed your body from his gaze. 

“Hey, stop that,” he said firmly. “Why are you hiding? Your body is incredible. I’d say you look like an angel, but we kinda hate those where I’m from.” He smiled gently. “But you do look divine.”

Heat rose through your cheeks, staining them red. He’d always complimented your smell, your taste—he’d never praised your body before. You motioned towards the closet, and he tossed you a shirt reluctantly. You threw it quickly over your head, still feeling bashful despite his nice comment. 

You fell asleep shortly after getting cleaned up, tucked neatly into your bed by your sweet house-demon.

Demons, you learned, didn’t need sleep, despite their human need for practically everything else—food, massages, sex. You had forgotten for a moment why he was even there in the first place, the sex having completely over-ridden the events of the day beforehand. You forgot all about being potentially in danger, your mind only filled with thoughts of San.

He sat by your side all night, or so you knew from what he told you the next morning. He said you were cute when you sleep. His lamb. The idea of him watching over you protectively all night made your heart ache, in a way both good and bad. You weren’t sure if you could say it for sure yet, but you were falling in love with him. 

But it could never work between you. It was too good to be true. It had to be.

#san smut #choi san smut #yunho smut #ateez smut #choi san #wooyoung smut #hongjoong smut #ateez fic #mingi smut #yeosang smut

[wowtobio]

Nishinoya finding a s/o whos significantly shorter than him! And he's so excited! I see so many where the s/o is taller than him and im like sitting here in my 4'8" glory

Nishinoya and Kuroo have a shorter s/o

yes ofc! this is so cute hehe and omg ur so adorable 🥺 short ppl unite! and i decided to add kuroo bcs i thought this scenario would be cute for him too :) 

- 

Nishinoya 

• Ok but it was love at first sight when noya first saw you

• You walked into the gym, all eyes on you and Nishinoya’s eyes along with his teammates. i mean a cute girl walking through? all attention on you. and your height was somewhat noticeable too

• Eventually when you two do end up going out, Nishinoya is on cloud 9. he’s the happiest boy out there. he got a girlfriend? a cute one? a shorter one??? jackpot

• He absolutely adores your height and he will not let you hear the end of it. he will be extra affectionate and display pda (if you’re comfortable with it ofc) 

• Extra extra tight hugs, most of the time from behind so he can prop his chin on either your shoulder or your head. Hand-holding as well, where he squeezes your hand tight the whole time, sometimes even cutting off circulation. He can’t help himself, he’s just so amazed and mesmerized by your presence he wants to savor it all :’)

• He showers you with compliments, especially on days where your mood is down. Noya is especially good at lifting up your self esteem!! 

• If it’s been a very very bad day and nothing seems to cheer you up, Nishinoya makes it his life mission to make you smile again whether it is the last thing he will ever do

• Cuddle sessions feel like a dream to him. He loves to encase you in his arms and feel your tiny self flush against his chest. He doesn’t mind being the little spoon either! He loves to be hugged by you feeling your affection hehe 

• He takes up every opportunity to tease you. I mean ofc the guy has always been surrounded by abnormally tall guys so he would often tease your short stature. It isn’t too bad in the end, when situations such as you not being able to reach the top shelf, Noya’s teasing and laughter dies down once you both realize he can’t reach it either

• Let’s just say there are stools everywhere

• (nishinoya yelling) NO SHAME!!! 

• You two probably have matching shirts and wear them whenever you guys have sleepovers. And you guys probably wear them often alone. You send him cute selfies of you in them and all he can do is just screenshot and heart-eyes 

• If anyone even dares comment about your height expect Nishinoya by your side with that scary face of his alongside Tanaka both warding off the person bothering you

• He often boasts about your relationship to others, confidently claiming you as his girlfriend. You sometimes get red in the face and very shy about it, adding more wholesomeness to the scenario awwwwh 

• He has so many cute nicknames for you, some made-up ones based on your name and the general “baby” or when alone, “sweetie” 

• Oh boy, when you wear his jersey get ready. HE WILL BE SO WHIPPED FOR YOU. Peppers you with kisses and cries over how cute you are. He engraves the image of you into his mind too

• He probably stares at you a lot too, you distract him too much so you laugh at Daichi yelling at Nishinoya to stop ogling you so much and to focus

• Your relationship would honestly just be nothing but wholesome cuteness. Nishinoya absolutely loves you with all his being and he plans to just love you even more everyday 

Kuroo

• First impressions? He did not see you at all.

• And he jumped a bit upon hearing your voice calling out to him

• After he asks you out though, you have all of his attention and you are on his mind 24/7

• oF course he teases you about your height. Sometimes he pushes the boundaries without realizing it but he apologized profusely when he realizes the damage that’s been done

• forehead. kisses. Both you and him cannot get enough of it 

• He’s probably convinced you to be Nekoma’s manager and when you agree, Kuroo suddenly finds himself doubling the drills for the majority of the members as he catches them making googling eyes at you

• I mean can he blame em, it’s not like he can’t keep his eyes off of you either

• It’s a necessity, you must wear his clothes. It is one of his favorite things in the whole world right next to volleyball, seeing your small form in his big, oversized clothes. His phone wallpaper is of you sleeping, cuddled up against him sporting on one of his favorite shirts

• Like your first encounters, he probably jokes around with you by pretending like he doesn’t see or notice you. One April Fools he acted like you didn’t even exist for the first few hours of the day. Key word: few, since you almost bursted into tears and he had to break his act

• He apologizes the whole day, bought you ice cream, and cuddled you throughout the night giving you allllll of his love and attention (as he should smh)

• Casually just has his arm over your shoulders or his hand on your hip walking through the hallways, giving glares to guys whose gaze lingered a bit longer than what Kuroo would’ve liked 

• idk about you, but I love Kuroo’s lazy smile. I can just imagine you two waking up and he sits up, pulling you into his lap and he just hugs your waist close to him, face buried in the crook of your neck and then he just looks into your eyes with a lazy grin on his face. “good morning” he purrs 

• OMG CUTE TRAIN SCENE** You, Kuroo and Kenma are riding on a crowded train going home. Kenma’s playing his games as usual, it’s golden hour, Kuroo is standing next to you, arm up holding onto one of the upper train handles. Your tiny self is in front, flushed against him. And every-time the train makes sudden movement, Kuroo uses his free arm and catches you, keeping you stable. You glance up at him and he looks down, smirking slightly before placing a loving kiss on your forehead and keeping his arm scooped underneath you

• his biceps tho omg

• Kuroo would just treasure you and he would just love your shortness along with you as a person. He would constantly just feel the need to protect you and he swears he will :)

-

#kuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro #yū nishinoya #nishinoya #nishinoya x reader #haikyuu!! #haikyu #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu headcanons #hq #hq s4 #kenma #haikyu headcanons #headcanon #anime #fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu scenario

[swiss-cheeze]

French Road, East || Spencer Reid

Request: YES/NO: Hi! Do you take requests?? If you do, can I please request a Spencer x Reader (Including the BAU), where they are dating and the reader is a year or so younger than spencer, but just as smart and very loved by the team, and one day she has to save the team from an unsub and gets really hurt and after everyone is safe they are all really worried about her?? Idk if that made sense at all. Love you work!

A/N: OKAY SO, myself and a few other tumblr accounts got sent this exact same request from the same requester. I have spoken with all of the accounts i know of that have gotten the request and we have all mutually agreed that we will continue with our own fics in our own way on the basis/sense of ‘every writer is different and it's cool to see how others interpret the same request’, please go check out their fics too but please also dont message any of us about this little thing thats happened or saying one was better than the other because that's not what we’re doing here.

We write because we love writing and we love making worlds and being creative, this is a mutual agreement, yes we’re not too pleased with this happening but we are fine with going ahead with both of our fics.

Thank you.

A/N: I also got a little carried away with this little thing and kind of forgot about the ‘they get hurt’ part and instead left the end open for angst purposes; possibly a second part if requested? I don't know. This is also 10 full pages on Google Docs.

Words: 5727

Gender: they/them, none.

Warnings: descripton of people being beaten, kidnapping, mention and use of drugs, previous trauma of the BAU team brought to light, mentions of sexual abuse and assualt, mentions of possible rape.

Description: when 6/8 of the BAU team gets kidnapped, it's up to you and Garcia to find them before it's too late, but what happens when an old nightmare may consume someone's life again?

PART 2: https://snitchthewitch.tumblr.com/post/626602019637149696/french-road-east-apartment-23-spencer-reid

------

Spencer had slept over at Dereks after they had both consulted over their paperwork while you had gone to yours and Spencer's apartment alone, normally you two would arrive at work together with coffee ready for the day but today it just felt...off. Coffee in hand you entered the elevator and checked your work phone for any missed messages.

Derek Morgan phone (4)

Derek Morgan imessage (6)

Spencer Reid phone (2)

Spencer Reid imessage (4)

Okay, that was a bit weird. They normally called once, maybe twice, had your phone shut down last night? As you entered onto level 6 you stepped off to the side of the opening on the hallway, out of people's way, as you opened your phone for the messages, Derek first.

‘Going out with Spence and Pen’

‘Spencer misses you’

‘Pen says she wants to hug you’

‘We’re fucjlkeddd’

‘I don't think somethings okay’

‘Pick up’

Fuck, okay, maybe they just encountered a mugger? Spencer next.

‘mISS YOUUU’

‘Derek ssaysys he doeessdnt frrl ojay’

‘Someoned follow us’

‘French road, east’

What the fuck? So apparently they got followed? And then? What the hell is french road east? Was it an actual road to the east? Maybe the voice messages would help.

“HEY (Y/N/N)!” its Derek, “WE’RE HAVING OUR BEST TIME! WISH YOU WERE HERE!” the music was as loud as Derek was shouting in your ear, you couldn't help but smile.

“(Y/N)!” Spencer, “I MISS YOUUU!” you laughed at his drunk talking, “SHOTS!” and it finished.

“Hey (Y/n), we’re uh,” a laugh, it's Derek, “we’re walking back to my place now, with Pen and Pretty Boy over here,” you heard a faint shout of your name before laughter and the call ended. There was one voice message left, “someones following us. Under six foot, black clothes and looks disarmed but I can't tell from where we are and it's dark. I'll update you later (Y/n), i'll keep Pretty Ricky safe. I promise” and that was it. You brought your phone away from your ear and looked at it skeptically, Derek's story was backed up by Spencer because they both said they were being followed, Garcia hasn't messaged you though, she probably got cut off from her phone before anything happened, probably in Derek's pants pocket. Maybe they were playing a prank? No they wouldn't, Derek’s voice was too certain to be a prank. You shook your head from the thoughts before walking into the Bullpen and dumping your bag at your desk and looking around, Anderson, Mike, Daffey, even Esmerelda was at work today and yet you couldn't spot a single one of your teammates.

Okay, maybe they all slept in? You walked up to Hotch's office and knocked before putting your head through the door; looks the same as it was left. Funny. Hotch was always the first one in, if he ever left at all. You walked to Rossi's office and yet this was the same as Hotch’s; untouched and unmoved. Okay, this was a little scary, you made your way to the conference room with quick feet as the creek of the door being opened sent a shiver down your spine as no one was waiting for a case or even grabbing coffee, but you did notice the one folder that sat alone in the middle of the table. Cautiously, you made your way over to the file, picked it up and opened it, the photos inside the folder almost made you throw up.

Hotch, Emily, Derek, Spencer, JJ and Rossi were all sitting against a wall, beaten, bruised and dirty, arms positioned behind their backs. Underneath the photo was a piece of paper with bold red writing, almost blood like.

YOU WERE WRONG.

Your throat constricted as your breathing increased, you started hyperventilating as you heard the click clack of a certain pair of heels.

“(Y/N)!” Garcia yelled, she was running as quickly as she could with her platform, a file and laptop in her arms, “the-the team they've” she took a breath, “they've been taken, captured, abducted!” it took Garcia a few seconds to realise that you were close to fainting. Garcia put her things down on the table as she directed you to sit in a chair, got you a cup of water and started the breathing exercises that she remembered Spencer teaching her, he taught everyone tricks to help those when having a panic or anxiety attack as its something they would definitely encounter during their time with both agents, victims and unsubs, a few minutes passed and you finally calmed down.

“T-they, they tried to contact me” you said quietly as you looked at Garcia who was red eyed.

“And i was there (Y/n), they dropped me off home and where going back to Dereks, i didn't know if they made it or not because i had already past out by the time my head hit the pillow” Garcia reminded you, it took you a moment to realise but you where both in the same situation, and you nodded as the plan started coming together in your mind.

“Okay,” you stood up as Garcia opened her laptop, “when did you find out?” you asked, you needed to determine how long each of you knew the team was missing.

“I unlocked the batcave and I had the same file on my desk, when I saw the photos I ran up here and then to you,” you nodded as Garcia spoke.

“Okay, I want cameras of every place each of our team members have been, bars, apartments, anything and everything. See if there are any recurring cars or bikes or vans that drive past the streets, do facial recognition on anyone following them like with Reid and Morgan, see if it's happened to all of them.” you took a breath as you called in someone from the bullpen and handed them both the files you and Garcia had been given, “Get this to the lab for fingerprints, this is top priority; we have a team missing” you'd told them, they nodded slightly scared and confused before walking off as Garcia started talking.

“I've got the filters on and they're searching but it's going to take some time,” Garcia said sadly.

“Look up previous cases the BAU has had including the words ‘you were wrong’, ‘French Road’ and ‘East’, possibly other words like ‘it was wrong’, ‘they are/were wrong’ that type of thing, date it back to Rossi's days,” you ordered Garcia.

“(Y/n), a lot of those files are physical if you go back to Rossi,” the tech analyst reminded you.

“I know but still, set filters for that and go as far back as you're able, tell me if you get any hits, i'm going to go down to the file room and i'm going to go back as far as Rossi's days for the physical copies until he started going digital,” you told Garcia, she looked reluctant to let you go so you moved to where she was sitting and you gave her a large hug, “we’ll find them Pen, i promise” you mumbled into her cherry scented hair.

“What about Spencer?” she asked softly as the two of you let go of each other.

“He sent me a message saying ‘french road east’, that has to mean something,” you smiled, “i'm going to try and find that road through all of DC and if there's a hit i'm going to go there and see what's up with it, it might be where they were taken or a street Spencer noted as an important thing for us to know” Garcia nodded and quickly sat back down and started typing on her laptop as you left.

God only knows what your teammates are going through right now.

-----

“YOU SON OF A BITCH” Derek yelled as J.J. was dragged to the middle of the floor and repeatedly beaten.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT” Hotch yelled as J.J. started to whimper, the people stopped at Hotch's comment and left J.J. on the floor, Emily and Spencer scrambling with their hands bound to get to their teammate, making sure she was okay.

“What do we want? We want you guys on our side!” one of the people said, he was happy, how could this make anyone happy?

“FBI agents in our group? We’d rule the world!” another one exclaimed as the rest of the group laughed.

“It obviously took a lot of time and planning didn't it? To capture all of us” Hotch said cooly, though on the inside he was boiling.

“Six months,” someone said, it was a new voice that came from the entrance of...the sewers? Poor Spencer was probably having an attack with all these germs.

“Hey boss! We got ‘em” another one said, god there was too many to remember.

“I can see, you missed two though” the Boss said as he looked at the team, a few of his men dragged Emily, Spencer and J.J. back to the wall they all sat at, “genius's lover, and the black guy's girlfriend” the man noted as his men became eerily quiet.

“The blonde girl was with that skinny guy,” a man pointed to Spencer, “And that one,” he pointed to Derek, “but they kept going to crowded places and bumping into people that we couldn't get them, and the other...one”

“The sexy one?” the boss's voice rang out with a grin.

“YOU LEAVE (Y/N) OUT OF THIS YOU BAS-” Spencer yelled before one of the men kicked him in the stomach, causing him to cough harshly.

“Shut it druggie” the Boss said, the looks on the teams faces gave him all the pleasure, “oh yeah, we know all about you guys; how Hotchner lost his wife, Rossi has had 3 divorces, Morgan was sexually abused, Prentiss has had an abortion at 15 and J.J., sweet little J.J. had a miscarrige” snickers from the men could be heard as the team looked away, embarrassment? No, just confused as to how these people knew such intimate things about them.

“And that little lover of yours, genius?” another voice questioned, the voice came toward Spencer, gripped the poor boy's hair and ripped his head up to look up at him as a pained expression came over the doctor, “they’re in for it big!” he cackled, “gonna have a lot of fun with them when we get them later,” and with that he threw Spencer against the wall, Spencer groaned as a few of his teammates called his name but he didn't register it, only the pounding in his ears and the feeling of blood rushing down his head. And with that, the men and their boss left, the door to the sewer room shut and the click of a lock echoed around the room, the silence the team heard afterwards was loud, deafening.

------

“What’ve we got Garcia?” you asked the analyst as you walked back into the room, placing 3 files on the table in front of her.

“Okay, very few cases including those words you gave me, a lot of the cases were only one unsub or two and I highly doubt there were only two unsubs so I crossed them off and? I got nothing,” the girl sighed as she got rid of the tabs to continue working, “the facial recognition software and car registration is still going, i've got hits for all of our friends being in the places that they mentioned, all of them had unfortunately been walking at the time but they go from one camera to another and then suddenly they're gone,”

“So our unsubs are sophisticated, this definitely took time to plan and get the right things for,” you mumbled as you looked at the victim board Garcia had hastily made up on the clear plastic, each member of your team's faces were up there along with a few other colour pieces of paper for the unsubs, and that's it.

“I haven't gotten any hits on the cars either” Garcia mentioned softly, you nodded.

“Okay well, i've got three cases here that all mention those words from before. First one is a group of five unsubs from Rossis and Gideons days but a lot of them are in jail if not all of them, the second is a cult group from Missouri and the last one is a gang of over thirty people; and not all of those thirty people had been found, prosecuted, jailed, killed and etcetera you get it” you fanned out the files and opened each of them.

“Which one do we think it is?” Garcia asked, we had no leads of which one it really is, so you took a breath and read over the files.

“Okay well, the five unsubs are all in jail and only two have been let out of prison in the last six months and it wouldn't be them because they only have two people in their gang, they’re loyal so they wouldn't start a new group without the originals” you closed the file and pushed it away and moved onto the other one, “the cult is rather big but they’re based in Missouri and i don't think they’d travel all the way over here to kidnap agents. This isn't religious or anything and they are so, definitely not them” you closed the file and landed on the last one, “okay, this one,” you looked over the file as Garcia started typing away, “fifteen have gotten out of jail in the past 2 years, five where never found and the rest are still in jail” you looked to Garcia, “this could be it”

“AH HA!” Garcia exclaimed, “i have a hit on three of those people who are in the system and they are following our lovely friends” Garcia typed another second as multiple video cameras came up showing your friends walking (or stumbling depending on who it was) along with one of three people following behind them a few feet.

“It has to be them then,” you said, “i'll go back down and find the rest of the files, Garcia i want you to find every bit of land, buildings, warehouses and houses they have ever bought, i want to know what they ate for breakfast on the third of january last year, i want to know what plumbing system they used in 2016; i wante everything” you said, albeit forcefully, as you walked out of the room and towards the file room again as Anderson walked back into the conference room and handed Garcia a few papers.

“Thank you Anderson,” Garcia mumbled as he looked over the paper, and sure enough there was fingerprints that matched one of the people who followed your teammates, Garcia then pulled up the video surveillance of the BAU and the facial recognition was quick to find the man enter the room, place the folder down with glove-less hands before walking out, he had a visitors pass.

-------

The scraping of metal against the floor awoke each member of the team slowly as a few people walked into the room, placed food trays on the ground in front of each team member, uncuffed the team and then walked out. The team looked to each other as a voice floated through a P.A. system above them.

“It isn't poisoned, and if you don't eat it then that's up to you but you will starve,” and the system shut off with a harsh beep.

“Hotch?” Derek asked.

“Eat unless you want to die,” was all their unit chief said before he moved forward and started eating the sandwich he had. Emily followed suit and gave a throaty moan as she drank the water from the goblet on the tray, the others soon followed.

-------

“There's nothing,” Garcia said as you entered the room again, “they don't have any land or anything,”

“Well find something then,” you said harshly, Garcia jumped slightly at your harsh tone but started typing again as you pinned up photos of each of the members out of the prison, “have you done a deep search on each person that's out of prison and that wasn't found?” you asked Garcia.

“Yes! Yes, five of the fifteen have alibis from the night our friends got taken and i can't find the rest nor can i find those other five that were never found, they really are off the grid (Y/n)” Garcia said as her fingers flew fast against the keyboard, you looked at the clock on the other side of the room.

“Ten hours,” you muttered, “god only knows what they’re going through,” you rubbed your hand over your face and paced slightly, “we have 15 persons of interest and we can't find them, do the ones with alibis have addresses?”

“They all do, three have work and home and the other two dont work and are stay-at-home-dads, all of their names and addresses have been sent to your phone” Garcia told you as a ping from your phone sounded.

“Okay, i'm going to go and check out that place Spencer gave me before he got taken, i'm gonna grab a few other people to go to other addresses because it'll save time and then regroup back here,” you said as you pulled your phone to your ear and started calling a few people.

~

You parked the car and made your way to French Road which was, as Spencer did say, to the east of the FBI headquarters. It looked like any other little street, a few cafes and a few empty blocks, it wasn't in the city but it wasn't in the suburbs; it wasn't deserted but it wasn't crowded, you noted this. Spencer and Derek weren't taken from here because they were in the middle of the city at the time of abduction, so there has to be something here that Spencer saw to make you come here. You looked in every alleyway on both sides of the street, doing a shallow dig in the dumpsters, opening a few cafe doors and asking a few questions but ending up with nothing. You let out a huff as you looked up and down the street again, until you realised something.

This was a dead end street. The end was a large circle so cars could do a U-turn and go the opposite way, stationed at the end of the street is a path to some sort of forest/secluded jogging track, this had to be a lead, it has to be. The leaves and sticks crunched as you walked along the track, your gun positioned next to you in your hand, ready for action whenever needed, that's when your phone made a large shrill and scared you half to death.

“What is it Mike?” you asked into the receiver after realising it was the other team who was out asking questions.

“We have a lead for the group from one of the stay-at-home-dads; they’ve been planning this for awhile but haven't put effort into it except for the past six months. We couldn't get a name because the guy was too loyal and was convinced they’d come after him but he did tell us that they tried to get in contact with him to regroup, he obviously refused but they left him alone after that, one phone call and nothing else,” Mike said, you could hear the slam of a car door as he got into one of the SUVs with his partner.

“Okay, that's good Mike, get that to Garcia and see if she can try and trace that call and what tower it's pinged from,” and with that you hung up as you heard Mike say ‘got it’ before the line went dead. You looked as far down the path as you could from where you stood but didn't go any further, if this was a lead then you would need backup and probable cause as to why you're there.

~

“All five of those men checked out with the same story, they each got a call asking them to rejoin the team and they refused, the caller disconnected right after that but they haven't gotten any threats since then. Unfortunately i couldn't find a tower it was pinging from and the number was from five different burner phones too,” Garcia said as you looked over the victim board.

“Background searches with those ten we had earlier?” you asked, “found anything else?”

“Um one, he's only 26 and but its a loose thread,” the picture came onto the screen, the man looked like he could pass as 16, “James Micheal, 26, the only thing i could find was that his credit card has weird transactions over the past six months so it fits our timeline however, i can't find the account it's going to so it must be a bugged one or fake or something similar” Garcia said as she brought up the transactions.

“Found him on the streets?” you asked, Garcia grinned and brought up a video feed, and upon further inspection, plus audio, you now had a profile.

-------

“Right-o,” a voice said, the metal door screeched open causing the team to wince as he and 2 other men stepped in, “who wants to go first?” he questioned, the sickening grin could be heard through his speech as the sewer was way too dark to see 3 feet in front of them.

“Grab the kid, he had the addiction,” another voice muttered before the men moved forward.

“HEY FUCK OFF,” Spencer yelled as two of the men tried to pin him down, Derek started scrambling towards Spencer to help but after a nasty blow to the jaw he backed away with guilt.

“Get the needle,” one of them said, this caused Spencer to tense, fuckfuckfuckfuck, this can't be happening, no way are they gonna inject him again.

“Look nerd, it's your old friend!” the first man said as he shook a small clear bottle in the slim stream of light from the roof, and sure enough there was a label with the one word that caused Spencer's fight or flight to make its appearance, Dilaudid.

“NO, DON'T YOU D-” a punch to the jaw caused Spencer to splutter and breath heavily as his arm was grabbed roughly, tied and the needle entered into his skin and vein, he sobbed. The team heard Spencer whimper as he felt the liquid inject into his veins and bloodstream, the telltale shortness of breath was quick to take its mark along with the immediate drowsiness as the men walked out without saying another word.

“SPENCE” J.J. exclaimed as the man in question fell into a slumber and the team crowded around the twitching boy, it was just like last time.

“Protect him,” Hotch said, “don't let them take him in this state, fight, bite, kick, i dont give a single shit,” the team looked at Hotch and nodded as they all took a silent oath to protect their friend.

------

“Our unsubs are up to ten people, possibly fifteen or more if they have recruited new people,” you started the profile with Garcia standing next to you, “we have one person of interest as of right now, James Micheal, we have video evidence and audio evidence of him speaking to each member of the BAU team trying to proposition them, as you all know a few of our team members would have ignored him, and a few would have talked or said a simple no; those who didn't say anything he continued to walk next to and annoy until that team member said something,” you took a breath, “we have evidence of James stalking the BAU team for the past 4 months from their work, to their home, to where they go for dinner on a special night or the bar; this includes both myself and Garcia in this stalking pile, we have added extra security to our own homes.”

“James has been making up to five thousand dollar transactions to some bugged account for the past six months and another two thousand dollars to a seperate account 2 months prior to those first six months,” Garcia was now delivering the digital trail, “this means he has been with this team for at least eight months, possibly more, he is most likely new, shy and unsure of what he is doing. James is being used and he knows he is but he has no way out as our unsubs keep saying things like ‘ill kill your family’, ‘you're nothing without us’, stuff like that,” Garcia used her hands to talk as she also pointed to the victim board to the photo of James’ driver's license.

“This team on unsubs are highly dangerous and we must proceed with caution around and with them, they all have gotten out of jail in the past 2 years and they obviously have a vengeance plan, please remember this. We also have a lead to where this team of unsubs could possibly be hiding but until we have James we cannot infiltrate the area. There is a fake missing person report out for James so we can hopefully get him into questioning, thank you,” and with that the people around you filtered away back to where they were meant to be going. You turned to Garcia.

“Do you think that was enough? What if we don't get to them wh-”

“Garcia stop, we cant think like that, we are the best of the best even without the team, okay?” you held Garcia enough to ground her as she nodded and wiped her tears.

“SSA (L/n)?” a new voice asked, you looked to the glass doors and sure enough, James Micheal was waiting there.

“James,” you said as you walked towards him.

“I saw the flyers and I just have one proposition,” James said, his voice was deep and definitely didn't match his face.

“What is it?” you asked as you walked to the interrogation room and allowed James to sit down in front of you with your back to the mirror, Garcia and Anderson were already standing in the small room before the interrogation room.

“I want protection until those guys are back in prison, i don't want them anywhere near me and i don't want them to find me,” James said, his voice was ridden with anxiety, you nodded.

“We can do that James, it's alright,” you reassured the man in front of you, “can you tell us who is in this group? Where are they staying?” you asked, James nodded.

“There's ten in the group, they're off the beaten track down some street in the east-”

“French Road?” you questioned, James nodded.

“Yeah, yeah that one,” he agreed, that was everything you needed from the previous encounter, “they don't have a lot of security but they’re pretty sophisticated with what they have on hand. They know everything about all of that team though,” Jack mentioned, “Emily got an abortion and that Red dude?”

“Reid” you corrected.

“Reid, they know of his Dilaudid thing and Hotch and his wife - they know everything,” Jack was shaking now, “they-they said they were going to use that against the team, the addiction, the trauma all of that”

“They’re going to dose Reid?” you asked with your shaken voice, that wasn't a good thing. Jack nodded as he looked to the clock.

“Most likely have already,” he whispered, you looked to the clock, 12 hours since the disappearance. Fuck. You nodded.

“You’ll be taken by another agent to a safe house and let out when this team is apprehended,” was all you said before walking out of the room and letting the door shut behind you. Your throat tightened and you couldn't breath as you sunk to your knees, Garcia and Anderson rushing to you.

“Breath (Y/n), breath” Garcia reminded you, “breath with me my sweetness” she said, Garcia made more effort to show her breathing as you tried to copy her, a few minutes passed before you had finally calmed down, tears streaked your eyes as you bumbled your words.

“I-its French road, Spencer was onto something,” you mumbled softly, “th-they know everything, from Reid's addi-addiction to Emily, and Hotch's wife,” you took a deep breath, “I-I want S.W.A.T. stationed with me, w-we’re going to infiltrate that place with the hel-lp of Jack and his direction-ns, possibly a map,” you looked to Anderson who nodded and walked out while taking out his phone to call for S.W.A.T., “Garcia i dont want you there,” you said, looking at the girl, she nodded in understanding as you stood up and started walking towards the way of the S.W.A.T. team.

------

J.J, Derek, Emily, Hotch and Rossi all whimpered as each member got kicked, punched, pulled, twisted and everything in between, Spencer was only just coming to from the drugs.

“N-no, dont,” Spencer whimpered, he was weak and could barely open his eyes but soon slipped back into a slumber.

“Y-you won't get away with this,” Emily whispered as one of the men gripped her jaw, her voice hoarse and scratchy.

“Oh darling, we will,” the man grinned as he threw the girl to the floor as the others piled the team on top of the others, all groaning and silently crying.

In retrospect, (Y/n) was rather glad that all members of the team were in the room when the door was busted open.

“FBI, PUT YOUR HANDS UP,” you yelled, the words echoing around the room, the men snickered as S.W.A.T. trained their guns on the men.

“It’s alright boys,” the boss said, your eyes trained towards the voice.

“Let. My team. Go,” you said calmly, gun now cocked, the man laughed.

“Go on boys,” the men moved out of the room but the boss stayed standing.

“Grab the team,” you said to S.W.A.T. behind you, the men walked in slowly and trusted you with your trained gun as they started carrying or walking out your team members, one having to cradle Spencer bridal style, “ambulance,” you said into the mic on your vest, “we need an ambulance for a poentional OD, Dilaudid was used, possibly a cocktail of other drugs but its unknown. Dont use other narcotics and if i find out you do i will be going to jail due to murder of doctors and nurses,” the sirens wailed in the distance.

“You’ve got tendencies too,” the boss said in front of you, “murder, killing, everything” you scoffed.

“Everyone does, its whether we have the empathy and understanding of ‘that's wrong’, which is why we don't do it unlike you people,” you seethed through your teeth, “hands up, you are under arrest for the kidnapping and torture of six FBI agents,” the man stayed silent for a moment.

“(Y/n) (L/n),” the man said, “pathetically in love with Agent Spencer Re-”

“It’s Doctor,” a voice said behind you, the cock of a gun could be heard before the tell-tale sound of a bullet being fired next to you, your natural reflexes made you dive to the right (as the bullet came from the left) as the boss was hit in the forehead and fell to the floor. You looked to the gun carrier.

Spencer Reid.

Gun held out straight, no tremble and a stern look.

Spencer looked to you and tears immediately spilled from his eyes as you stayed stone against the floor, “i see you got my message,” Spencer said softly with a smile before he collapsed to the floor in a heap of limbs, the gun clattering to the floor as paramedics rush to Spencers aid.

It seemed to go in slow motion, everything whizzed past you as other paramedics helped you to your feet, your eyes glassy and vision blurred as you got brought to the back of an ambulance. Around you each member of your team was being attended to, brought to a stretcher and taken in another ambulance, eight ambulance’s in total.

It was okay, you got all of the men, all of your team was safe.

Except.

“HES FLATLINING”

“We need to get him to the hospital NOW!”

“HE'S GOING TO O.D.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #derek morgan #jj #penelopie garcia #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds x reader

[seasonsofeverlark]

you & I (just meant to be)

Author: @rosegardeninwinter​

Prompt: This silly, silly ditty was inspired by two (count ‘em! two!) lovely prompts which are as follows “Peeta can’t stop staring at Katniss in her costume :0” and “Everlark meeting at a fancy dress party dressed as a ‘matching’ pair, although they don’t each other - maybe a famous couple but who don’t need the other … Joker and Harley Quinn, Batman and Robin or my favorite: Anna and Elsa from Frozen … Peeta would make a wonderful Anna” - I thought these two went well together, and took a couple of creative liberties to make them jive. Hope you lovelies like! [submitted by @deardiaryithinkiamaghost​ and @wendywobbles​]

Rating: T, for implied Everlark shenanigans 

Author’s Note: Thank you to my dear @archersandsunsets​ for her second pair of eyes on this one and to all the lovely moderators and coordinators of @seasonsofeverlark​, the true MVPs. It’s been a busy month, so I apologize for any incoherence. Sometimes, the heart just wants goofy modern AU fluff. Alrighty, Chatty Cathy is done … enjoy! 

____________

“Katniss, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Prim exclaims, though it sounds pretty pathetic with her congested, pinked nose. “You make the perfect ice queen!” 

“I don’t think that’s usually a compliment,” Katniss says dourly, plopping down on the couch where her sister is situated with several fuzzy blankets, a box of tissues, and a large bowl of ice cream. She can’t taste it very well, but it’s the spirit of the thing that counts. Prim is in denial. 

“I wish I could go,” she whines, holding the “o” in a long, dramatic note. 

“I wish I could stay,” Katniss shoots back, holding the “ay” just as long. 

“No you don’t,” Prim shoos. “You love our friends.” 

“I do,” Katniss sighs, plucking at the silver sequined sleeves of her—well, Prim’s—Elsa costume. It’s too long on Katniss, with her sister’s good half inch on her, but it’s all they’ve got. Her original plan was to pull the classic black top and pants plus cat ears, but when it became apparent Prim wasn’t budging from the couch this Halloween, the real snowy blonde princess of the family had insisted Katniss take her outfit. 

“You can’t show up to Finnick’s in a slapdash, last second costume, Katniss,” she’d said. “The man lives for Halloween. Don’t insult his extravagance with plastic headbands and tails.” 

“I do love our friends, but … I don’t want to go out tonight. I’m tired.”

“Just half an hour,” Prim says. “Snag me some candy, make some pleasantries” — “okay, Jane Bennet” —  “and then come home. At least one of us needs to show up. Just pretend to have a social life for thirty minutes, okay? For me.” 

Katniss rolls her eyes as she gets up from the couch in a twinkling of blue overlay and snowflake hair pins in her braid. She does a quick once over of her shadowy makeup in the hallway mirror as she grabs her car keys. “What do you want?” 

“Chocolate. Anything with chocolate and peanut butter. I’ll save it for when I can experience taste again,” Prim calls back. “Oh, and if Delly’s cousin is there, all of the cupcakes he brought.”

“Mmkay. All the chocolate and cupcakes, coming right up,” Katniss says with a resigned smile. On her way out, she clicks on her phone. It’s just now eight. She resolves to be firmly ensconced in bed by nine at the latest. She gives her sister a wave, keys jangling. “I’ll be back. Soon.” 

At ten thirty, Prim looks up from her Harry Potter induced doze to find she’s received a text from her sister. 

Staying a little later. Fifteen minutes maybe. Have the treats.  

Prim checks the time stamp. The text was sent forty five minutes ago. This might be cause for alarm were it not for the text underneath Katniss’s, from Finnick. It’s a photo, taken in front of a makeshift photo op with purple and silver and orange streamers in the background and cutesy little bat and pumpkin and vampire fang cardboard props for people to hold up. It’s captioned “You can’t marry a man you just met!” 

Prim brings her hand to her mouth to catch a laugh before it turns into a cough. Her sister, Elsa costume sparkling in the flash, is pretending to shake her finger disapprovingly at her “Anna” counterpart. The laugh breaks free this time. Prim grabs for her tepid tea to soothe her throat as she cracks up over the really incredible image of Peeta Mellark, Delly Cartwright’s stocky older cousin, in a red braided wig, and strikingly accurate green rosemaled gown, sitting quite comfortably, if amusingly, over his athletic build. He’s pretending to gripe back at Katniss about why exactly he can marry Hans of the Southern Isles. Their mock scowls barely contain smiles. 

Prim quickly fires a text back to Finnick: How??? Did that happen??? 

Finnick’s text comes through a second later: The Lord works in mysterious ways! Idk!

Okay but like?? Yes??

I know!!!!

Some people are worth melting for???? 

Her cold never bothered him anyway? *finger guns*

Omg. 

Katniss arrives back at the house at five to midnight, and Prim pretends to be asleep, watching with one eye cracked half open as her sister unstraps her silver heels and dumps them by the front door, drops her keys into the bowl. Sets down a full bag of what Prim can only guess are cupcakes and sweets. 

She’s humming under her breath. It sounds like the chorus of “Love is an Open Door.” Prim wonders if it’s possible that her folk and indie music loving sister actually listened to a Disney album on the way home. Katniss unbraids her hair and shakes it loose, dropping the pins on the side table as she sinks into the squashy chair kitty-corner to Prim’s couch. She curls up, knees to chest, making her look like some sort of ice mermaid as she takes out her phone and taps something on it, still humming. Prim watches her chew her cheek pensively, as if deciding to send the text. She takes a deep breath and taps one final time on the screen, then drums her phone nervously against her lips for a moment. Prim’s nerves are firing with anticipation. 

They wait a silent minute. Two. Three. Three and a half — 

Katniss’s screen lights up again and she flips the phone up to stare at the reply. Her whole face softens. Eyes, brow, edges of her mouth. Katniss bites her lip and closes her eyes, letting her head fall back onto the chair cushion with a contented sigh. “‘You know what’s crazy?’” she sing-songs in a mumble under her breath. “‘We finish each other’s sandwiches … I’ve never met someone who thinks so much like …” She yawns. “Me.” 

“You know,” Prim says, and Katniss shrieks, sending her phone flying to the carpet, “Peeta Mellark strikes me more as a Kristoff than a Hans.” 

“Prim!” Katniss yelps, going red. “Wha — what? What do you mean?” 

“So we’re done with stupid plastic cat ears for Halloween then I take it?”

[the very next Halloween] 

“Whoa. Okay.” Peeta sits up from the pile of cushions at the head of their bed, eyes wide and staring in approval, pupils gone dark. “Katniss Everdeen in cat ears is not something I knew I needed until this moment.” 

“Oh sure,” Katniss laughs. “Because it’s definitely the cat ears that are doing it for you. Not these.” She hoists one stockinged leg up onto the bed like a mountain climber posing for a magazine. 

“Well, those are certainly part of the appeal,” he teases, reaching for her leg, running his hands up and down the silk tights. “As is this lovely number.” He toys with the hem of her dress, a strapless black velvet thing that falls just above her knee. “Where’s this from?”

“Jo,” Katniss sighs. “She says if I’m going to be a cat, I need to be a Gretchen Wieners level cat.” 

“For whose benefit, I wonder?” Peeta muses, cheek nuzzling gently at her lower thigh. 

“You wonder?” Katniss laughs, taking her leg away and flopping onto the bed. She glances over at him, eyes sly and somehow soft at once. “I don’t.” 

“I can’t help thinking,” he muses. “that this is something of a counterproductive plan on Jo’s part. Because now, I have a sudden and distinct interest in staying in tonight.” 

“Oh?” Katniss raises a come hither eyebrow and pushes up on her elbows to accept the kiss he plants on her lips as he crawls over her, urging her back to the headboard. “Is it the cat ears?” She reaches up to give the (already molting) plastic and faux fur ears a flick. 

“The Kat ears,” he says. He nips softly at her real ear and she shivers. “The Kat nose.” He kisses that too. His nose nudges her head back, inclining her neck at the perfect angle for him to plant a stretch of kisses down it. “The Kat neck.” His mouth wanders down the front of her dress and he scoots down the bed with it. “The Kat’s cradle.”

“You have that,” she says, hiking her legs up to hug around his middle because her arms can’t reach to hold him. “You’ll always have that.” 

“A piece of that Kit Kat bar.” He kisses her stomach. “The whole Kit and Caboodle,” he teases and she laughs loudly, but on a dime his tone is changing, from silly and playful into husky and dangerous, as he moves lower. “Kitten,” he murmurs and her fingers curl in the bedsheets at the name. “Grab my phone,” he tells her, hooking his fingers around the band of her tights, “Tell Finnick we’re going to be late.” 

An hour or so later finds the cat ears lost somewhere among the remains of their costumes and a hasty snack of pepperoni rolls cooking in the convection oven. Peeta, festooned in boxers and an old apron, presides over the food like it needs a baker’s supervision. Katniss perches on the counter, wrapped chest to toes in the white sheet she pulled from their bed, feet batting absently at the cabinets. 

“This is a good look too,” he tells her, gesturing with the salad tongs he’s using to handle the pepperoni rolls. 

“What is? This sheet?” 

“I was thinking more along the lines of sexy ghost.” 

“Or sexy Roman senator,” she laughs, tossing one edge of the sheet over a bare shoulder. “Sexy Julius Caesar.”

“You’d make a good Julius Caesar,” he says. 

“Why?”

“You’ve got that “came, saw, conquered” vibe. Least that’s how I felt that night at Finnick’s party.”

“Conquered?” 

“I was gonna say seen, but — yes. Conquered too. I couldn’t stop looking at you.” He snaps his fingers. “Sexy ice queen? Definitely.” 

“I’m not exactly sure what kind of Freudian analysis one could make on falling in love with the guy dressed as your fictional sister but — ”

Peeta shrugs as the timer beeps, and he sets to fishing the pepperoni rolls onto a plate for them to share. “I choose to think of it as a metaphor for how the two people you love most in the world are your real, actual sister …” He sets the rolls beside her on the counter and sets his hands gently on her sides. She lets the sheet fall and pool slightly around her waist to cup his face as he leans in to kiss her forehead, very gently, thumbs rubbing circles on her hips. “And some loser who has the luck of … oh, I guess having the same first initial and hair color as she does,” he jokes. 

“And the same beautiful heart,” Katniss corrects in a whisper. “I mean that.” She’s rarely so sentimental to anyone except him. She smirks. “And I haven’t even started drinking yet.” 

“Well, my pretty kitty,” he starts, wrapping both his arms around her middle and hoisting her off the counter. She rolls her eyes, even as her hands card through his hair. “The night is still young.” 

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #rosegardeninwinter #submission #octoberlark 2020 #octoberlark

[valkyriesryde]

Vigilante

Part Two to Shut Up

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Mutant Fem!Reader

Summary: Rumours of a vigilante that stands of neither side of good or bad spread. The devil punishes whomever she pleases and she’s made quite a name for herself. But who is she really?

2.5kish general warning for fear mongering and swearing i guess? but its really not that bad imo

A/N: Yeaaa Idk guys, this might just be a two parter, I kind of like the open ending but if you’d like to see more of have any ideas of where you might want this to go then let me know! Otherwise I’m pretty happy with how this turned out!

Three months. Solid grades. Improvement all around. Graduated from the academy. And yet…

A desk job. Stuck at the fucking desk while everyone else is out there.

“You’re not equipped for field work…”

“You’re more useful behind the scenes…”

Fuck em all.

It took two weeks behind that desk for you to hand in your resignation. You told them you’d rather work security, that this isn’t what you thought it was going to be. Which, I mean, it wasn’t a complete lie. You thought working for SHIELD, working for the Avengers, was going to be action, saving the world, missions that you’d work your butt off for. But all you got was pushing papers and organising intel for field agents with no promise of becoming one yourself and none of them even showed any sort of gratitude for the work you did do.

She’ll never get anything better than this

You’d heard your boss think to himself when you handed in your resignation.

You smirked and shook your head as you thought about the interaction a year and a half on. He was right, you’d never get anything better than SHIELD, so why not make it for yourself.

Why not make your own path. Why not stop sitting around and trying to find something that fits what you’re after and instead go out and get it yourself.

One has a lot of free time when they have no job and are able to live off of their savings and contract work. In that free time one has the perfect opportunity to practice and perfect their skills and in some cases, like yours, powers. It’s amazing what you’re able to do when you put in the hard work. It’s amazing what sort of reputation you can build for yourself when you put yourself out there.

A reputation to be reckoned with, and nobody even knew who you were.

Many referred to you as a ghost.

You haunted the hallways of the abandoned fortresses. You whispered in the ears of those you hunted and told them their worst fears. You made them run and cower as you walked silently in the shadows after them. Without even lifting a finger you had even the likes of Hydra handing themselves in. You were a feared vigilante.

But the world didn’t like vigilantes. In fact, they were quite against them. SHIELD especially made an effort to either recruit or put a stop to any vigilantes they could find. They’d tried for months to get their hands on you, but you were always one step ahead of them. They thought you were like Scarlet Witch at first, seeking revenge on Hydra and those who had done you wrong until they found no pattern or relation between the victims driven mad by your torment. Then they thought you just had similar powers to her but that didn’t explain your method of actions, you didn’t have the same manipulating powers as her, you spoke into the minds of your victims, you read their thoughts and you picked out what they feared most and whispered it in their ear without getting near them, without even being seen.

When those who faced you were questioned they were already driven mad, screaming for help, yelling about the ghost.

“It’s the voice of the devil,” one had muttered warily to Captain America when asked what you sounded like. “Lucifer is here and she’s punishing us all!”

“Isn’t Lucifer typically male?” The agent sitting across from the man asked. Steve Rogers leaned against the wall watching the man twitch and his eyes dart around him.

“You’re wrong, it’s her it has to be. She promised I’d pay for my sins, she knew all my fears - she knew everything! I didn’t even see her but her voice, you can’t mistake it…” he kept muttering and Steve stood straight, his interest piquing, “Lucifer walks the earth.”

Lucifer

That’s what they called you now. The devil. It went round and round the rumour mill between all agencies, good and bad. ‘The devil walked the earth’ they said, ‘she takes no prisoners’ they said. And when the lights went dark in the warehouse, the agents knew exactly what was coming and the extremists buying their weapons had no idea.

“Not now,” one of the agents whimpered, you recognised his voice from your past, back in training and the corners of your mouth twitched up.

Hello Connor, you whispered in his ear from the rafters, throwing stars in your hand. What do we have here?

“No no GET OUT!” He yelled and held his head in his hands, the lights flickered as he fell to the ground crying out for you to spare him.

“Whats happening?!” One of the extremists said, his gun ready to fire at will but he wasn’t quick enough before a throwing star pierced his hand and the weapon dropped to the floor.

What would your little sister think of your actions, you asked him.

She has to have a limit of range? You heard suddenly. They must be within ten metres for you to unwillingly hear their thoughts. Another familiar voice, Falcon.

Are you here to steal my prey birdy? You asked him and heard his footing slip slightling in the rafters to your left in surprise.

Who’s to say you’re not the prey I’m here for? He said back and you could hear the smirk in his voice. Not so quickly you thought to yourself.

We’re on the same team you and I.

“Steve, she’s here.”

Your movement stopped as you neared the edge of the ceiling and looked down, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes had the extremists in handcuffs while the other two agents stood nearby with their weapons still held ready in their hands. If this was staged they would have the place surrounded, or at least all exits taken care of. For a second you thought about sneaking into Bucky’s head but that man had had enough people in his head, you felt for him, he didn’t deserve another. Then you thought maybe Steve’s to convince him you were one of the same. But what are the off chances he recognised your voice? Sam had never heard you talk, even if he had overheard you it’s unlikely he would put two and two together.

“Lucifer are you here?” Steve called out.

You were stuck. You were face to face with the personification of the institute that dismissed you. These were the leaders of the organisation that had told you you weren’t good enough. This was the man that pushed you to be better completely out of spite. 

“You’re my creator,” you whispered under your breath and an idea came to mind.

Quickly and quietly you moved further away from Sam, he dropped to the floor beside Steve a second later and you kept eyes on the group as they stood back to back in the middle of the warehouse.

I’m Lucifer am I? You whispered into their minds and all five men were on instant alert. I’m the devil you say? I guess that’s somewhat fitting isn’t it. The punisher of sinners. There’s just so many sinners that walk this plane aren’t there. You know all about that don’t you war heroes. Bucky and Steve peered to each other nervously.

You’ve seen enough sinners to last several lifetimes. You continued moving around them above their heads until you stood facing Bucky. You’ve been them. You whispered in his ear and Bucky understood how your voice had driven people insane before.

“Ignore her Bucky,” Sam said through gritted teeth, his wings stretched.

You’re all guilty for something, aren’t you Falcon. You were in his head now, watching his friend fall to his death as you relayed the image and he screwed his eyes shut to try and push it away. We all have our demons. It was Steve’s turn, his mind was strong but there were so many images to choose from.

Bucky falling from the train, he adjusted his stance.

Being beaten in a back alley, his breathing shallowed.

His mother on her deathbed. “Ignore it Steve.” Bucky told him.

Some make us stronger, you stood directly above them, it was as if you were standing right behind him, the way your voice crept up the back of his neck. But they still hurt.

Steve’s eyes screwed shut now as you showed him dark blue eyes with smudged black soot around them staring at him as if he were a stranger. Red lipstick that quivered and sobbed. Ginger hair and a sharp jaw smeared in blood falling to the ground. Over and over, the eyes, the distinguishing features of all those he held so dear at their worst where he couldn’t protect them. You went through them all, you found them so easily he kept them with him always in his mind until you stopped suddenly and Steve gasped as he stepped back at the last image he saw.

A blue mat. Black sneakers, with tights to match circling it. Shaking hands, a bell rang then nothing. Familiarity ran through you as you stood straight above them.

“STEVE?!”

It’s you. He said trying to find you as he spun around but you stayed as still as humanly possible.

“Steve what the hell did she do to you!?” Bucky smacked his chest.

“Take these guys and get out of here.” Steve told him with no further explanation as he stepped between the rows and piles of crates.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Bucky bit back.

“That’s an order, I know who it is and we won’t get her unless you all leave right now.”

I know it’s you.

You needed to leave. You needed to get out, he can’t find you. Exits, there wasn’t an easy exit and if they were leaving now that makes you leaving even harder.

The four men followed Steve’s direction, though begrudgingly, and took the two prisoners with them. You heard the car drive off, watched the lights through the window disappear and then it was just the two of you.

“I wondered what you had gotten up to after you left SHIELD you know?” Steve called out, he continued weaving through the crates around the warehouse and you followed him along the beaming. “I even tried looking you up to see, but I couldn’t find you. I suppose I should have been suspicious of that, it was like you just disappeared but I didn’t think much of it. I thought maybe you’d just moved away, it’s not uncommon.”

Why was he talking to you like this? Why did he care?

“I was really rooting for you, when I saw you didn’t become a field agent I was a little disappointed, I thought you would have and if not in that round of selection at least the next one. But you did have some things you needed to work on I guess,” he chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess you worked on your powers though, they must have needed the extra attention. Well done, you’ve come a long way from just hearing people’s thoughts.”

He disappeared behind a crate for a second before he came back into view on the other side. You wondered if he had a plan of any sort but you knew his reputation, he could easily come up with one on the spot if he needed to.

“What about your combat skills? Did you work on them?”

He was baiting you, urging you to come out from your hiding and prove to him how far you’d come because you’d done it once before.

I don’t owe you that.

You almost shouted it at him but that would give away your position and you weren’t about to give the super soldier the upper hand.

“You don’t owe me anything. I owe you.”

Your steps stopped as he did and he looked at the ground ahead of him and sighed.

“I owe you an apology. I pushed you too hard, myself and the others, we didn’t give you the attention you needed or deserved. I wanted so badly to see you after the exams, I wanted to ask you to have coffee with me, I wanted to help you, to learn more about you. I didn’t think you’d welcome me, so I didn’t go looking for you until a month after you’d already left. That’s how I found out. Connor laughed when I asked him where you were, he said you’d quit, that you couldn’t handle it. I knew that wasn’t the case, you wouldn’t just quit.”

You don’t know me like you think I do.

“I do.” Steve looked up at the beams but you were two steps behind him, there was no way he could see you. “Because I was you.”

Then you know why I won’t be joining you any time soon Captain America.

The window slammed shut behind you and Steve made a move as he scaled the crates into the beaming to find nothing but dust and spider webs and an unlocked window.

Stay true to yourself.

You heard his voice as you jumped from the edge of the roof to the next building and made a run for it. Tears brimmed your eyes but you couldn’t let that slow you down as you kept running from the warehouse, from Steve.

There’s a difference between a vigilante and a hero.

A hero is someone who is admired, they have a list of achievements and people look up to them, want to be them. They work with law enforcement, they strive for greatness.

A vigilante is self-appointed. They refuse to work with law enforcement, they are feared, and hunted. They are not welcome on the streets by those that try to control it. But often they are called for by the people because those who have sworn to protect them have failed the populace.

You didn’t categorise yourself as either. You were neither admired nor wanted by either groups you worked for and against. The people didn’t know about you, the establishment hunted you.

Thanks to the Avengers, to SHIELD and to Captain America, you were something different. You were the devil in the shadows.

Permanent Taglist [30/50]: @witch-of-letters @buckysmischief @marvelsangels @momobaby227@weirdlyokaywithit @disgustangg @bucky-blogs @geeksareunique @stuckonjbbarnes @victorianvampirebf@mushyjellybeans @lovesmesomehiddles @this-kitten-is-smitten @itsunclebucky @kitkatd7 @lokisironthrone@supraveng @thinkoutsidethebex @binkysteebnpewter @starbxcks @agent-barnes40@theannoyingnightmarecollector @starkerhowlter @fckdeusername @laneygthememequeen @thefridgeismybestie@wonderlandfandomkingdom @aikeia @laneygthememequeen @adriannajackson​

And those that asked for Part 2′s or who i think might be interested: @avengersbabe13​ @farfromjustordinary​ @gothglamonenightstand​ @sourpatchspinster​ @idk123906​ @dottirose​

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fluff

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Chapter Three: I'm Treading For My life, Believe Me

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn’t going to go down without a fight. It’s just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count:  6103

Author’s Note: I did listen, on repeat, to the Anastasia soundtrack while writing this. Which, you would think, would make this a rather happy chapter and if you thought that... how silly you will feel in a few moments. You can find the first chapter here! 

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird) bonus: I’m 19 and a humanities major so obviously I don’t know anything about medicine so I’m doing my best out here

Not knowing how to think I scream aloud, begin to sink My legs and arms are broken down With envy for the solid ground

There is not a sound. Not a shiver. The floorboards do not moan lowly. No hinge gives its creaking complaint. The disturbance is a felt one. Something she feels right where her fourth rib meets her sternum. It has no name. Calling it instinct is superstitious. Claiming it as training or intuition is childish.

It has everything to do with love and fear.  And love and fear alone.

“Aaron?” The comforter he seems to be forever tangled has been kicked away in his fitful sleep. In the low light of the room, the hallway light seeping in, she can see his heaving chest. As though he has run a great deal, not lying supine on his bed. “Aaron, can you hear me?” Despite the bitter scent of sweat, she can’t tell what it is that draws her deeper into the room.

Slowly, his dark eyes open, breathing rasping out as he opens his mouth to answer but no sound leaves his pale lips.

Looking over her shoulder, only after looking and listening for a sign they’ve awoken Jack, does she enter the room. Shutting the door behind her, she stifles the room to darkness. She can’t even see the hand extended in front of her. Not that she needs it. The path of his room is simple.

Two steps in there is an outfit shed by the dresser on her right side. The pant leg extends out and if she doesn’t lift her foot, she’ll trip. Three more steps in and she needs to extend her hand just a fraction to feel the cool wooden bed frame. There she can pivot herself with its aid. Step high over the sweatshirt on the floor and she’s good. Well, mostly.

She gets tangled in the comforter he kicked off.

“Em--” he coughs, letting out an achy moan. “Emily?”

She gets to his nightstand and leans heavily on the old wood, catching her breath. The damn blanket was like fighting an octopus. “Right here,” she promises, knocking all kinds of shit to the floor as she fights her way to the lamp. It comes on with a click and they both wince at its sharpness. She’s got her eyes closed, trying to allow her pupils some small reprieve, when his hand wraps around her forearm. Cold clammy fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Hotch?”

The soft hazel of his eyes is unfamiliar. “I want to go home,” he rasps softly. His chest shutters with the effort the simple request has taken. The tears in his eyes slide down his cheeks without the guilt. He strikes her. Not with his palm open and hands roughened by callouses. He does not hit her or cause her to draw back with his words. By the look in his eyes. The confusion. The pain.

“Aaron--” Once and only once does she consider trying to convince him that he is exactly where he craves to be. Mouth open, the words pushing at her tongue, she decides that will only hurt them both. Softening the look on her face, she crouches down by his side. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

The rash on his chest has depended its angry red, it taunts her now as the glisten of his sweat across his pale skin. Every visit to the doctor promises that it’s not as bad as it looks. It causes him mild discomfort and nothing can be done. It is a product of the radiation. To heal the wound is futile. Stepping off a cliff to avoid a hill.

“You’re feverish,” she notes, moving the back of her palm against his forehead. To her surprise, he doesn’t pull away from her touch. Not even as her fingers draw against the sharp peak of his cheek bones. He lays, compliant, eyes foggy but on her. With a fond sigh, she observes, “dehydrated. You didn’t drink the water I gave you.”

When he speaks, he sounds much more like himself. The tone costs him more than it's worth. “My throat hurts.” Which is an awful excuse but it’s the truth and she knows it’s just another part of normal life falling away from her grasp. Today it is just water but tomorrow it is the hospital. It’s the central line and the saline and the tube they’re going to place in his stomach because he’s reaching the point of inabilities.

And it is never as simple as a sore throat.

She’s tired of seeing his blood so casually wiped from his pale skin. The bags under his eyes deepened to caverns and the lakes of tears in his eyes. There is nothing she can do. The mass of cancer can be cut out of his flesh but the cells could still multiply. Quite simply, there is nothing she can do for him. Except--

“Stay.”

He mistakes her movement for the path to leave. She’s just aiming to pull the comforter back over him.

“I--” They look at each other. She sees so much burning vulnerability. “I’ll stay,” she caves and with that promise she can reach down and pull the comforter back over his body.

Already, his eyes are dropping shut. “You can--” he coughs, his whole body jarred by the movement. “You can sit, Emily. I can keep my hands to myself.”

She rolls her eyes but sits down on the corner of the bed. She takes his hand, rubbing at his knuckles when he turns his head to cough. “Shut up,” comes her hesitation reply. It feels wrong, misplaces. She wants to slip into their innocent, normal tit-for-tat banter but he’s not up for it. It’s not what he needs or is even capable of.

“Please don’t just sit there and stare at me,” he rasps.

Her face flushes. She had been doing exactly that. “If I lay down, you better not try to cuddle me.”

He huffs at that but whatever he might have said is overshadowed by his deep, nasty sounding coughs.

She reaches

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

She gently moves her hand across the bed sheet until she finds his. Interlacing her fingers with his she manages, thickly, “please don’t die.” His head turns on his pillow and she can feel him looking at her but she keeps her eyes on the ceiling. After a long pause, her heart beating frantically the whole way, he simply squeezes her hand. Not a promise… just comfort. Sniffling she sits up and grabs some of the blanket, pulling it over her own bare legs. “Stop hogging the covers. You’re not the only who might want some.”

As she settles down, turning her back to him, she closes her eyes. Feeling the hot stream of her tears falling over her face. The last thing she hears before she falls asleep is his hoarse voice, full of tears of his own. “I’m so sorry Emily.”

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

“How are you?”

Radiation was early this morning. He’d been lying if he didn’t admit that he gave Emily hell about it. Which he does feel fairly guilty about but she got what she wanted to he’s not that sorry. For the first time, he let her come in with him. Mostly because he didn’t have the strength to get himself out of the car but if he doesn’t dwell on that thought too much then it’s okay.

But he also knows that Emily told Garcia about this morning. Briefly, no doubt, about him being an absolute pain in the ass. Mostly how he’d let her tie his shoes. How he’d limped, leaning heavily against the wall to the bathroom and losing the meager bit of breakfast he had. Whatever she knows, she wears on her face. The worried crinkle between her brows. The downward quirk of her pink sparkling lips.

She shouldn’t be here.

Despite the ear protection Dave had spent so much time finding, his ears still ache from the rattling from the radiation machine. Every nerve in his body agitated by hot fire packers digging further and deeper into his brain. The dancers with their little tacs glued to their shoes traveling along his skin. To his legs and then up his arms. And, yet, he pushes on.

As confidently as he can manage, he forces himself to focus his eyes on Garcia. Smiling through the haggard, involuntary sway of his body. “I’m okay, Garcia. No need to worry.”

But she can see how pale his skin has gotten over the last month. How the shadow of a beard across his cheeks makes him look sicker, weaker. She knows that he won’t like her attention but she craves for Aaron Hotchner. So, she finds herself looking at him longer, trying harder to see within him. To find her boss and not the ghost he’s left behind. “We… I love you, sir. You know that, right?” She hesitantly touches his hand and as much as she thought it would hurt to feel him recoil it hurts even worse when he doesn’t.

But he’s here, isn’t he? Is it not just like her stupidly brave boss to keep trying, to keep pushing?

Hotch’s hand trembles where she’s captured it in her own and as self-conscious as that makes him feel… he can’t pull away. All these shields, blocades he’s built around himself have been his destruction. He’s pushed them away until they no longer let him near without armor of their own. Always prepared to enter the cave and find a beast. But Garcia, merciful Garcia, still just sees him. It terrifies him but he just wants someone to disregard his wishes. To throw caution to the wind and hug him. Touch him.

“I know,” he manages. He smiles, clenching his teeth to refrain from showing or saying how much better he feels with her around.

She stands, leaving his side. “Just making sure,” she confirms. She turns, her hand on his shoulder, as she takes in the state of his house. Empty. Emily has been diligent with cleaning up after them. Hotch, too, when he can manage to stand long enough to wash the dishes.

She remembers, like a blow to the heart, that Emily has fallen behind on laundry. That had been the one chore Hotch was solidly keeping up on. Emily had seemed so positive about that, only a few weeks ago. Smiling as she reassured he was very adamant to let her anywhere near the laundry (and as she suspected, his underwear) so as long as he was managing to be his usual stubborn self things would be fine. They had been. But after the nose bleeds he’s not as strong. His appetite is gone and every week when they draw his blood the odds are slowly shifting out of his favor.

He’s anemic and they gave him a blood transfusion at the hospital after the nose bleed but it hasn’t helped. Now he takes iron supplements and a pill that smells horrible and tastes even worse. He can get over the pills. It’s just two more in the sea of things he takes. It’s the fact that he can’t lift anything. Years of training and rigorous training down the drain but his knees are like jelly and his arms like boiled noodles.

On top of all that, this morning they talked about starting chemotherapy in addition to the radiation. His cells aren’t responding. So, Emily’s thoughts have been elsewhere. Not on the laundry steadily building unwashed.

“I’m going to make myself useful,” she says, getting in a quick kiss before he can put up too much of a fight. She’s not sure if his lack of response is good or not. Either way, she tucks a blanket up around him. Smiling when he just looks up at her-- there’s a flash of Hotch in his exhausted eyes. He starts to fuss with her-- she doesn’t need to clean, that’s not why she’s here (which they really don’t need to argue about unless she wants to hash out how she’s really here to babysit him).

But he just sinks into the pillow behind his head. No fight.

“Please tell me if you need help,” she says as she walks away. He hums something under his breath but she knows he won’t. She’ll just have to listen for him.

The laundry really isn’t that bad.

Emily’s room is a mess but Emily is a bit of a mess herself so it’s not that surprising. She picks up minimally. Moving anything around too much will just make Emily flustered to have been caught. So, she just picks up the towels she sees and a few pairs of shirts and pants she knows Emily likes the most and heads to the laundry room. The washing machine and dryer are down the hall, pushed aside in a closet like space.

Tossing in what she’s gathered she goes back to Emily’s room-- she’s just wasting time so she doesn’t have to go into Hotch’s room. Picking up a discarded glass of water and a few water bottles. She makes note that if Emily isn’t back in time to throw their sheets and bed sets in the washing machine. It’s always nice to have clean bedsheets.

Looking at Emily’s room she realizes she has to venture to Hotch’s room now.

She comes to linger in the living room. “You doing okay?” She doesn't get a response but she can’t really see him so she moves closer. One of his legs is drawn up, resting against the couch and the other stretched out and over the arm of the couch. When she’d left him he’d still been sitting up, fighting to stay alert through their short conversation. It’s… nice to see him comfortable.

Without thinking, she reaches down and moves her hand through his hair. Trying her best not to react to the amount of grey she sees. He moves, shifting his face further into the couch. She fears she’s woken him but his eyelashes flutter for only a moment before he sighs and stills once again.

Sighing, she leaves him once again. Blindly hoping he’ll sleep for a while if she doesn’t bother him.

His room is… exactly as she expects it to be and, yet, not.

His bedspread is a dark green color, nearly emerald and surely something Jessica or one of the other’s picked out. There are pieces of him thrown through-out the room with the finest touches of someone else left behind. For example, the books that litter every surface is him. From his nightstand, to his dresser, to a few stacked on the floor. The nightstands are old and she feels a little sore work itself into her throat at the possibility that they are a set and were probably bought for him and Haley.

And now there’s only him.

There is a stuffed elephant and blanket on the floor on the other side of the bed. She wonders how frequently Jack sleeps with him. Probably more than normal now.

His room is neat. She tucks his comforter back where it should be. Placing a piece of paper in the book he’d left face down. There’s a single sock with colorful, swirling patterns. A shirt that looks very well loved tucked inside of a sweater of equal wear and tear. Clothes and homely things. Hotch things.

From down the hall she hears his muffled coughs and something hard hitting the wall.

“Sir!” She hurries from his room, letting the clothes in her hand hit the floor. It’s not hard to find him. His house has a familiar, simple layout. “Are you okay?” He’s standing in the hall, facing her. Shoulder pulled in, left arm around his chest, and the right blindly leading him along.

He nods, muffling his bone rattling coughs into his elbow. “Just…” he shakes his head. “Going to the bathroom.”

She looks over her shoulder, his room and bathroom are only a few steps away but… He doesn’t look like he’s going to get there without a little help. “Could…” she chews her lips into her mouth. “Would it be okay I help-- If you just leaned on me, a little bit? For my sanity?”

He nods, simply going where she moves him. It’s not hard to slip under him. Without heels, his height advantage is much more apparent. She looks down at the floor as she works his arm over her shoulders, smiling at the sight of his socks. Her own don’t match-- a homage to Reid but also because she knows it, secretly, drives Hotch crazy. But he’s wearing a pair of polka dot socks. Each one an extreme loud variation of every color you can think of.

“Nice socks, sir!”

It distracts him for a moment from the humiliation of needing both her and the wall to walk down the hall. He looks down at his socks-- socks that he and Emily had fought long and hard about this morning. He didn’t want to wear them. He’d needed normalcy. Craved it. He wanted plain black socks that would go unnoticed. But she had won and everyone saw him in his boxers and stupidly bright socks. It had put smiles on their faces too. Even Emily’s, though, she had tried to hide it behind her book.

“Emily’s doing,” he reassures her.

They can’t fit shoulder-to-shoulder into the room so she lets him lean against the doorframe and manage it on his own. Following closely behind. “Oh, of course,” she says smiling now she’s behind him and he can't see. Though, as soon as she’s done it she wishes he would see. To see her smile and know it’s at his expense and give her one of those scowls that have always just made her love him a little more.

But instead she sits on the corner of his bed and closes her eyes. Wincing and flinching as he gets sick.

Emily had been so… afraid when she left. Garcia hadn’t understood why. Even when the information Emily was throwing at her-- hurling words, meaningless words. Now… Now Garcia is cursed with Emily's same burden of knowing.

It had all come so quickly-- that the nose bleed had been because he was anemic and that they can’t get his red blood cell count back up. “Not to fret”, Emily had said thickly with sarcasm, his white blood cells are through the rough and the product of much anxiety. That the awful cough he has is from Radiation Pneumonitis and “not to worry” he’s on steroids that make him incredibly nauseous and a complete ass. The best part? It can scar his lungs!

All this information had come so quickly that Garcia hadn’t processed any of it.

Dave had called Garcia early this morning and asked if she needed anything to do. Normally, when he asks that sort of thing, he’s asking her over to do the grunt work of cooking-- rolling breads or kneading dough-- but today when she’d happily agreed he’d had something else in mind.

So, today, while Emily goes with Dave for a long lunch she’s staying with Hotch.

The original plan was just to leave him by himself. Dave had assumed that would be alright. Afterall, two days ago when Dave had last seen him, Hotch was very himself. Stubborn and grouchy when they tried to help him do anything-- even the normal sorts of things you do for people: hold the door, pass them a plate, ask if they want anything when you go to get yourself something, etc.

Having to explain how she couldn’t simply leave Hotch had… broken Emily just a little more. Keeping herself calm, collected as she explained that she was going out with Dave for a while and she’d make sure to bring him something back. Coffee or soup (anything so long as he’d agree to eat). She had cried as soon as she stood to walk to her room, lower lip quivering at just how easily he’d caved. He’d protested everything she did all morning and now just… submits. She’d sobbed in the shower.

He annoys her to no end. Her closest friend, the man she’d left behind to search for something more in London, was a basket case. Do not mistake that. Aaron Hotchner has to do everything himself. Independence is very important to him and she’s being forced to watch him give in. Too tired to fight.

Garcia had arrived a little sooner than expected and Emily had opened the door in a towel, her mascara from that morning smudged under her eyes. Before she could get out an apology, Garcia had already assured her she had plenty of time and that Garcia would go back out and tell Dave to cut the car and come in for a moment.

And Hotch…

He’d been asleep on the couch. Sitting up, nestled into the corner where Emily had left him.

“Hey, Pen?”

Garcia hadn’t even realized she’d been staring.

“He’s got a heating pad tucked against his side, will you warm it up?”

And she’d learned Hotch is prone to chills. That along with nine awful scars, Foyet had damaged his body's ability to regulate temperature and that radiation is being a bitch. So to ease the ache in his side, where Foyet had nicked a rib that won’t ever really heal, Emily just keeps a heating pad around. It keeps him warm.

The beast of knowledge.

“Garcia?”

She hates him. For a moment. Anger and impatient it eats her alive and that’s such an awful thing to have to feel about someone you love. Why can’t he be stronger? It leaves her body in a choked sound. How could she even let herself feel such contempt for the very man who always prides her for her brightness? Loves her no matter how much trouble she drags up? Goes out of his way to remind her to always be her bright silly self?

She stands from his bed and opens the bathroom door.

He looks ashamed and she hates that.

“Have I ever told you about the time Reid and I broke a coffee pot and hid it from you for a month?” she asks before he can apologize.

His Adam's apple bobs as he looks up at her. He’s still curled into himself, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. He feels weak, useless. He couldn't even find the strength to stand and pee. Then, on top of it all, she’d been right there on the other side of the door as he vomited. By now, this is not the first apology he’s been beaten to. Emily has this infallible way of sensing them coming and quickly changes the subject to something else.

It’s… strange to see Garica practice it too.

“Please tell me that was far too long ago to be worth fussing with you over?” he asks, trembling as he accepts the hand she offers.

She smiles and tuckers herself back against him, wrapping her arm around his hips. “Oh it was a while ago,” she assures him. “Like… Gideon long ago. He was just a baby--” she keeps talking no matter what. When he whispers that he needs a break at the doorway, a whole two steps later. Tells him how terrified they’d all been of him at some point in time. How that’s all rather silly because Aaron Hotchner is nothing but a big softy. And, believe it or not, it has always been Derek Morgan breaking that secret to the rookies. That he’s not as big and tough as he looks. That a good, warm batch of snickerdoodles will melt his big icy heart so quickly--

“How many people did you tell that to?” he asks.

She shrugs, only the people that really needed it. “Do I have to give you a number if I make you some right now?”

He considers her offer. His stomach has settled a little and the smell alone would be divine. Plus, Emily had said he could pick dinner… what’s the possibility that she would cave to just letting him eat a cookie or two? He smiles, “I’d consider adequate reparation.”

“Wanna help?”

His smile falters just a bit. He can’t stand for that long and--

“We can make them at the table,” she adds, hastily.

And… he nods. Okay.

That’s how Dave and Emily find them an hour later.

Hotch is covered in flour and Garcia too. A good proper mess.

He’s wrapped in a blanket, the one from the couch, and leaning heavily on the arm propped up on the table. Smiling, content, as Garcia checks the cookies and reassures him that they need only a little bit longer. So that they come out right as the bottom is browning but not brown. ANd he nods his head like he understands when she says the point is to let them finish baking on the pan outside of the oven. That’s the secret to soft cookies.

Which, to him, just sounds like she’s saying she's going to feed slightly undercooked cookies but he’s eaten cookie dough raw for years. He’s never had salmonella but he did get cancer so obviously someone wasn’t warning him about the right things.

“What in the world did you two get into?”

“Cookies!” Garcia holds open the oven to show them. “If you wait just a moment they will be ready!” She places the dirty dishes into the sink. Throwing some water over them to make it easier to wash the dough off.

Emily raises an eyebrow at Hotch and he shrugs. She’s amused by the sight of him covered in flour and what more is to add but a submissive shrug. What can he say except he’s a softy who has always lacked the ability to tell them no?

“You didn’t let Hotch do the measuring did you?” Dave asks, stepping in and inspecting the damage done to the kitchen. Under his breath he continues, “you can tell he’s never been a math man. I’m convinced he doesn’t understand fractions.” Dave has cooked with him too many times. Hotch has never once successfully measured everything right in any dish. The amount of times one fourth has been mistaken as a half or an eighth of something rounded up to a third… it’s crazy.

Garcia glances at Hotch and he already knows exactly where she’d going-- “Well,” she admits, “I let him put the cinnamon in--”

Hotch groans from the table, a dramatic sigh as he closes his eyes and admits defeat.

“It wasn’t his fault!” It was. “There might just be a little bit too much cinnamon. It’s not a big deal!”

Aaron Hotchner brought to his knees by fractions.

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

When Hotch was in the second grade he got chickenpox from his next-door neighbor Michael. A very common thing given the time and the general mindset of “chickenpox parties”. It had been awful and itchy. His brain so ravished by the fever that he doesn’t remember a whole lot about the experience. Just that it had begun as a patch of dry skin under his right arm, perfectly wedged between two of his protruding ribs. That week of horrible fever and endless itching is the only time Hotch can ever recall his father being gentle.

He’d awoken once during that week, just after four and when his father typically arrived home, to the door shutting softly. His mother whispering to gather his father’s attention and diverge the man away from Hotch. Who, thanks to itching, had only just managed to fall asleep.

Halfway up the stairs, Hotch can remember waking up in his father’s arms. The man had shushed him softly, rocking him the way you might a child until Hotch had laid his head against his father’s chest and gone back to sleep. The gentleness of that action has haunted Hotch for years. Something he thinks about occasionally. Trying and failing to wrap his mind around something so out of character. So bizarre.

“Daddy,” Jack whines, he twists in his father’s lap. “You’re not watching, look!” His little finger demands Hotch’s attention, pointing to the TV. “Did you see it?” Jacks asks, sitting up to gauge Hotch’s reaction. “It was amazing, huh?”

Knowing his son, Hotch does try and get the boy out of the house as much as possible. Which means that lazy nights come far and rare in between. If he can, Hotch likes to take him to the park, museums, aquariums. Anything to keep his little mind crazed by the ideas of the world around him and actively engaged. Today… is not one of those days. There hasn’t been a lot of those days recently.

“The cancer is spreading--”

There’s a certain understandable science to the way that chickenpox works. They actually follow a pattern on the body when they spread. Hotch’s had curled from his left side to his right, working in the grooves of his ribs, and up his sternum.

A very similar pattern to the cancer spreading in his body.

Radiation is no longer enough.

He has two rounds of chemo and spends a lot of time thinking about what comes next. He’s going to get sicker. Weaker. Probably lose his hair. What will really be left of him when all is said and done?

Outside the rain comes down in buckets, thunder shaking the earth, but there’s nothing to the peace inside. Emily had gone around lighting candles, trying to soothe Jack in preparation for if the storm knocks out the electricity. Even if she’d managed to annoy him with her fluttering about, she’d been gentle and understanding. Making sure his shirt was buttoned to hide the deeply irritated skin on his chest.

She’s stronger than he is.

They are all.

“Asland,” Jack mumbles in amazement. He’s settled back down in Hotch’s lap, head on his thigh so Hotch can mindlessly play with his hair. Hotch can’t follow the plot of the simple movie but he’s seen it enough times to hum and mumble responses to Jack’s questions.

The Chronicles of Narnia. It’s Jack’s new favorite thing.

They’ve probably watched it now at least a dozen times.

Emily’s started having dreams about the movie.

No matter how many times he requests it though, she’ll still play it and Hotch will sit down and let Jack explain the plot again. Everytime, it ends with tears.

“I don’t understand why he has to leave,” Jack whimpers.

Hotch is struggling to fight with consciousness. Radiation leaves him haggard. Limbs seemingly attached by measly strings and joints that buckle with minimal weight. He’s got a rash up his chest that itches and burns a lot like that chickenpox rash. It’s normal, he’s assured, and they give him ointment to keep on it. Not to clear it up but rather to keep it from getting infected. Which… seems so practical if not normal. Mundane, really.

“Who?” Hotch rasps, forcing his eyes back open to squint at the TV.

Jack looks up at his father, tears streaming down his face. “Asland.” Over the course of the last few months, of course Jack can tell his father isn’t well. Everyone treats Jack like a thoughtless child, and he is child, but he’s not stupid. He knows why he has to sleep at Jessica’s and why, no matter how much Emily and Hotch make a point to only see him on Hotch’s “good” days, that his father is slowly withering away.

The thigh under Jack’s head used to be bigger. Tense with muscles not thin, almost to the bone. His father seemed to loom, towering over everything. Jack had thought him a king, a knight, a hero. Someone who, through the aches pains of it all rises triumphant and reigns on. Because his father has always been the best kind of person. Strong, vigilant, and forgiving. Surely… that would offer some forgiveness, no? An extra life in the bonus round or a break.

Hotch swallows thickly around the nausea knotting up in his throat. “Asland,” he repeats with a sigh. Right. Asland dies. They’re passed that point but he does die. For the greater good, a strategic move, but the sacrificial play none-the-less. “Sometimes,” Hotch lifts his head. “He was saving the other’s, Jack. He sacrificed himself.” He’s too tired to explain how the book was just a huge religious metaphor. “Sometimes people have to leave.”

Jack sniffles and wraps himself around Hotch’s stomach, burying his head closer. “Why?” he asks miserably.

Hotch doesn’t know. It’s never what you want but he doesn’t want to tell Jack about all of that. How at one point Jack and Haley had been the ones to leave Hotch reeling with that same question, despite logic dictating a clear answer. That Emily had done the same thing to him multiple times. Everyone on the team, really. He’s probably done it to them. If not already, then soon.

“I don’t know, buddy,” Hotch shakes his head. “I really don’t.” Jack nods his head, crying softly against Hotch. Hotch starts to rub Jack’s back, despite the ache in his limbs. “Listen…” Hotch clears his throat and Jack senses the turn in conversation. Jack sits up, looking, searching in Hotch’s eyes as he sniffles and wipes his face with the back of his hands. “I have to… We have to talk about something, buddy. About what’s been going on.”

Emily sits in the guest room and tries her best not to think about what’s going on in the living room. It was only a matter of time but… she couldn’t help but think maybe they could fix all this. It must be a matter of faulty testing. Surely, that must be the case. Hadn’t they already been through enough? Have they not lost enough?

Jessica sends her a text, Hotch isn’t answering his own phone.

Emily leaves her room, leaning out first just to see if they’re still talking. They’re not. The TV has been turned off, no sound.

Jack is curled into his father, clutching Hotch’s t-shirt in his little fist. Despite the dried tear tracks on his face, the boy looks at peace. His head tucked under Hotch’s chin and arms holding on tight, Hotch won’t be able to move without Jack noticing. Understandably, Jack has some apprehensions about his father leaving his sight.

“How’d he take the news,” Jessica asks. Her anger has melted, leaving her wilted in a puddle of emotions that she doesn’t even know where to begin to deal with. “I can’t--” she shakes her head. “I just can’t imagine it,” she whispers, glancing at Emily. “He’s so young,” she brushes her tears from her cheeks. “He can’t lose Aaron, too.”

She nods her head, she’s afraid to lose him as well. To be a child, though, living this as a reality that at any moment you might become an orphan… Jack’s only a child. He’s not even ten yet. What will he have to cling to? The cold nights come frequently and he’ll be alone. Surrounded by people but alone.

In London, there wasn’t a single moment she could step out and not get lost in crowds. It was the safest way to avoid detection. In those days, she’d clung to online Scrabble and read and rereading the letter Hotch had written her before she’d left. It was in the file with the other identities and money. While it had not been a technical element to the FBI’s idea of “everything” she might need it kept her alive.

On those cold night’s she’d curl into herself with her heating pad pressed against those old wounds and read his letter. Fingers ghosting over the ink and eyes taking in every detail. Where his hand wavered writing about Reid failing to cope. The stain of a tear beside Jack's name. Her favorite passage:

“I believe Ashley will try to leave the unit the next chance that she gets. You were her mentor and I’m afraid I have not offered her too much in claims to stake here. A part of me is partial to her staying. You were her mentor and she reflects that in the strangest moments. I hope she stays, I indulge myself in her rebellions against me. I think it reminds me of you.”

It never failed to make her smile. Take her back to the nights she’d drive home in a fit of rage or have arguments with her imaginations version of him in the shower. Cursing like a sailor but telling him how she really felt.

What will Jack cling to when Hotch is not here?

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cancer fic #tw cancer #tw hospital #aaron hotchner #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #jessica brooks #david rossi

[generallynerdy]

Everything (Daryl Dixon X F!Reader ft. Baby Dixon)

Summary: Trudging into DC after the prison fell, Daryl Dixon thought he’d lost everything. Then Aaron came along with a picture of Daryl in his bag, claiming that (Y/N), his girl, his (Y/N) gave it to him for safe-keeping. At first, he didn’t believe it. But then Aaron told him something about (Y/N) that only the two of them were supposed to know-- and he started to believe that everything was waiting for him in Alexandria.

Key: (Y/N) - your name Warnings: cursing, mentions of death, some grieving, assumed death, pregnancy mentions, newborn babies, lots of emotions but they’re sweet i swear Word Count: 2,859 (praise paul i’m actually productive)

Note: woops im obsessed with twd again. Thanks for putting up with my long hiatus and enjoy! I may have ideas for a part 2 where daryl adjusts to fatherhood and then negan Fucks Shit Up-- you know, as he does. Then maybe part 3 after the time skip where beth and judith get up to Shenanigans?? Idk if i feel like writing it but it sounds fun so we’ll see

    In a barn not far from Alexandria, Aaron was having a rough day. It wasn’t bad-- not yet anyway-- but it did get significantly worse when Daryl Dixon shoved him against a wall.

    “Where the hell’d you get this!?” He was shouting as he put a knife to Aaron’s neck.

    See, Daryl had been perfectly content to leave the new guy to Rick and Michonne until something in his bag caught the archer’s attention. It was a picture-- a picture of Daryl.

    “Where’d you get it!?” He asked again.

    Rick took the picture from Daryl, getting a good look at it. It was taken from a guard tower back at the prison, one that was probably rubble now. Daryl was leaning over the guard rails, a cigarette in his hand and a smile on his face.

    “Where’s (Y/N)?” Daryl growled.

    Suddenly, it made sense to Rick. The picture belonged to (Y/N).

    “Back at my community,” Aaron said quickly. “She’s safe, I swear.”

    “You keeping her prisoner?” Rick questioned with a fire in his eyes, the one that was lit when others threatened his family.

    “No, no! God, no--!”

    Daryl interrupted. “Then why’s this with you?”

    “She gave it to me,” Aaron claimed firmly. “She gave it to me so that I’d know you if I ran into you, so I could bring you to her. I was hoping it would be a surprise, but--”

    “How do I know you ain’t lyin’?” Daryl shot back, unfaltering. “That she’s alive?”

    “Because she told me something, something only the two of you know.”

    After a pause, he lowered the knife. “Tell me.”

    Aaron glanced around the room. He wanted to keep this between them, as (Y/N) had asked him to. So, he looked back at Daryl, lowered his voice to a whisper, and said:

    “The baby’s okay.”

    The first week was the hardest. After the Governor, after Terminus, after Beth, all Daryl could think about was (Y/N).

    “We’ll find her, Daryl,” Rick kept saying. “We’ll find her.”

    But after days of searching and finding nothing, he was ready to give up. One night, Rick said it again and he just snapped.

    “We ain’t gonna find her!” he found himself shouting.

    “You don’t know that--”

    He cut his friend off. “Yeah, I do! ‘Cause we been lookin’ for days and ain’t nobody findin’ nothin’! (Y/N)’s dead, alright?! Give it up!”

    He stormed off, unsure if his last words were directed at Rick or himself.

    Later, Rick found him sitting in the woods by himself. He sat down beside him silently, waiting for a sign.

    “Sorry,” Daryl finally mumbled.

    “It’s okay. I know you and (Y/N) were close,” Rick sighed. “She was a damn good friend.”

    “I loved her.”

    The confession slipped out before he could stop it. Shame hit him as soon as he said it, his face going red.

    Rick turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah? You ever tell her?”

    “Every day,” Daryl finally admitted, a weight falling from his shoulders.

    His friend broke into a massive grin. “You two were together? Why didn’t you say anything?”

    “Didn’t want to with all the new people,” he shrugged. “She knew it’d freak me out.”

    “Did anybody know?”

    He paused before nodding. “Beth an’ Hershel.” Before Rick could ask why them, he went on. “Look, about (Y/N)--”

    He was cut off by the distant call of Rick’s name. The man in question sighed and, as he left, promised to finish their talk later. Daryl, however, took it as a sign and decided that it was already over.

    “It’s your decision,” Rick said later. “If you think she’s still out there, if you wanna stay, we will. We won’t stop looking.”

    Everyone knew it was hard for Daryl to make the call, but they didn’t know just how hard.

    He didn’t tell Rick why Hershel and Beth knew about him and (Y/N). He thought it was better to shoulder that weight himself-- the weight of leaving a pregnant woman behind.

    “What’d you say?”

    Daryl had frozen when Aaron said it. The question came out as a whisper, a horrified whisper, which was a tone that most present had never heard from him.

    Aaron nodded a single time, the epitome of understanding. “I think you heard me.”

    Daryl was suddenly overwhelmed. He took a threatening step forward, knife in his hand again. “You--”

    He apparently decided against skewering him, though. Instead, he stormed out of the barn like his feet were on fire, hiding his face and his unshed tears from the rest of the group, who stared at him questioningly.

    Rick was in Aaron’s face in an instant. “What did you say?”

    “You’d better ask him.”

    Without another word, Rick followed Daryl out of the barn, suddenly feeling like there was more to Daryl and (Y/N) than his brother had told him.

    Outside, Daryl found himself a tree and climbed it. Normally, he would’ve just sat down, but his hands felt like he needed to be doing something-- maybe punching someone-- so he climbed instead, ignoring the scratches the rough bark left on his palms.

    Once atop his chosen branch, it took everything Daryl Dixon had not to cry. His lips quivered as he stared out into nothing.

    He knew Rick was on his way over and he was begging himself to keep it together. This wasn’t what he needed, it wasn’t what the group needed. He needed to pull himself together and decide whether Aaron was telling the truth.

    But some part of him, deep down, already knew the answer. Why else would Aaron know that only (Y/N) and Daryl knew about the baby? She would never give that up to a captor.

    So, (Y/N) was still alive. She’d been alive this whole time and he hadn’t been looking for her. His child and his girl were out there alive and here he was, sitting on his ass in a damn tree, crying about it. He could hear Merle’s laughter in his head.

    But thank god for Rick Grimes.

    “Daryl?” He called up. “You good?”

    He let out a shaky breath, wiping at a few stray tears that had escaped. “Y-- yeah, yeah, ‘m fine,” he managed.

    Rick could tell it was bullshit, but he didn’t push. “Is he tellin’ the truth? Is (Y/N) with ‘em willingly?”

    “She told ‘im what she did by herself, if that’s what ya mean,” Daryl told him.

    There was a pause while Rick debated whether to ask him what Aaron had said or not. Daryl knew he had to tell him. The rest of the group wouldn’t just go on his word-- they needed Rick’s, too.

    “The baby’s okay.”

    Rick blinked a few times. “What?”

    Reluctantly, Daryl removed himself from the tree, landing on the ground in front of Rick. “What he said. He said the baby’s okay.”

    His friend’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “(Y/N) was--?”

    “Yeah,” he mumbled, still not sure if he wanted it said aloud. “Beth an’ Hershel knew ‘cause (Y/N) an’ me were flippin’ our shit, not knowin’ what to do.”

    “So they’re okay?” Rick asked. “She and the baby-- Aaron said they’re okay?”

    Daryl nodded. “My kid’s okay.”

    His blood brother couldn’t help the smile that overtook him and he pulled the man into a tight hug. “We’re gonna figure this out,” Rick told him firmly. “We’re gonna get ‘em back.”

    “Put your weapons down!” (Y/N) found herself shouting from behind the cabinet.

    She’d found shelter in an abandoned house for the last day or so. She wished she could’ve kept staying in the old gas station she found, but unfortunately walkers decided otherwise.

    Two heads appeared from the doorway and soon enough both men had their hands in the air.

    “We don’t have any weapons,” the taller one said quickly. “We’re here to help.”

    (Y/N) stopped at that, a frown painting her expression. “What?”

    “We’ve been watching you,” the second man said. “You got close to our community, so we kept an eye on you.”

    “We wanna help,” his friend said, picking up where he left off. “I’m Aaron, this is Eric.”

    (Y/N) hesitated, her gun still lifted high at them. She hadn’t gotten off the floor, but her head peeked out from behind the cabinet just enough that they could see her.

    “Help? Why?”

    Aaron shook his head with a small smile. “What kind of people are we that would turn a blind eye to a pregnant woman in the middle of the apocalypse?”

    She had to pause for a moment. He was making a good case for himself.

    “What’s your name?” Eric asked.

    “(Y/N),” she muttered.

    Aaron frowned. “Have you always been alone?”

    “No.” She decided they were asking too many questions and lifted her gun again. “Tell me about your community.”

    “It’s called Alexandria,” Aaron told her. “It has massive steel walls-- they’ve been there since the beginning. Most of our people have never been outside. We have food, running water, solar power, a sewage system; you name it. It’s safe and it’s open to you.”

    “We have a doctor, too,” Eric interrupted. “He can help with the baby.”

    Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a little cry sounded. Aaron’s eyes widened as (Y/N) moved to hold her baby.

    “You already--?” He gaped. “I’m so sorry. I hoped we’d be here before, so you didn’t have to deliver on your own out here.”

    (Y/N) shook her head, rocking the baby and whispering reassurances to it. “A doctor?” She asked them. “Walls? All of it? Can you prove it?”

    Aaron nodded, gesturing to his bag. “Yes. It’s all real, I swear. You just have to trust us.”

    Looking between these two men and her child, (Y/N) decided to take a risk. It was this or solitude-- again-- and that was something she wasn’t sure they would survive.

    Being interrogated by Deanna only made Daryl more twitchy. He’d been itching to go off and find (Y/N) since they walked in the gate. Aaron had wanted to take him immediately, but the woman in charge had different ideas.

    “I wanna see (Y/N),” Daryl had told her, refusing to go upstairs.

    “And you will,” she reassured. “But I need to do this first.”

    During the interview, she asked him about (Y/N), about the baby. He got a little defensive when she asked if it was his. Of course it was! God, she was getting on his nerves.

    Finally, finally, it was over and Daryl rushed downstairs again, intending on finding Aaron immediately.

    “Alright, Abraham, if you could--” Deanna began to say.

    She was interrupted when the door to the house creaked open. Eric walked, er, limped in first, followed by Aaron. He was leading (Y/N) in, but kept her eyes covered.

    “I hate surprises,” she told him.

    “Oh, you’ll love this one,” he laughed, meeting Daryl’s gaze. “Trust me.”

    Daryl’s heart wrenched. He couldn’t see her eyes yet and she had no idea he was there, but his heart was already torn in half. Tears came to his eyes and he dropped his crossbow. The others were awestruck as well, but none of their reactions compared to his.

    “Three, two, one, and--” Aaron removed his hands. “Ta-da!”

    The moment Aaron’s hands dropped, a strangled gasp escaped (Y/N)’s mouth. She covered it with her hands, eyes filling with tears.

    “Oh my god,” she sobbed.

    She threw herself at Daryl, who welcomed her with open arms. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, shoulders shaking as he wept with relief. He held her so tightly that it hurt, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him.

    “You’re alive,” she said finally when he lifted his head. She placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “Oh god, I thought I was alone.”

    “Thought I lost ya,” he murmured, pressing their foreheads together.

    Then, he kissed her-- that sweet, gentle kind of kiss he’d give her every morning when he was overwhelmed with the joy of waking up beside her. It was the same kiss they shared when he slipped into the guard tower each night, smiling like a stupid teenager who’d gotten a night alone with his girlfriend. That kiss was good as “I love you.”

    Behind Daryl, everyone but Rick gawked.

    “Right. Now might be the time to mention that they’ve been together the whole time,” the cowboy snorted.

    “Yes!” Carl cheered instantly. “Michonne, you owe me a Big Cat!”

    Glenn stammered. “Seriously?”

    Rick grinned almost mischievously. “It gets better.”

    He didn’t get the chance to explain himself, because (Y/N) pulled herself away from Daryl and looked over at him with a smile.

    “Hey, Rick.”

    “Hey, yourself,” he greeted back, lifting his arms for the inevitable hug.

    As she wrapped herself around him, they heard Eric sigh. “Oh, that was so worth the volleyball injury.”

    (Y/N) went around the room, saying hello to old friends and introducing herself to new ones. Deanna then borrowed Abraham for an interview and Aaron began to take Eric to the infirmary. But he stopped himself, tapping (Y/N) on the shoulder and motioning vaguely toward the door.

    She gasped and turned to Daryl. “You have to meet her! I’ll be right back.”

    She raced out of the building, leaving a shell-shocked Daryl behind.

    “You hear that?” He asked Rick, eyes wide.

    Rick smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club, brother. Hope you don’t like sleeping.”

    “Well, I’m lost,” they heard Carol mutter.

    “Not only were these two together--” Rick begin, a gleeful grin on his face, “--they were expecting.

    The others gaped, especially Daryl’s best friend. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked him seriously. “You didn’t have to carry that yourself.”

    Daryl shook his head. “We woulda killed ourselves lookin’ for ‘em. Couldn’t lose nobody else,” he admitted sheepishly.

    The creak of the front door gained everyone’s attention. (Y/N) shuffled inside, a bundle of blankets in her arms. Daryl immediately stepped up, but she shook her head and motioned to the couch. The couple sat down, instantly surrounded by their friends, who all wanted to get a look at the baby.

    (Y/N) went to pass her to Daryl, but the poor man was frozen.

    “Ain’t changed since Judith was born,” she teased, her voice warm. “You can hold her.”

    He took the baby then, though his hands were shaking. He cradled her as though she would shatter with one wrong move. Slowly, he moved his fingers to stroke her tiny hands, a loving smile emerging when her little fingers grasped his thumb.

    “She’s perfect,” he muttered, placing a kiss on her forehead. His voice cracked, but no one said a single thing about it.

    “She’s got her daddy’s eyes,” (Y/N) remarked wistfully.

    They sat in brief silence, everyone watching the baby wiggle in her father’s grasp. Daryl was perhaps considering the full 180 his situation had just made. Everything he thought he lost was right there in his arms. (Y/N) was right, too, he realised. His little girl had his beautiful baby blues.

    Aaron and Eric departed, seeing as the latter was due for an infirmary visit. Both (Y/N) and Rick thanked them as they left; Daryl was too distracted.

    Michonne was the next to break the quiet. “Does she have a name?”

    Daryl, curious, looked to (Y/N), who shook her head. “Didn’t feel right,” she admitted to him, “without you.”

    Almost immediately, the group was offering ideas up like they were drinks.

    Daryl looked down at his daughter and, cutting through the chatter, announced: “Beth.”

    They all went silent.

    “She an’ Hershel took care of us when they found out,” he explained, looking up at (Y/N). “She watched for ya when I was on runs an’ after-- after the prison she helped me get my shit together.”

    (Y/N) nodded and rested her hand on top of his, the same one that their little girl held so tightly to. Meeting his eyes, she was glad she waited on the name. This meant everything to him; being able to name their kid, to call that kid his own.

    (Y/N) then looked to Maggie, who sniffed and wiped at tears as she leaned into Glenn.

    “She woulda loved that,” the woman rasped, her voice breaking.

    “Beth Dixon,” (Y/N) announced, “the luckiest kid in the whole damn world.”

    She saw the way Daryl looked at her when she said Dixon, like his heart had just been ripped out of his chest in the best way possible.

    He pulled her and the baby close as the others congratulated them and celebrated with them. Even on the darkest of days, this memory would light up their whole world, he thought.

    Beth Sophia Dixon, they decided; for the girl they couldn’t save and the girl who saved them. And (Y/N) was right.

    She was gonna be the luckiest kid in the whole damn world. Daryl would make sure of it.

(Requests are currently closed. I’m finishing up my old ones.)

Masterlist

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