#Angela: wait i need my camera

[modern-inheritance]

Other Ways (MIC Chat, half serious)

(OKAY TO BE PERFECTLY CLEAR: SHE JUST *TALKED* TO HIM. NOTHING ELSE! The way she talked and used body language tho, tho....)

Nasuada: Du Vrangr Gata have been interrogating him for days. They’ve been unable to discern if his wards and oaths are preventing him from speaking. They’re sure he’ll break soon if they are not, but otherwise, to not put too fine a point on it, it’s akin to beating a dead horse. Angela: Except the horse is still alive and screaming bloody murder. Eragon: Seems a bit cruel.  Roran: Aye.  Arya: *pulls hair tie off the end of her braid and shakes her hair out, fluffs it a bit* Here hold this. *hands tie and combat jacket to Eragon* I got it. *At Roran and Eragon* You and you, you stay out here. Ma’am, Angela.  All three walk into the tent.  Roran: What was that about? Eragon: Iunno. She’s pretty against torture. 15 MINUTES LATER Arya, Angela and Nasuada all leave the tent. Angela is cackling madly and has to stop with her hands on her knees. Nasuada is blushing HARD and has a look in her eyes that is half flabbergasted/dazed and half ‘oh my god what did I just see and why did it work on me’ and Arya just looks incredibly deadpan. Arya: Yeah he’s got oaths. No point in torturing him more. Nasuada: I don’t…how…where did….  Angela: *WHEEEEEEEEEZE* Eragon: What happened in there? How’d you figure it out so quickly? Arya: *takes her stuff back and claps him on the shoulder as she passes* There are other ways of persuasion and control.  Roran: …did you just– Arya: Let him figure it out himself. I’m off duty. Gonna go shower. Nasuada: Yes. Cold shower. I mean shower! Yes. Good idea. Other side of camp. Right. Angela: *fucking crying laughing on the ground*

[morninkim]

Rise of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers - Angel Grove High Students

A couple more students that attend Angel Grove High School with the Rangers, meet Angela; as well as some freshman who've just moved up from Stone Canyon Middle, Aisha, Rocky and Adam!

Angela Campbell is an older sister by instinct, but no push over. Since the beginning of their Sophmore Year, she's been enjoying a romantic cat-and-mouse game with one Zack Taylor, always interested in what scheme he'll come up with to earn her affections. Of course, he already has them, but the game's a bit too fun to let him win just yet.

Angela's younger sister Aisha, as well as her two best friends - Rocco "Rocky" De Santos and Adam Park - moved to Angel Grove from Stone Canyon to be closer to the Power Rangers, after seeing the reports on their exploits through the R4ngerN3T ClikClak account. The three of them eventually get recruited by Bulk & Skull to help collect eye witness reports and film fights when possible, getting themselves into more trouble those two already do for a good story. Though impulsive, the trio do have great potential that will not go unnoticed.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Lock and Key

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!shy!pregnant!CSIphotographer!reader

Summary: When Angela and Nyla need someone to go undercover in a women's prison, you seem like the perfect candidate. Inside with Lucy, Tim, and Angela nearby, you find more than a killer.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, murder case, very quick allusion to past sexual assualt

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Can you do another establishing shot of the bedroom?” your crime scene unit supervisor requests.

You nod, feel your baby kick, and tread carefully through the home-turned-crime scene to take more photographs. It’s no secret that CSIs can never take too many photos, but now that you’re pregnant, you wonder if there’s a way to collect them faster. You love your job; being a police photographer is wholly rewarding and enjoyable for you, but some scenes and some days are more trying than others. Being near Tim Bradford at work similarly has its pros and cons.

“Hey, mama,” Angela greets as she enters the bedroom. “Is this the primary scene?”

“We think so,” you answer softly, removing the sync cord from your camera to photograph the scene without the light.

“How are you feeling?” Angela asks, looking around the room without altering anything before your photos are complete.

“Pretty good,” you reply.

“Tim still… well, Tim?”

You nod as you move toward the corner, focusing the camera on a bloody screwdriver. Whatever happened here wasn’t quick and was undoubtedly painful. Your supervisor walks through the hall and tells you to pack up, and you nod at Angela with a smile. She hugs you before you leave, and you ready your nerves to see Tim when you return to the station.

“Wait, go back,” Lucy requests as you’re shepherded into the roll call room. “Tim, I’m going to say this slowly and I want you to listen very carefully, okay?”

“Chen,” Tim snaps.

She doesn’t heed his warning tone and begins, “You want to send the mother of your child into a prison to get intel on a murder case. Where in that sentence do you hear a good idea?”

“What?” you inquire with your hands clasped tightly beneath your growing bump.

Lucy turns, her expression guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here.”

“We were just brainstorming,” Tim explains, walking toward you. “The woman who was murdered this morning was released from CIW last week.”

“CIW, however, is out of our jurisdiction,” Nyla adds. “So, we reached out to San Bernadino PD and they’ve agreed to let us send in a UC.”

“The problem is that the woman we need to talk to is notoriously picky about who she takes up company with,” Tim adds. “Rumor is, she has a thing for strays, she likes being around people she can protect.”

“Which, to me, sounds like she would be ready to turn on them in an instant,” Lucy interjects. “Hence my reluctance.”

“So, because I’m pregnant, you think she’d watch out for me, let me close?” you clarify.

“More or less,” Nyla answers.

Lucy scoffs and shakes her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Would I be alone?” you whisper, looking at Tim.

“Of course not. We’d send in two officers, acting as doctors, who can pull you out any time.”

“Would it do it if Tim and Angela went in with you?” Nyla asks.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you consider everything. You’d be putting yourself and your baby in danger. If Tim and Angela were a call away, the risk would decrease dramatically. Before you can decide, Lucy holds your arms and hugs you.

“Don’t do it,” she says. “There’s too much at risk.”

“We can’t just leave a killer on the street,” you whisper against her.

Lucy sighs as she pulls back, and she nods. “Then I’m going in too. Get San Bernadino on the phone; I want to be closer than a doctor.”

Nyla nods, then looks at you.

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” you state.

“We’re right beside you,” Tim promises, kissing your hairline.

“Technically, I am right beside her, you’ll be in the infirmary,” Lucy corrects. “I better get to be this baby’s godmother.”

Nyla laughs before she says, “In your dreams, single-income, apartment-sharing option.”

“What, just because you’re married and have a house, you’re a better fit?” Lucy questions. Her smile drops as she murmurs, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Alright,” Tim calls, shaking his head. “Let’s go to Chino and get some answers out of convicts.”

“They call her Pitbull,” Angela had explained before you went in. At your wide-eyed expression, she adds, “She’s essentially a guard dog. She chooses who she’ll protect and sics anyone who comes near. If you can get on the right side of Pitbull, she’ll tell you what she knows about Ringer – our victim.”

You sit on your bunk and look around, wondering if you look like a pumpkin in an oversized orange jumpsuit. When you hear footsteps outside, you drop your head and let your shyness run rampant. If it makes you seem weak, this is a better time than ever to embrace it.

Lucy unlocks the cell door, and Pitbull enters. She looks at you, running her eyes up and down your face before noticing the protruding baby bump beneath your new and temporary outfit.

“What are you in for?” Pitbull asks, her voice raspy and low.

“Stabbed my baby daddy,” you admit, rubbing a hand over your stomach. “He wouldn’t stop,” you add, letting her fill in the blanks.

As you speak, your baby kicks. The farther along you get, the more your voice seems to excite him or her.

“You don’t fit in here, Mommy,” Pitbull sneers.

You nod with your head down, telling the truth when you agree with her.

“People around here don’t like different, don’t like chicas who aren’t the same,” she adds. “What are you going to do about that?”

When you shrug, she surges forward. Her hands land on your shoulders, and you inhale when she pushes you up to make you look at her. She stops, smiles, and brushes her hand against your neck.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she whispers. “Understand?”

“Why?” you inquire.

“Because…” she drops her hand to your bump before she confesses, “I’ve got reasons you won’t understand, and you’ve got a reason to accept the protection.”

“I can’t- I don’t have anything to give you.”

Pitbull laughs as she returns to her cot. “This isn’t a tv-style arrangement; I’m giving you a gift, and I ask for nada in return. Just focus on yourself, and the baby.”

“Thank you.”

As you lay awake in bed the first night, you hear Pitbull whisper a prayer in Spanish. You wonder what she knows when she asks for the eternal protection of Ringer’s soul.

“Dr. Benson is here,” Lucy says, dressed as a corrections officer. “Let’s go.”

“Whoa, hold up,” Pitbull interrupts, moving to block the cell door. “Dr. Benson male or female?”

“None of your concern.” Lucy barks your fake last name and repeats, “Let’s go.”

“She was traumatized by her ex; she probably doesn’t want a male doctor. Right?”

She turns to face you, and you nod sheepishly.

“So, now it is my concern,” Pitbull continues, cracking her neck to the side. “I go with her, or you get another doctor.”

Lucy sighs as she checks her watch. Pulling a radio from her hip, she asks if you can have another inmate accompany you. You recognize Angela’s voice as she begrudgingly allows it just this one time.

“Boy or girl?” Pitbull asks, glaring at the women in the cells you pass.

“I don’t know yet,” you answer honestly. “Doesn’t matter, though, does it?”

“Still your kid. Last chica I shared a cell with, she had a kid on the inside, reached out when he turned 18, and got cartas desagradables from the parents even though he was old enough.”

“Cruel world,” you murmur.

“Crueler people.”

You glance at Pitbull, wondering what she did to get her locked up for nearly half of her life. She’ll come up for parole in a few years. Part of you wants her to get out, but you know better.

“Ringer – that’s what we called her because she rung a guy’s neck for assaulting her niece…”

You know that’s not true. Ringer's niece was assaulted, but Ringer broke a lot of necks looking for the right guy. She was practically a serial attempted murderer.

“Ringer said she was going to find the kid when she got out, just long enough to apologize and let him know she wouldn’t have given him up if she’d had a chance.”

“Noble,” you muse.

“Crueler people,” she repeats as you near the prison infirmary.

Pitbull stands beside Lucy as you move to the examination table. Tim enters a moment later, looking like an angel in a white lab coat. He’s wearing glasses, and his hair is styled differently. His hands on you feel the same, even if he isn’t smiling and keeps his speaking clipped and serious (though you suppose that part isn’t much different than the version of him you see at work).

“How far along are you?” he asks.

“Four months or so,” you answer.

Tim nods, then lays his hands on either side of your bump.

“Have you had a thorough exam by an OBGYN?” he inquires.

You shake your head, and he slides the rolling chair back as his hands fall away.

“She’ll need one now,” he tells Lucy. “I can call in a female colleague if that would be more comfortable.”

“Do that,” Pitbull demands.

Tim stands, nods at Lucy, and exits the room. He returns to hand Lucy a paper robe, then disappears. Lucy takes Pitbull out of the exam room while you change, and you know she will keep her out for the entire 'examination’ so you can tell Tim and Angela what you found. Angela comes in first, her brows rising at the sight of you in a jumpsuit with tight braids framing your face, courtesy of Pitbull.

“She said Ringer was looking for her son – he turned 18 while she was still incarcerated, and she vowed to find him when she got out,” you explain. “His adoptive parents wanted her far away from him.”

“That’s motive,” Angela says, pulling her phone from her pocket. “I’ll get units to the parents’ house now.”

Tim returns to your side, and you pull his hand against your bump. As you tell him everything Pitbull has shared with you, your baby kicks against his hand. Tim smiles as he bends down to kiss you, and you suddenly want to leave this prison. Pitbull’s parole is no longer a thought in your mind.

“We’ll get you out as soon as we can,” Tim promises.

Less than twelve hours later, you’re removed from your shared cell with Pitbull, taken to solitary, and then you walk out of the prison in your own clothes with your hand held tightly in Tim’s. Ringer’s killer, the adoptive father of her son, is behind bars and awaiting trial, and Angela and Nyla have yet another solved case to add to their repertoires.

“Want to grab some dinner?” Lucy asks in the parking lot. “Or breakfast,” she amends, noting the first streaks of sunlight painting the sky.

“We’re going home,” Tim answers for you.

“Thanks for everything, Lucy,” you tell her as Tim opens his passenger door for you.

“I didn’t do much,” she argues. “But anytime.”

In the comfort and safety of your home, you sit beside Tim, brutally aware of his fingers brushing along your bump where his arm is tucked around your waist.

“You did amazing,” he says.

He kisses your forehead and then your lips, and you sigh against him as your baby kicks again.

“We should find out the baby’s gender,” he says. “I know we said we didn’t want to…”

“I agree,” you reply, laying your head on his shoulder. “I’ll make an appointment.”

“You mean you’ll have me make an appointment.”

You turn your face against his shoulder and huff, your ears warming at his teasing. Tim chuckles, holding you like he never wants to let you go, and you feel exactly the same.

[toiletclown]

reciprocation.

spencer agnew x f!reader, enemies to lovers for anon.

mostly fluff, but there is angst (in my opinion)

summary: it started innocuous. a well-meaning question from your best friend. it all spiraled from there.

there are some things in life that are universally true and agreed upon. the sky is blue. the grass is green. and you and spencer agnew hate each other. when your closest friends grow tired of this nonsense, they hatch a plan. it's unlikely, silly, even. but it works.

word count: 13.6k (yes i'm posting this as a one-shot, not multi-chaptered, sorry lol)

────୨ৎ────

"does the whole 'hating spencer' schtick ever get tired to you?" angela asked one day, while the two of you were out to lunch.

it was a sunny day, as usual, and you started sweating through your tank top just a little harder. perhaps the sun came out from behind a stray cloud.

"i'm sorry?" was your response, followed by a forkful of pasta.

"y'know, this weird bit you guys have going on." ang stared at you, analyzing your face, looking for a reaction.

all she saw was confusion. "i'm not... sure what you mean? we don't have 'a bit'. we aren't friends. kind of hard to have an inside joke when you only spend time together on camera. and half the time i drown him out anyway," you shrugged. neither of you liked each other, and that was fine. you were used to it, and the familiarity was nice. smosh was a very busy and ever-changing job. being able to rely on that was kind of nice. you were never a fan of change, anyway.

"wait, so you and spencer actually dislike each other? like, for real?" your best friend looked genuinely taken aback. you weren't sure why, you had thought it was fairly obvious that the two of you didn't get along.

"yes, we actually dislike each other 'like, for real', angela. i thought that was clear, you've seen the way we interact." you were gathering up another forkful of pasta, and angela started laughing. "why the fuck are you laughing?"

"because it's comical? i thought it was a bit! i thought you two were friends and it was just, like, a long, drawn-out joke, honestly."

"why on earth would you think that it was a bit, ang? i'm a good comedian but i'm not that great of a liar. i wouldn't be able to keep up a conspiracy like that. i fear that’s too much work for me." you ate your forkful finally. angela was still looking at you in disbelief, a few small cackles escaping her now and then.

"yeah, that's fair. crazy bit to commit so hard to, i guess. wait, so why don't you like him?" the brunette had abandoned her pasta at this point, bowl pushed slightly out of the way so she can gesticulate with freedom. "and why doesn't he like you? are you secretly middle school rivals? rivals in some niche video game scene? did he outbid you on a guitar on ebay and now you've vowed to ruin his life?"

you rolled your eyes, lovingly. your favorite thing about angela was how far she could take a joke. picked it up and ran with it. you leaned in, your voice barely audible. "you want to know a secret?"

her eyes widened, leaning in and matching your whisper, "yes, please spill!"

you shifted your eyes from left to right, as though looking for someone who could overhear and ruin your life. you took a deep breath in, preparing to spill… the truth.

"i don't actually know why we hate each other," you whispered, shrugging before sitting back in your chair with an air of finality.

"what?!"

"shh, oh my god, shut the fuck up--"

"what do you mean you don't know?" angela was moving her arms wildly at this point, "why do you still hate him then? does he know? what the fuck?"

"babe, i need you to calm down, we are still very much in a public restaurant--"

"and? spill, bitch, or you're paying the full bill."

"fine! god. i genuinely cannot tell you why we hate each other. yes, we do really hate each other. yes, he knows i hate him, and yes, i know he hates me. that has been the only thing we have ever agreed upon in our entire time at smosh. no, we aren't secretly hate fucking. no, i don't have his number, we only talk at and about work so we use slack. no, i don't know why the hate is mutual, i just know that it is. no, i don't plan on trying to change that any time soon. happy?"

before she could respond with what was likely another barrage of questions, your server came to the table and sat the bill down in front of angela.

"they always assume that i'm paying, what the hell?"

you were glad for the distraction.

✰ .ᐟ

"hello and welcome to you posted that? you posted that is a show where we embarrass our guests with their old, cringy, insane social media posts!" the room filled with cheers as ian intro'd the show, and you were so excited to finally be on it. but you also were nervous to see what they dug from the depths of your twitter.

"joining us today..." ian faked a drumroll on the podium, "our first guest is trevor evarts!"

"please don't bring up any of my rhett and link tweets," he said with a wave.

ian drumrolled again, "second up, we have shayne topp!"

"glad to be here, steve."

"and last but not least, y/n!"

"i am terrified." you said, being sure to stare down the camera, a look of anxiety on your face. you were playing it up, but it was definitely real to a degree. you had said a lot of cringy shit in your younger years. not to mention the not-so-uncommon complaints about a certain coworker. ian wouldn’t do that to you, though. right?

"terrified?” ian scanned the contestant's faces. “is anyone else feeling terrified?"

"not really, steve. i'm proud of what i've done and said and i'll stand by it no matter what. if i don't stand up for myself, who will, you know?" shayne said, clearly doing a character. a slightly intoxicated, far too excited game show contestant. you kind of loved it.

"my name is ian, and i think you know that, shayne. why are you terrified, y/n?" ian turned to you, egging you on.

"i was a shit head as a kid, i don't know how far back you dug!"

"alright then, let's get into the first round." ian explained the rules of the round, and each of you listened intently despite knowing them well.

"trevor. you tweeted, 'my two [blank] need to [blank] before i [blank blank blank].’ and i will give you a hint, this was a tweet from about a year ago."

"why does he get a hint right away!" you called out.

"he's not very bright, y/n, i'm sure you understand." ian replied, prompting trevor to make a few noises.

"be nice to me?"

ian turned back to trevor, mischievous glint in his eye. "y/n's not very bright, trev, i'm sure you understand."

"be nice to me?" you all started laughing, and once it died down trevor made his guess.

"okay, i'll take 'my two coworkers need to fuck before i explode them both' for five points, alex!"

"i remain ian, but let's reveal that tweet!"

"holy fuck," you said under your breath, realizing he got it right on the money. "how did you manage to remember the exact wording? i don't remember what i had for breakfast yesterday. oh my god, i'm gonna lose so hard at this!" you weren’t even playing it up now, you were actually getting worried. you were going to lose, and by a lot. hopefully you can attribute your lack of skill to the now-infamous gas leak.

"because these two coworkers still haven't fucked and i still want to explode them, honestly," trevor breathed out, seemingly annoyed at the two coworkers in question.

ian giggled behind the podium, a strangely worrisome sound, and you and shayne glanced at each other in shared horror. "trevor,” ian paused, multiplying the level of suspense you were already feeling. “for an extra fifty points, do you want to tell us who the coworkers are? we'll bleep it."

"fifty points?!" shayne yelled, playfully incensed by this rule breaking.

"just take me out back like ol yeller, i beg." you set you head on the podium, which wasn't exactly a comfortable angle, but this wasn't going to be as fun as you thought if ian was going to play dirty the whole game.

the room erupted in laughter as trevor pondered his choice. "no, i won't. i don't want to start anything, fifty points is nothin' compared to my pals at smosh!"

you all booed him, lovingly, and ian giggled again. "shayne, for an extra fifty points, can you guess the coworkers trevor's tweet is about?"

"do you know who it's about?" shayne asked, confused.

"oh, i think everyone in this room does," ian's grin was devilish, relishing in the chaos he was causing. he's been watching too much game changer.

"okay, i'll guess for fifty points. is it angela and amanda?" the room erupted once more, angela's laugh heard loud and clear on every mic.

"incorrect! okay, let's see your post, shayne!"

"wait, i don't get to guess?" you cut in, feeling a little bit excluded from the joke.

"would you like to?" ian asked, earnest, though that devilish smile was still fixed to his mug.

you thought about it for a second. "actually, i'm good. i think my choices are too controversial. y'all aren't ready for my vision."

everyone laughed, and the game moved on.

"shayne. your tweet says: '[blank] is overrated. [blank] is cooler.'"

shayne's silence dragged on, and ian asked if he had a guess. after a beat, shayne stood stock straight up, ready to answer.

"steve, my answer is. 'steak is overrated. chicken is cooler.' for five points."

"let's see..."

ian revealed the next slide, and a slide whistle sound effect played. “oh, that’s too bad shayne. the correct answer was ‘penis is overrated. dick is cooler.’ so close, so close. alright, y/n, it’s your turn!”

you were feeling a little better now that shayne had gotten his wrong. maybe trevor would win, but it didn’t have to be a huge blowout, right?

“y/n, your tweet says ‘i need [blank] to [blank blank] or i will [blank] in [blank blank].’ this seems evil, y/n, if i’m being honest.” ian’s wicked smirk was still firmly planted; he was playing dirtier than you ever thought him capable of. 

“what’s genuinely crazy is i’ve been so worried that i would not remember anything i’ve ever tweeted, but i actually do remember this one!” you laughed hard and loud, but then you remembered you did in fact have to tell everyone what it said. you could lie, but they’d just reveal it after anyway, and you had made a big stink about knowing it now… all you could do was fill in the damn blanks. “okay, it says ‘i need noomf–”

“you need what?” shayne asked, incredulous.

“noomf, it means ‘not one of my followers’ instead of oomf, which is ‘one of my followers’. anyway, ‘i need noomf to fuck off or i will piss in his kickstart’.” you covered your face with your hands, genuinely embarrassed. this would all be a good laugh after shooting wrapped, but in the moment you just wanted to scream a bit.

ian decided to go full little shit mode and not even make a comment, just click to the next slide showing that you were correct. every word. “five points for y/n!”

“oh, fuck, i forgot i was getting points for that. i’ll stop moping now!” you laughed, pushing yourself back into your camera persona, bright and light and happy. you could feel spencer’s daggers in the back of your skull all the same.

✰ .ᐟ

everyone broke for lunch after the finishing the shoot, and angela and courtney were the first to harass you. 

“bro, you tweeted that you would piss in his kickstart?” courtney started. 

“you guys don’t follow each other on socials?” angela then asked. 

court took another turn next, “do you guys not talk outside of work at all?” 

“no! they only talk about work so they always talk through slack!” angela was kind enough to explain your point from lunch the other day.

you stood there, tapping your foot. a bit comical, but a flair for the dramatic never hurt anybody, especially not in this industry. “are we done here? can i go get my food now?” you asked, no venom. “here, let’s just eat together and you can ask all your silly little questions. can’t promise i’ll have an answer for everything, but i’ll do what i can.”

you all lined up at the catering tables and grabbed some food, then found your way to an empty table to start this awful discussion.

you decided some rules needed to be put in place, because as much as you loved angela and courtney, you really didn’t want this to blow up into some ‘big thing’. coworker feuds happen in every office setting, it’s inevitable. it doesn’t need to be a whole situation, in your opinion.

“okay, before we start i’m going to lay some ground rules. you can ask whatever questions you want, but i’m allowed to not answer certain ones. whatever is said at this table, remains at this table, forever. and finally, i beg y’all to speak at a normal volume and not freak out for no reason. i do not need the whole company knowing my business. i’m sure you understand.”

they both nodded, and you decided to get courtney up to speed in case they had a question angela had asked you at lunch the other day, which was likely. now that you thought about it, angela was the only person you had really talked about it with. no one else you worked with seemed to mind, or care, so you didn’t think you’d ever need to answer any questions about it.

“court, before we start, angela actually ambushed me about this the other day so i do already have a few frequently asked questions answered. no, it isn’t a bit. we don’t have any friendship at all. we do not speak outside of work. i’ve never seen him outside of work. we do not have each other’s numbers. we do not follow each other on social media. we aren’t secretly dating. yes, we do hate each other, and, yes, it’s mutual. but… no, i don’t have a reason why.” you were fairly out of breath by the end of your rant, and courtney gave you a moment to catch back up.

“you don’t have a reason why? how can you both hate each other for no reason?” their voice was soft, caring. it burned.

a sigh escaped you. “as far as i know, neither me nor spencer have a ‘reason’ for hating each other. but it’s just a truth at this point. we hate each other, so we don’t interact outside of work. we play nice for the camera, but only because it wouldn’t really be entertaining if we didn’t. some truths are just truths. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and me and spencer hate each other.” you took a few bites of the salad you grabbed from the line, surprised at how good the dressing was. “holy shit, this dressing is fantastic,” you mumbled, hoping, in vain, to prompt a conversation change.

“like i said, i thought the bickering you guys did on camera was an inside joke. i didn’t know there was real anger behind it,” angela said, seeming a bit sad at this revelation.

you realized once again that you hadn’t actually had an honest conversation about this with anyone. you had never taken the time to flesh out this charade you were playing. “i’m not even sure the anger is real.” you said solemnly, quiet as a mouse. “i think it started as a bit. i’m not sure when it turned real, but it is. i guess.”

angela put her arm around you, sensing your mood drop. “hey, hey. it’s alright. you going to be okay, babe?”

courtney put their hand on yours, which you held. you felt like you were naked on a stage – feeling too vulnerable all too suddenly. after a second longer, you pulled yourself away from both of them. “i’m okay, it’s okay. can we change the topic, though? i… guess i’m not ready to talk about it, or something.”

you zoned out for the rest of the conversation.

✰ .ᐟ

when the day had finally ended, you felt the most immense relief you’ve felt in all your damn life.

finally. time to go home and dick around on your guitar. today provided a lot of feelings for a hopeful writing session. 

everyone at smosh knew you played guitar, but no one knew you wrote original music too. it was the easiest way to process what you were feeling. and if it sounded bad, then it sounded bad. at least you felt better afterwards. you never recorded anything you wrote, because it was a form of therapy for you. you let it all out, you cry, you scream, whatever. then you worked on healing. this was your process, and you loved it.

you were planning out some verses mentally when shayne caught up to you on the way to your car. “hey, y/n! i have a strange question.”

you turned, surprised by his appearance. “sure, shayne. what’s up?” 

“are you seeing anyone right now?”

“why, are you and courtney looking for a third?” you raised an eyebrow, which had shayne giggling. you continued, “no, i’m single. why?” 

“no reason!” shayne yelled, and promptly sprinted away.

“okay, see you tomorrow, i guess!” you shouted after him, knowing he probably couldn’t hear you. for such a small man he had a seemingly large stride. he was already halfway across the parking lot when you finished your sentence. “what the hell is this job, anyway?” you muttered, trying to find the melody you had thought of earlier in the day as you drove home in blissful silence.

✰ .ᐟ

alex: yoooo

spencer: what’s up?

alex: kiana’s friend is so your type it’s criminal

spencer: ok?

alex: i’m serious dude she’s like your dream girl!!

spencer: ok?

alex: hi spencer this is your best friend kiana, you have a date with my friend tomorrow at 7pm at our fav chili’s, ok love you!

spencer: i’d rather not

alex: she said shut up and be there or she’s dumping your kickstart stash

spencer: you are both evil.

alex: <3

✰ .ᐟ

you slept like shit last night. again. the past few nights were just not kind to you, and you could tell it was obvious.

“whoa, y/n… do you need to borrow some concealer?” courtney asked upon seeing you in the kitchen this morning. “i’m sure someone has a shade match in the building.”

“gee, thanks, court.” you laughed weakly to yourself, knowing she had nothing but good intentions. “i’ve been having trouble sleeping lately, not sure what’s going on.” you turned around and sighed into your coffee mug, exhausted. “maybe my body is trying to tell me something.”

courtney smiled, then came to lean against the counter next to you.

“you’re single, right?” they questioned, eyes bright.

you sighed again. “yes, just like i told your husband yesterday, i am single.”

“do you have plans tonight?” 

“other than sitting on my couch with my guitar, probably not. perhaps i’ll watch a movie. who’s to say? the world is my oyster.” 

they rolled their eyes at you, but leaned in closer to whisper. “our favorite chili’s, tonight, 7pm. you’re going on a blind date with someone i know very personally, who is perfect for you.”

she was out of the kitchen before you could pick your jaw up off the floor to protest.

✰ .ᐟ

you stood in your bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. what the hell was going on. courtney had sent you a text fifteen minutes ago, a reminder of why you were standing in your bathroom, staring at yourself in the mirror. you had a blind date at chili’s in 45 minutes. what the hell was going on. 

if you were in an alternate universe, perhaps all the dots you were connecting in your brain would turn out to be correct. you felt like that bit in buzzfeed unsolved. 

i’ve connected the dots. 

you haven’t connected shit! 

in an alternate universe, your friends beating the truth out of you about your feud with spencer, then turning around and orchestrating a blind date for you would mean something. and it would mean they were setting you up with spencer. just for a moment, just a sliver of a second, you imagined that universe.

you imagine it all working out.

but then you pull yourself out of it, and start actually getting ready for your date. 

he was probably just another improv actor with a nose ring. and he was probably nice. cute, even. but you couldn’t stop thinking about brown curly hair, piercing eyes, a hydroflask full of kickstart. 

a green smosh hat. a carhartt jacket. stubble. glasses. you loved his glasses, and secretly cursed him when he would wear his contacts. spencer.

your phone vibrated against the counter, painfully reuniting you with reality. “shit.”

you fumbled to answer the call, still feeling lost in the syrupy haze of that alternate universe of yours. “hey, court.” 

“are you on your way? find my friends says you’re still at your place!” they rushed out, and you pulled your phone away from your face to see you had less than 15 minutes to be ready and out the door.

“shit! sorry, i didn’t realize how late it got. i’m finishing up now, i’ll be on my way before you know it.” the silence on the other end was deafening. “i promise! but i have to get off the phone to get ready, okay?” 

“fine. please send me a photo of your outfit before you leave. i love you! bye!” courtney ended the call, and you sighed.

“let’s get this over with.” you mumbled to your empty bathroom.

✰ .ᐟ

spencer was pissed. if his friends didn’t suddenly decide to meddle in his love life, he wouldn’t be on a random side street, a mere three miles from chili’s, replacing his flat fire. at 7:08 pm. he didn’t even want to go on this date, but he also didn’t want to be a dick and show up late. alex and kiana didn’t share any info about this mystery girl so he couldn’t text her to let her know. he decided to call alex as he was getting ready to hoist the spare tire out of his trunk. 

“aren’t you on a date right now?!” alex shouted down the phone, no greeting. spencer rolled his eyes.

“chill, i got a flat tire. i’m down the road, like eight minutes max if traffic is kind to me. can you please let my date know i’m not standing her up, i just have to throw the donut on my car really quick.” he was fiddling with the tire iron while he spoke, suddenly nervous and upset at the prospect of hurting this mystery girl’s feelings. he shoved the emotion down and nestled the phone between his ear and shoulder, a smidge tighter than before. “please just let her know.”

“okay, okay.” alex took a breath in, and spencer could tell they’re relieved that the date isn’t a disaster, but only getting there kind of is. “i’ll let her know.”

they said goodbye, and spencer got back to work on the tire. 

elsewhere, alex texted courtney. 

alex: hey spencer got a flat tire. should be there in like 10-15

courtney: ok i’ll let y/n know!

alex: he called me and i nearly shat my pants

courtney: understandable lol if she called me 10 mins in i’d also be panicking

alex then texted kiana.

alex: spencer is late bc he got a flat tire i’m gonna bomb him

kiana: now, now!! it will work out in the end, grasshopper

alex: dont be weird

kiana: says u

✰ .ᐟ

you looked at your phone again. 7:20. you were on your second glass of water, munching on your chips and salsa and sighing. people were starting to stare at you. look at that poor girl, sipping her water, waiting for someone who isn’t showing up. surely she knows, they thought, surely she knows he’s isn’t coming.

unfortunately, you were still holding out hope. for some reason. you didn’t even want this, your friends just dropped it on you. but now that you were here, you felt hopeful. 

most people who know you wouldn’t exactly call you a romantic, but somewhere buried deep inside you, you longed for companionship. everyone did, to some degree – it was human nature. so you decided that at 7:30, you’d leave. 

even if tearing yourself from the booth would burn like wildfire.

you looked at your phone once more. 7:22. you’d been brooding in silence, alone at this table, and alone in this world. a vibration startled you out of it.

courtney: hey he’s almost there!!! he got a flat tire he should be there in about five mins, ok?? i’m so sorry and so is he!!

your heart rate picked up, that hope reigniting and spreading a warm fire throughout your body. you weren’t being stood up. good.

y/n: ok! thank you for updating me <3

courtney: of course bb i love you sm! have fun! text me all the deets!

as you smiled and steadied your fingers to type a reply, an all too familiar voice rang out. “are you being stood up at chili’s?” it asks.

you involuntarily rolled your eyes, all too easily sliding into this role you play. no one could say you weren’t a good actor. because here you were, slipping under that mask that fit so comfortably. playing a character. because an hour ago, you were hoping it would be him. you wanted it to be him. but now, he was here. which meant you had a role to play, and you would play it well. you’d give him an oscar award-winning performance. 

“please explain how my activities outside of the office are any of your business, spencer.” you deadpanned. it didn’t hit like you wanted it to. “he’s late.”

“scoot. i’m hungry.” he says, and you stare at him.

“i’m sorry?” you admonished.

“scootch over. have you ordered yet?” he asks, casual as all get out. like this was normal, or reasonable. 

you both know your roles. you know your lines. you’ve been off-book for years. what was he doing? he was going so far off script, ad-libbing, completely disregarding the words written for you, the ones you’d both studied and memorized. you were an improv comedian, and yes and-ing was never something you struggled with. but this wasn’t supposed to be improv. this was scripted. heavily. this was not reality tv, this was not whose line, this was a 40-minute sitcom with strict character archetypes, and you both knew your roles. 

while you waited in vain for the non-existent director to yell ‘cut!’, you found yourself moving over and letting him slide into the booth. it didn’t occur to you to just tell him to sit on the opposite side, which was empty. 

despite the warmth of the evening and the restaurant, you felt a shiver up and down your spine.

your server, carissa, came back to the table, and she looked relieved that your ‘date’ had finally arrived. she was probably about 20 years old, and her whole vibe said, “if he doesn’t show up, i’ll kill him for you.” 

“took you long enough, dude,” was her greeting of choice. spencer looked surprised, which caused a laugh to escape you. “what would you like to drink?”

spencer seemed a bit lost for words, but managed to say “just a water, please,” after a not-entirely inaudible swallow.

carissa turned her attention back to you, “did you want to order now? or does mister late as fuck need some more time?” she gestured at spencer with her pen, her voice full of humor. it was entirely opposite of the darker voice she used on spencer.

you loved this girl. “easy on him, carissa. i’m sure he has a good reason.”

spencer looked at you, and you realized you probably should have specified that he actually wasn’t the person you were waiting on. your mind drifts back to that slice of an alternate universe, the one you wanted to slot yourself into for longer than just a fleeting moment. your heart quickened its pace once more, and you silently willed it to calm down.

he doesn’t like you, you thought, solemnly. he likes chili’s. he’s probably here to meet kiana or something. the thought of kiana joining you at dinner was a happy one, usually. you loved her. she was bright and bubbly and she was incredibly smart. you loved listening to her talk. but right now, it almost felt like that little alternate universe and the universe you’re currently stuck in were overlapping for a moment. you wanted to keep this feeling. hold it close.

you zoned back in when spencer started talking, both of you unsure how long you had been looking at each other for. it might have been the first time you both really looked at each other. the glancing and the glaring around the office was short lived. never more than a few seconds. this look felt like it stretched on for years, unending. this wasn’t just the first time you both looked at each other, it might also be the first time you really saw each other.

and, if you were just a bit more unhinged, you’d have said that it felt like home.

“i had a flat tire. i was right down the road but i had to put the spare on, so i’m much later than i wanted to be. i try to be early to dates, but it seems like the world was betting against me tonight.” spencer looked at his lap, sheepish, all of the sudden. it was cute. a soft expression you had no clue he was even capable of. it suited him, emotion. or, emotions other than anger.

“see? that’s a perfectly reasonable excuse,” you replied, which prompted a gasp from spencer. 

you find the roles shifting, no longer are you and spencer coworkers trapped in an office, glaring at each other and attempting niceties on camera. now, you were stepping into the roles of love interests in a rom-com with 80s flair. the quiet, misunderstood girl, and the edgy yet likeable boy. fake dating for some reason or another, only to fall in love for real in the end. the it was always you trope.

you could play this character just as easily as you could play the hateful coworker. maybe this role would win you a sag award. you set it next to your academy award on your imaginary awards shelf.

“it’s not an excuse! it’s a reason. an explanation, if you will.” spencer said, faux-horror in his voice.

“and i will.” you shot back, playing into it. you could fit so comfortably here.

carissa faked a yawn, and you ask her for a triple dipper – mozzarella sticks, big mouth bites, and chicken tenders. spencer had no comment on this, which made you quite happy, oddly enough. 

once carissa had walked away, spencer turned his body to face you a little more, and you felt closed in in the best way possible. he was suffocating you with his presence, but it felt good. safe, even.

you settled into the booth, a little taken aback by his sudden attention. honestly, you paid more attention to him around the office than you would ever admit to anyone. you both had desks in the same pod so you were in proximity at all times, and you looked. a lot. and maybe you pined. maybe… just maybe, you had been pining this whole time. 

“what’s goin’ on up there?” spencer asked, nodding toward you.

“i don’t know,” you replied. it was the truth. you weren’t sure what was going on in your brain, just that you had no urge to stop it. more like an urge to give in.

carissa reappeared with a glass of ice water for spencer. he whispered a soft “thank you” in her direction, but his eyes never left yours. she walked away without a response.

“y’know, i was actually supposed to meet someone here tonight. i should probably tell alex what’s going on.”

your ears perked up at the mention of alex. “why would you tell alex?”

“they’re my best friend?” spencer said, eyes now on his phone. “also, it was a blind date. i don’t have her number,” he explained, frowning. “or her name.” his thumbs were flying across the keyboard, and you watched in silence. you were suddenly enraptured by his hands. 

then, it clicked. “oh my fucking god!” you groaned, which caused spencer to turn his focus back on you. 

“what? what’s wrong?” there was genuine concern in his voice, something you had never heard from him. it stoked the fire inside you, pulling it back up to a dangerous roar. this chili’s would erupt in flames if this continued on for much longer.

in lieu of a response, you simply grabbed your phone off the table, calling courtney and putting the call on speaker.

“hey! how’s it going?” courtney asked, speech stilted with nerves.

“what’s my blind date’s name, courtney?”

you heard spencer mutter something under his breath.

“you’ll know him when you see him! like i said, he had a flat tire. wait, it’s been, like, forty minutes, why isn’t he there yet?” their sentence got quieter as they moved through it, processing in real time.

spencer leaned in, clearly only getting closer to the mic so courtney could hear him, but you’d like to think he wanted to be closer to you, too.

“i’m here, courtney.” was all he said.

“neither of you sound happy…” they moped.

you rolled your eyes affectionately. they meant well, and you said as much. “i know you meant well, honey, but me and spencer have absolutely no chemistry.” there it was again. you switched back to your original role, the one you had spent far too much time in, the one that was closer to home. “this wasn’t a good idea and i think you know that.”

you dared to peek at spencer, who was looking right at you, forlorn. “yeah, court. i appreciate the team effort, but unfortunately me and y/n are just not compatible.” his voice was tight. angry. and just like that, spencer was also back in his original role. perhaps it felt like home to him too, and he also didn’t care for change. some things are just true. the sky is blue, the grass is green, and you and spencer agnew hate each other.

for once, you found yourself wishing it wasn't true.

✰ .ᐟ

once you and courtney hung up, you asked carissa for the triple dipper to be to-go, and you and spencer went your separate ways. the whole drive home, the car was silent and so was your brain. normally you’d be crafting melodies and writing bridges, ever the artist. but tonight your brain was turned off. you had to keep it that way, purposefully silencing the thoughts that threatened to burst through. you couldn’t think about the looks spencer gave you. you couldn’t think about the smell of his cologne when he leaned close to talk to courtney. you couldn’t think about the way he apologized. 

i’m sorry about this, y/n. i know that we don’t like each other but i wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

this?

the whole, blind-date-with-my-enemy thing. 

spencer, why are we enemies?

i don’t know, y/n. but i think we both know it needs to stay that way.

it seemed like he had been mentally policing his word choice. careful, stoic. there was emotion in his voice, but not in his face. his jaw was tight. spencer felt bad. despite it all, he didn’t want to hurt you. this was a rejection, plain and simple, but he was being merciful. though, it also felt forced. like this isn’t what he really wants, but it’s how things have to be. a law of the universe, at this point. an intrinsic truth. we can’t be anything other than coworkers and enemies. anything else would be disastrous.

you felt silly, catastrophizing like this. 

as you turned your key in the lock of your front door, your guitar called to you from the corner of the living room.

let it out, it seemed to say, feel your feelings, so you can move on.

and so you did. you changed into some sweatpants and an old crewneck, sat yourself on the floor of your apartment, and got to writing. 

perhaps you would one day add a grammy to your little imaginary awards shelf. an academy award for your coworker enemy character, the breakout role. the sag award for your little lovesick puppy character you got to play tonight, at chili’s. and a grammy. for you. no character, no facade, just you.

but you’d have to record yourself to achieve that. and now wasn't the time for bravery, now was the time for processing and moving on. 

✰ .ᐟ

the next morning, you woke up to a small barrage of messages. mostly courtney apologizing. an apology from shayne as well. a text from ang asking if you were okay. alex, kiana, and amanda also messaged you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to keep scrolling. until your eyes caught on something new. an unsaved number, who had texted you a mere minute before you woke up.

unsaved: hey. sorry again about last night. 

your heart leapt into your throat, and that fire under your skin was back. you put your phone face down on your nightstand and promptly took a shower.

upon your arrival at work, you were reminded of how fucking gossipy this damn office was. people were throwing you apologetic looks all day, clearly informed on the situation. thirty minutes before your first shoot, ian pulled you to the side.

“hey, y/n. um, is there anything you wanted to talk about? or let me know about?” ian asked, clearly uncomfortable.

you looked at him in confusion, head tilted to the side. “i… don’t think so?” you said it like a question, because it kind of was one. surely one blind date arranged by other coworkers that didn’t even result in a relationship wasn’t cause for concern, right?

“okay, i’ll just ask then. are you and spencer in a relationship? it’s okay, if so, but there’s a lot of paper–”

you cut him off, astounded he even thought to ask such an insane question. “whoa, whoa, whoa. me and spencer are not dating. why on earth gave you that idea?”

ian blushed, and it was quite cute. he clearly felt a little out of his depth, which is silly considering the amount of coworker relationships at smosh. he’s done this at least three times, you think he’d be better at it.

“well i've heard whisperings around the office that you two went on a date last night,” he said.

“and you thought that a date between us would end well?” you asked, a bit astounded. “i'm not even sure why court and them even set it up, it's fairly well known that we don't like each other in the slightest.” internally, you were thinking about the low tone spencer had when he was next to you. boxing you in, commanding your attention. maybe you had been pining this whole time. but that was not anyone else’s business, so you would continue to keep those feelings behind a quadruple-padlocked door, far in the back corner of your brain.

“y/n, can i talk to you as a friend and not as a boss or coworker?” ian dropped his voice, a soft smile on his face.

“of course, ian.”

“i think you know damn well that you and spencer are made for each other.”

“i–”

he cuts you off. “you might have everyone else fooled, and you might even have yourself fooled. but to a degree, i think there’s a part of you that wants that. and it’s okay to want that. to want spencer. it’s okay to want. but if you ask me–”

“i didn’t–”

“but if you ask me,” he bulldozes, committing to saying his piece. “i think it’s also okay to have. it’s right in front of you for the taking, and as much as you can deny it, i think you also know that.”

you were quietly stunned by this emotional, introspective, hopeless romantic version of ian. “i know i can want, ian. i know more than well enough what wanting feels like.” a sigh escapes you, suddenly exhausted. “but i can’t have. not this time, not this one. i can have something else, later down the road. but i can’t have this. i’m not allowed to have this.”

“why not?”

you stayed silent. you hadn’t thought about the why not of it all. it was another one of those things. spencer was an enemy. spencer was off limits. he was forbidden. prohibited. a thing you could want, but never, ever have.

“i just can’t, ian.” you sighed, resigned. you were getting tired of fighting this battle, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

“okay, y/n.” his voice is soft, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “well, when you can, i’m sure he’ll be waiting for you.”

“i’d never ask that of him.”

“you don’t have to.” ian wrapped you in a hug, and then walked back to whichever office he came from, leaving you in a pile of emotions at the end of the hall.

“what the fuck is happening,” you whispered to yourself. the world was turning upside down, and you were starting to get quite motion sick.

you sat down on a nearby sofa, checking the time. you had to get your mic pack set up in about five minutes, so you tried to use that time to regulate your breathing. in, two, three, four. out, two, three, four. you knew you were shooting a pit video, but you couldn’t remember what it was or who was going to be in it with you. was it a reddit stories today? no, that was thursday… 

“y/n?” erin dougal called. your head snapped up, your thoughts finally simmering to a normal volume. a distraction was welcome, and erin was always up to something.

“yeah, what’s up?” you replied, hoping for some sort of insane tiktok pitch that tommy dreamt up, or some gossip about the caterer she had a thing for. 

“ready for the shoot?” right, your job. guess those five minutes passed faster than you thought. at least you had calmed down substantially.

“oh. yeah, sorry. what are we shooting again?” you hoped she wouldn't rag on you too much for forgetting your shoot schedule. surely she was aware of your current goings-on.

she gaped at you in response. “seriously? we've only been gearing up for this shoot for, like, two months.” 

fuck. today was courtney’s hide and seek shoot. fuck. you had been so wrapped up in the bullshit of this week you had forgotten to even plan a place to hide. 

“oh! right, sorry. not sure how i forgot that.” you stood up, trying to collect yourself, embarrassed.

you followed erin into the small parking lot right outside the office, where everyone was waiting to be let inside. she debriefed you on the general rules, which have been the same since the first hide and seek video. you nodded along, and tried to figure out where the hell you were going to hide.

before you knew it, everyone was rushing inside. you decided to go up into the weird little attic space duran usually hides in, knowing he wasn't set to be in the video. it was a guaranteed easy find, and you didn't really want to be alone with your thoughts for very long. you had a history of being found extremely early on, and you weren’t planning to break that streak. especially not when you had so many other things to deal with right now.

but the universe was never on your side. you climbed up the slightly unstable ladder, using your phone’s flashlight to look for a spot, when you saw him. spencer was already up here, because of course he was.

“no.” was all he said.

“c’mon, this week has been shitty enough. i don't have any other ideas.” you whispered, knowing there wasn't much time left. “i can't find another spot, there's only, like, 20 seconds left.”

“no, y/n.” he was firm in his answer, but you were just as stubborn.

you gathered a bit of courage, and made your way over to him, ducking in the tight space. you sat down right next to him, a fraction of a fraction of a centimeter between you. “yes.”

he rolled his eyes and rested his head on the painted cinder block wall behind him, lids fluttered closed, too tired to fight. you understood that feeling all too well. “fine.”

✰ .ᐟ

turns out, courtney miller is exceptionally terrible at hide and seek. you’d both been waiting in silence to be found for over thirty minutes. if you had known how long you’d have to sit in such close proximity to spencer, you’d have made several different choices. starting with calling out of work today. 

“jesus, court.” you whispered. then, turning to spencer, you spoke just a tad louder. “we’re supposed be recording confessionals, you know.”

“i'm aware,” spencer said. no malice in his voice, though you could tell he tried. his mask was slipping.

you pulled out your phone and clipped your little selfie light onto it. “hey guys, y/n and spencer here. it’s been over thirty minutes at this point, and i don't think courtney’s even entered the kitchen, let alone this fuckass room.”

“fuckass is crazy,” spencer says, in that giggly, drawn out way he always does. you always liked when he did that. it made your stomach do somersaults, for a reason you could never pinpoint.

“are we allowed to hide together? i know lisa and jeremy technically did in shayne’s hide and seek video.” you ask, purely for the content of it all. you couldn’t care less about any of the rules right now. you were next to spencer, and it felt right. fuck the rules. 

“i'm not sur–” a noise erupted from the kitchen, and spencer paused. “they’re hereeee,” he singsonged. he was disgustingly cute.

“gotta go!” you said, quickly ending the recording and putting your phone away. 

spencer looked at you, and you looked at him. faces mere inches apart. you both heard the door to the kitchen closing, signifying courtney’s exit. you were both safe, for now. no need to stay quiet. but neither of you spoke. 

the silence carried on, seconds to minutes. you started to really look at spencer, dissecting his beauty.

the shine in his eyes, even in this dim, unflattering light. the ghost of a smile on his face. he's the first to turn away.

“y/n,” spencer near begged. “please.”

“what?” you asked, genuine.

he looked back at you. then he leaned in, so close you could feel his breath when he spoke again. “you're killing me, y/n. you know what you're doing.”

you angled your face, just so, closer than you've been to anyone in a long time. closer than you've ever been to spencer agnew. “oh? what am i doing, spencer?” you batted your eyelashes at him.

he inched closer, prompting your noses to touch. it sent a shooting pulse of sparks through your blood. “tell me to stop, y/n.” he whispered, borderline tremulous.

“why?” you didn’t retreat, and you certainly didn’t oblige him.

“please, tell me to stop.” he was still staring into you, through your eyes and deep into that corner of your mind. the quadruple-padlocked door. he held every key, and you could see it all play out: him unlocking every single one with ease. blatant disregard for the consequences of his reckless actions.

you let him. no, you encouraged him. “why can't you stop yourself, spencer?” 

you knew full well courtney could burst in at any moment. you're acutely aware that you're both at work right now, in the middle of a shoot. you couldn’t seem to find the strength to give a fuck.

“because you're in charge, y/n. you always have been. i’ve been following your lead since day one. so tell me to stop.” 

you moved your eyes to his lips, finally tearing away from that gaze. “go,” you whispered.

that was all he needed to crash his lips into yours.

it’s not a great kiss. it never is when you're both this pent up. it's either too aggressive or too soft, never exactly what you're expecting, or wanting. but it enveloped you in that now familiar fire, and you didn’t even care. this could be the worst kiss of your life and you would still think of it fondly years down the line. because it's spencer. and you wanted spencer. and he, seemingly, wanted you too. so you want. and you have. just for a moment.

your brain finally rebooted and you immediately started kissing back, forceful. spencer’s hands found your body, and they wandered. he set them on your hips, then moved one to your neck. then one in your hair and the other on your face. you only pulled back from lack of oxygen. out of pure necessity.

as you both sat there, foreheads pressed against each other, chests heaving, you started to think about what you've done. he didn't just unlock that door, he blew it off the hinges. you weren’t sure you could ever deny yourself the feeling of kissing spencer agnew. not anymore, not now. you've become addicted on the very first hit, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

a loud bang on the opposite side of the wall had both of you separating. only an inch or so between the two of you, knowing you're about to be caught. you willed your heart rate down. trying to breathe slow, deep breaths. “time to be found i guess,” you whispered. 

spencer’s head finds its place on the back wall again. he seemed defeated. tired. but happy. “yeah.”

✰ .ᐟ

two months passed and neither you nor spencer spoke about what happened during courtney’s hide and seek shoot. there's still animosity all around, and you expect that your oscar will be stripped away due to your performance. it’s exhausting, keeping this fucking thing going. you had the one thing you always denied yourself, for just a moment, and that’s all you’ll ever have. you’re well aware of this, and were doing what you could to fully come to terms with it.

but spencer. he seemed so unbothered. like it was nothing to him, like you were nothing to him, like this was all just an elaborate prank. cut the fucking cameras.

tell me to stop, y/n. please. 

christ. your alarm had been turned off five minutes ago, but you remained in bed, under the covers. showing up at work was never a thing you dreaded. you fucking loved your job. and all your coworkers, who were now your friends and your family. you even loved the fans, deranged as they are.

but these days, it was weighing on you. getting up, going in and pretending you don’t know the taste and rhythm of spencer agnew’s sinful fucking mouth. it was hell. you wanted more, and he wanted nothing to do with you. and maybe you should have expected that. maybe this was all on you, for getting your hopes up for even a moment. 

you’re in charge, y/n. you always have been.

you pulled yourself out of bed and into the shower. you turned the water as hot as it could go, grateful to experience a different kind of pain for even a few minutes.

i’ve been following your lead since day one. so tell me to stop.

once your skin had been sufficiently burned, and your actual shower duties were complete, you decided to dress a little nicer today. even though you knew the only plan you had was answering emails, editing scripts, and some social media stuff. 

the shower really helped. the day seemed different, brighter. you felt a little less trepidation about work. you weren’t sure what magic was doled out by your rinky dink shower head, but you were thankful for it all the same.

✰ .ᐟ

pretty much every cast member greeted you at the door. suddenly, that trepidation was back. “what’s going on?” 

“did you not check your phone?” shayne asked, a laugh tumbling out of him.

you thought about it. you hadn’t, actually. you turned your alarm off, showered in silence for the first time in a long time, then drove to work in silence as well. “i guess not. why? is everything okay?” 

angela let out a gleeful scream. “you and spencer have the fandom in a tizzy!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands with joy.

your brain went all fuzzy. “me and… spencer?” your mind drifted back to the kiss, and you felt the heat rising on your face. that was embarrassing. everyone was here, and they were all looking at you, and you knew that your blush was violently visible. 

“from the hide and seek video!” chanse added, as though there were any other point of reference.

you started to get a bit light-headed, and you sat down. “i’m confused.”

“why?” courtney asks, coming to sit next to you. it seemed everyone could sense your discomfort, so they dissipated, leaving courtney to work their magic.

“why would anyone care about me and spencer?” you asked. in your defense, you hadn’t watched the video. you couldn’t. you didn’t even watch back the single confessional you recorded, just sent it over to andre. you didn’t delete it though. it sat in your camera roll, heavy on your mind, and taunting you every time you opened your photos app.

they laughed, a soft sound, reassuring. “babe, i need you to watch the video.”

you groaned in response, feeling like a petulant child. like you were going to stomp your feet and cry if you didn’t get your way.  “i don’t want to, courtney. i don’t need to see how fucking red was my face was. i don’t need to see how pathetic i look.”

you hadn’t told a single soul what happened in that little attic crawl space. you didn’t want to – it was a blissful secret. it was easier to hold it in, the truth that you kissed him and it felt like flying and dying and living and breathing and everything all at the same exact time. because if you ever admitted that out loud, you think you’d pass away from the sheer amount of love in your voice when you say it. he was turning you into a hopeless romantic, and you’d barely said seven words to the man since he completely ruined your life.

because that’s what he had done, wasn’t it? you were ruined for anyone else. how could you move on, how could you kiss someone else when spencer agnew made alpha centauri appear behind your eyes. a star system, exploding to life. and you knew, somewhere inside, that that was the only time in your life you’d ever be able to feel something like that. you weren’t even sure you’d want to feel it again. it’s been nothing short of agonizing.

“y/n, can i ask you something?” they questioned, ever patient.

“yes.”

“why do you keep denying yourself good things?” her hand was on your thigh, a soft comfort to offset the sting of her question. “please, i'll show you the clip right here, and i’ll be next to you the whole time. if you want me to turn it off, i will. but will you try for me? please?”

you had never struggled with watching the videos you were in. granted, you usually could just focus on someone else in the shot. this was just you, and spencer. courtney would be there in the background, maybe brennan. but mostly it was you and spencer. and if you didn’t look at yourself, you’d look at him. you weren’t sure which was worse, but you agreed. 

“rip the fucking band-aid off already, i beg of you.” 

she let out a small squeal of excitement, opening her phone. you were only mildly surprised to see the clip was already pulled up. 

courtney pressed play on the video, and they handed you the phone. you watched, captivated. you decided to look at yourself. your blush was evident, and once you noticed that, you couldn’t bear to look any longer, so you looked at spencer. he was staring at you, while you stared ahead, giggling at whatever courtney said. his eyes were fixed on your profile, a smile bursting at the seams of his mouth, threatening a chelsea grin. he was smiling. he begged you to stop him, to stop this. spencer begged you not to feed the fire, but you had thrown gasoline right into it.

the thought… excited you.

“oh, hey,” courtney chirped happily, causing you to tear your eyes away from the screen of her phone. she paused the video and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “i’ll leave you to it,” they stood from their chair, pushing it in and giving you a look of hopefulness. you smiled back, halfheartedly.

“hi, spencer.” you murmured, finally meeting his eyes.

“hi, y/n.” he parroted, walking slowly toward you. he seemed hesitant, but… hopeful? maybe you felt the same way. “can i talk to you for a moment?” he gestured to the recently vacated chair on your left, and you nodded. you couldn’t trust yourself to talk at the moment.

he sat down next to you, entirely too casual. he’s slouched in the chair, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “seems like we did a number on a few people, huh?” he started. still too casual. you braced yourself for impact: we still can’t do this, though. we’re not friends. let alone lovers. 

what he actually said, though, hit you harder than 400 asteroids. “you certainly did a fucking number on me.”

“uh, what?” is all you could muster, confused, adrenaline pumping through your veins.

he sat back up, then leaned into your space. again. he likes to do that. normally, you’d feel too caged, too claustrophobic. but for some reason, it felt like a blessing. a near-familiar comfort in this whirlwind you were caught up in. “y/n, do you remember our first date?” 

your defense mechanism, sarcasm, clicked on in your brain. “if you call that a date, i’m embarrassed for you, spencer.” 

“so you do remember it.”

“yes, spencer. i remember when you accosted me at chili’s.”

he laughed, and you know that it’s such a beautiful sound, but it still hurt. “and do you remember what i told you at the end of the night?”

“you said you didn’t know why we were enemies, but that we both knew it needed to stay that way.”

“exactly. y/n, do you know why i refuse to sit next to you in videos? or why i very frequently cut you off when you’re talking? or why we’ve never been the guests on reddit stories together?”

“no,” you breathe out, honest. “no, i don’t know why.”

“it’s because of what happened in that godforsaken hide and seek video. because i knew, given the proximity, i’d do that. i’d stare at you, zoned out of whatever conversation was happening around me. smiling like a fucking idiot.”

you didn’t speak, feeling overwhelmed at his sudden confession.

“i have a cool guy persona that i try quite hard to keep up, and i didn’t want millions of people seeing me, fucking, splayed out like that. all my feelings on display in 4k. since the day you walked in that fucking door, i’ve been forcing myself to hate you, forcing myself to be your ‘enemy’, playing along with this stupid fucking charade we both seemingly crafted out of nowhere. being that close to you, it makes that whole game a lot harder to play.”

“spencer,” you said, attempting to alleviate some pressure. “you don’t have to–”

“i’m serious, y/n. i’m not mad, i’m not even upset. frankly, i’m relieved. it’s out there, people have seen it, and i’m happy about it. i’m tired of this stupid cat and mouse game, y/n. this shit makes me feel like sisyphus. i’m tired of pushing the stupid fake hatred boulder up the mountain. and i think you are, too. i’ve seen it. i’ve felt it.” he whispered the last part, like it was meant just for him. he was thinking about the kiss. reliving it, the tension, the heat, the closeness. his lips on yours, his hands in your hair. he was thinking about it, and he wasn’t thinking it was embarrassing or gross. he didn’t regret it. he didn’t regret you.

you leaned into him, bringing your nose right up to his, face closer than need be for a conversation between two people who claim to hate each other. “tell me to stop, spencer,” you tried.

he looked at you, eyes wide and shining again. his gaze flickered down to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “fuck it,” he stated, and then his lips were on you. 

you were once again kissing spencer agnew, and you were once again doing it at the fucking office. but you didn’t care about that, couldn’t care about that, because he was kissing you, and this time it was different. it wasn’t nearly as clumsy, or aggressive. the angle was perfect, and his hand was resting on the back of your neck, a soft cradle. your brain didn’t need to time to load, or reboot, and for once it didn’t even blue screen. you immediately kissed spencer back, with more fervor than you thought you had in you.

a small moan slipped out of your mouth, and you didn’t care about that either. you knew your coworkers were probably watching you both from around the corner, phones out to record the momentous occasion, hushes being thrown at others who dared to speak. 

but right now, the only thing you cared about was making sure spencer knew you weren’t going to play this fucking godawful game anymore. you kissed him like you were serious about it, because you were. you were serious about spencer agnew. as serious as a heart attack, which you felt like you were on the verge of.

you attempted to pull back for a moment, but spencer wouldn’t let you go. he’s starving, and you are a delicacy he intends to gorge himself on, gluttonous. you gave in, and continued to kiss him back. it’s the most blissful feeling, reciprocation.

no more games. no more lies. no more feuds.

no more enemies, or hatred.

some things in life are universal truths. the grass is green, the sky is blue, and you and spencer agnew loved each other. you always had, and both of you were equally tired of pretending otherwise. pushing back against the universe was always a losing game. 

so you both gave in.

and it was heavenly.

“please, y/n,” spencer pined, pulling back but still staying close. “don’t make me wait another two months to do that again.”

a laugh surged out of you, loud and honest. “have you been thinking about doing it again?”

“constantly. it’s a problem.”

you bit your bottom lip, unsure of how you got here. “oh my god,” you put your head in your hands, remembering your first tweet from you posted that. “i’m sorry i threatened to piss in your kickstart.”

this time, spencer was the one who laughed. hard and loud, honest, just like you, a moment ago. like you were still doing, because hearing spencer laugh made you laugh. a contagious happiness pouring from his lips, filling your very atoms.

“it’s okay, i understand. i wanted to piss in your lattes.” he set his forehead against yours, a form of intimacy he seemed to love. just like two months ago, he was invading your space and you couldn’t get enough of it.

“i’m sorry it took so long to get my head out of my ass,” he spilled, remorse heavy in his voice. “to think we could have been doing this so long ago…” his sentence faded away, and you couldn’t help but smile even harder.

“hey, my head was also up my ass. it’s okay. we have time.”

“yeah, we do.”

✰ .ᐟ

the remainder of the week went off without incident. you told ian you would fill out any and all paperwork, but not until you and spencer were ready. not until he formally asked you to be his girlfriend. it was still the very early days, and while you were beyond happy, you didn’t want to jinx it. watching this love grow was a privilege, not a right, and you intended to keep it. 

you both graced the infamous white reddit stories couch, the episode themed around coworker drama. it was nice to be able to laugh with him openly, and it was nice to hear his thoughts on the stories. spencer was incredibly well articulated when he wanted to be, and it was incredibly sexy to watch him be so emotionally mature and vulnerable. he was more understanding than you would have ever expected, and it only made you want him more.

you hadn’t had a real, formal date yet. that was tonight, once shooting wrapped. he refused to tell you anything about it, just insisted you dress comfortably.

and you were comfortable, here on this couch, with spencer. you both had to be reminded not to sit so close together, several times now. shayne and courtney ragged on you a bit, but they promised to give you tips on hiding the relationship if that was what you chose to do. that was a conversation for another time, but it was nice to know everyone at smosh would always be in your corner.

you pulled yourself out of your head to concentrate on shayne’s voice, and you even threw in a few comments mid-narration. you didn’t like doing that often, it felt rude to interrupt. but hearing spencer break out in a fit of giggles at a shitty joke you made only pushed you to be more confident. 

✰ .ᐟ

“where the fuck are going, spencer?” you questioned for approximately the fifteenth time. once shooting had wrapped, everyone bid you and spencer farewell and good luck on your first official date. you went to the bathroom to change into your favorite sweatpants and an old hoodie, and when you reappeared spencer was holding a blindfold in his hand.

without thinking, you had popped the first joke that came into your head. “oh, we’re already getting freaky?”

he had laughed, and insisted it wasn’t anything like that. “but it can be, eventually.” he raised an eyebrow, suggestive and suave.

well, fuck.

as spencer directed you through the office – presumably to take you to one of the stages? – you let the lack of sight relax you. he wanted to surprise you, which means that he planned something. or set something up. you were rapidly falling in love with this man, and you weren’t sure if that was scary or exciting. probably both. you were free falling out of a fucking airplane, the cords on your parachute stuck, but it felt good. 

“okay, you can remove your blindfold,” you heard his voice from behind you, as he finally brought you to a stop.

you slowly reached up to pull the blindfold off, and you couldn’t stop the tears that started to form.

spencer had set up a place for you to record music. he had moved a bunch of props and furniture around on the games stage, and set up a tiny little nook with pillows and blankets and bean bags. somehow, your guitar was there, propped next to an amp. there were several pedals splayed out, a wide array of effects for you to choose from. it was all hooked up to your macbook, which had fl studio pulled up on it.

“spencer…” you whined. the tears were silent, but they fell in waves. 

he moved to stand in front of you, and you knew you would never get tired of being able to be this close to him whenever you wanted. he was yours to hold. 

you tried to stop the tears, tried to speak, tried to thank him and apologize. all you could do was let the small, silent sobs wrack your body. 

“y/n, please please tell me that these are happy tears,” spencer pleaded with you. his hand wiping a tear away from your cheek.

you nodded furiously, and found your voice again. “y-yes. yes. they are happy tears.” you took a deep breath in, stinging in the best way. “thank you so fucking much, spencer. i don’t know what to say other than thank you.”

“i know that you write music, but i know you never record it. i didn’t know if that was because you were worried about it not being good enough, or if it was simply the inability to record. either way, i can keep all of this set up here for you. whenever you want, as long as the stage isn’t needed, of course. i was hoping we could have a little jam sesh.” spencer laughed, light and airy.

you surged forward, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. “thank you,” you said again.

✰ .ᐟ

you and spencer spent three hours holed up on the games stage, playing around with different effects pedals and different fl studio presets. the time flew by, and you hadn’t even actually recorded anything, but you didn’t need to. you’d remember every second of this night for the rest of your life. you didn’t show spencer any of the songs you’d written these past few weeks, all of them about him. you would one day, when you were ready, but right now all you wanted was to be in this moment with him.

“it’s crazy how far we’ve come in such little time,” spencer said quietly, once the instruments had been retired and you were both stretched out on the extra large bean bag.

you smiled, agreeing. “yeah. it sucks that we lost out on so much time, but i’m grateful that i get to have you at all.” it was more vulnerable than you had meant to be, but spencer didn’t let it linger in the air too long.

“you have me for as long as you want, babe. i’m not leaving until you kick me out.”

a soft laugh, “i can’t imagine a world where i’d ever kick you out, spencer.”

“it’s like i told you. you’re the one in charge, y/n. i’ll follow your lead wherever it takes me.”

“even if it takes you off a cliff?” you japed, adding some levity to this conversation you weren’t quite ready for.

“yes,” spencer replied, no hesitation or thought. “wherever you go, i’d like to be with you. if you’d have me.” 

you turned fully onto your side so you could look at him again. his hair had gotten so long, and you were hoping he wouldn’t cut it yet. you liked how wild and windswept it looked at this length. you also wanted to pull it.

“what are you saying, spencer?” you were egging him on.

“will you be my girlfriend, y/n? we can go as slow or as fast as you’d like, we can do it all at your pace. we have time,” he assured you. “i know this is only our first date, and normally this might seem like jumping the gun a little bit.” spencer sighed, but it was wistful, not sad. “but i’ve been sure about you for years now, and now that you’re finally giving me the chance, i don’t want to wait. i don’t want it to slip out of my hands.”

you let out a breath you didn’t notice you were holding. this side of spencer – no, just spencer – you were so unaware of him and everything he had the capacity to be and do and feel just a few months ago. sure, you’d been pining for awhile, and you’d been watching him for a bit. not in a creepy way, just observing him when he wasn’t putting up the goddamn shield he always forced up around you. seeing spencer for who he was, as he was. you had no idea that he could be so eloquent, so romantic, so fucking perfect.

“christ, you’re going to kill me, charles spencer agnew.”

“is that a yes, y/n? don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind already!” spencer laughed again, and you realized just how often you made him laugh. almost like your specific brand of comedy was tailor made for him. maybe it was. 

“yes, spencer, i will be your girlfriend.” you smiled at him, a toothy. unabashed grin. “thank you for this.” you gestured around the nook. “seriously, this is so fucking sweet of you. i really, truly appreciate it.” most people didn’t put so much effort into the first date. this would, normally, be a fifth date kind of thing, probably. not that you had much practice. but it was your first real date, and spencer did all this work just to spend a few hours making shitty hyperpop mixes out of the silliest guitar sounds you could manage.

“don’t get used to it, this was a lot of work.”

your smile dropped instantly, a cold rush hitting you. fuck, was he making fun of you? you felt tears well up again, this time decidedly unhappy tears.

spencer shot up in an instant. “hey, hey. it’s okay, love. can i touch you?”

you cried harder, realizing that not only was spencer not making fun of you, but that he was listening. he always was, he always had been. because he knew not to touch you when you were crying, he knew to ask. and you had never told him that.

you had said it in a reddit stories video once. the story had to do with panic attacks, and you felt like you had to give your two cents, daring to be vulnerable on beyoncé’s internet.

“i actually hate being touched when i’m upset. people always jump straight to hugging me or patting my head or some shit. bro, i’m fucking freaking out, please do not touch me!” 

courtney laughed, agreeing with your sentiment. “no, exactly! like, i’m crying all over myself and i’m snotty and gross. please get your hands off me. you can clearly see i’m overwhelmed, why is your first thought to add to that?” 

it was refreshing to be understood by someone. 

“i have never once seen someone in emotional distress and thought, ‘hmm, i should hug them super tight! that’ll help!’ like, what the fuck are we doing, guys? however, i do remember one time i started having a panic attack, and my friend looked at me and held her hands up, then asked ‘can i touch you?’ which, like, just broke me out of it. i was so thankful that she asked to touch me instead of just doing it that i was immediately calmed down. she’s great.”

the emotions were a sudden flood, and you shook your head no. spencer sat still in his spot, respecting your decision. for some reason, this only prompted you to cry harder.

basic respect had you sobbing. this was fucking embarrassing. 

“i’m so sorry,” you said through tears, trying to explain yourself.

spencer was patient, and you knew he would wait for you to collect yourself. it was a small gesture but it really did mean the world to you. this meant not only did he listen to you when you were talking on set, but also that he watches the videos that you’re in. he wasn’t on that shoot, he had a con to go to. he wasn’t even in the state of california when you had said that. you had said that nearly a year ago, and he had watched the video when it came out. then committed that piece of you to memory.

“spencer?” you let out softly. “i have a question.”

your voice was small, almost upsettingly so. you didn’t mean to sound so timid, but projecting your voice when you’re feeling this many emotions was something you could only do in front of a camera or a live audience.

“yes?”

“how long have you known that you didn't… y’know. hate me?” you sighed, glad to have the weight of the question off of your shoulders, but worried about how heavy the answer might weigh on you. 

“i never hated you. i never even disliked you, y/n. i thought you were smart enough to figure that out.”

“are you negging me, babe?” you asked him, trying out the pet name. it felt nice, especially because you meant it. and because this time, you knew he wasn't being mean. he was just being spencer.

once again, spencer’s laugh graced your eardrums, and you knew you’d never tire of the way it made you feel. unstoppable. like if you could make spencer agnew laugh like this, you could do anything in the world. maybe even be brave.

“can i show you something that i've been working on?” you asked, your eyes trailing up to meet his, which were already fixated on you. as always. 

“of course.”

you grabbed your guitar, turning ever so slightly to the side. you didn't want to hide, but you also didn't want to be on full display. spencer understood your movement immediately; he looked down at his hands for a moment, silently reassuring you that it was okay, that you were safe.

it was refreshing to be understood by someone.

you plucked the chords you had burned into your brain at this point. you had written this song the evening of the hide and seek incident (trademark pending).

you let your eyes fall shut, playing from memory, as easy as 1-2-3. as you began the first verse, you dared to glance at spencer. he was looking at you, but through his periphery. still trying to give you that space, but unable to deny himself. it made you burn bright with pure, radiant joy. 

you glided into the chorus, your eyes fully open at this point. spencer had long since abandoned his resolve, and he was watching you intently. instead of being scared, or nervous, or overwhelmed, you just felt seen.

in every sense, you felt seen. he was looking at you, into you, and not through you. he was seeing your heart on your sleeve, stitched permanently on every cardigan you owned. he was seeing all of your emotions, all the anger, all the sadness. and he understood your emotions, because he had felt them, too. he had gone through it all, too.

how lucky you were, to be loved by someone so observant. and maybe it wasn't love yet, but you knew the potential was there. you knew, as you finished up the bridge and moved on to the outro, that the seed had been planted. you would be sure to water it diligently.

“can i kiss you?” spencer blurted out, as soon as the final note finished ringing out in the otherwise silent stage.

“always.” you met spencer halfway, another crashing, aching kiss. his hands immediately found your hair, as they always did. your arms fell around his shoulders, a loose hold. 

after a moment the kiss was less crashing and danger and speed, slowing naturally to a sensual pace. lightly pulling and pushing, his hands now gripping your hips. not angry, not painful. it was a tight grip, but it wasn't mean. it felt scared, almost, like if spencer didn't hold on to you, you’d be gone. 

you think you liked that feeling. the feeling that your partner wanted you all the time. 

you spent another hour lazily kissing, and ended up falling into a blissful sleep.

✰ .ᐟ

you woke up about an hour after you had crashed. you hadn't meant to, you were just so fucking relaxed and happy. with the way your sleep had been, you weren’t going to turn down a nap. 

spencer mumbled something, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the fact you were still in the office. you groaned, unintentionally.

“you okay, y/n?” your boyfriend – you loved that – asked, his voice soft and scratchy from the nap.

you smiled down at him. “yeah, sorry. i just realized we've only ever kissed at the office.”

you watched in amusement as the cogs turned in his head. “oh, jeez. well, that’s just unacceptable. hey, apropos of nothing, i'm out of kickstart. do you want to run to the corner store with me?” 

spencer held out a hand, as if to say ‘join me on this adventure?’ and you weren’t sure how you could decline his offer. 

♡

[hayleythesugarbowl]

I was really inspired by smoshs most recent video where they go back and rewatch their first video appearances so here is a request!!

this does not have to be based on a specific video but just more of an idea.

I would love an ian x reader who is on the crew but makes appearances here and there like spencer. where they react to a compilation of them basically being in love because they are a really huge ship in the fandom, and it makes them realize feelings, and you know how it goes from there!!

Shipped || Ian Hecox x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you and ian watch fan compilations of yourselves for a video, you realize how much you actually like each other

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing

a/n: ahh this is such a cute idea! i’m so sorry it took me so long to get to love, hope you enjoy 💌

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Hey guys, today (Y/n) and I are going to be getting married!”

     There was a chorus of laughter from the crew as Ian went off-script. 

     “That is not what’s happening,” you said, in your best news anchor voice. 

     “She said no, cut the video,” Ian joked, spiking the camera.

     You laughed, rolling your eyes at him as he continued the intro.

     “But seriously, it is Valentine’s Day and to show you all how much we love and appreciate you, we’re going to be reacting to some fan compilations. Specifically compilations of us, because apparently, and Erin would be so proud of me for using this phrase, you ship it.”

     Ian gestured between the two of you. It was true. You’d started out at Smosh as an editor but after appearing in a TNTL Crew episode, the audience loved you and you kept making more and more appearances on camera.

     You were almost a regular cast member at this point. The new Tommy, people called you. And ever since you had begun appearing more regularly, fans had started shipping you with Ian immediately.

     It helped that you two were good friends and that most of the videos you were in, he was in as well. You and Ian had been close for a while now, ever since you’d started at Smosh a few years back.  

     You’d never thought of you guys as anything more than that though. Friends. But it was fun imagining the fans analyzing your interactions and making more of them. You couldn’t wait to watch the compilations.

     “We have compiled some edits and videos that you guys have made that are apparently about me and Ian,” you said. “I guess now that Shayne and Courtney are married and there aren’t enough clips of Angela and Mater, we’re ‘the ship’.”

     Ian nodded, laughing. “We haven’t watched these yet but I can’t wait to get started so let’s jump right in, shall we?”

     “We shall. This first one is called ‘ian and (y/n) being endgame for 17 minutes straight’ by rogertheredditor. Do we need to give a definition of endgame for Daddy Ian?”

     “Hey!” Ian protested. “I watched avengers.”

     That got a laugh from the crew and you put a hand on Ian’s shoulder.

     “Ok,” you said. “Let’s dive in.”

     You pressed play on the video and watched as clips of you and Ian came on the screen. Most of them were from videos you were in together, Reddit stories and TNTLs and challenge pit. You leaned your elbow on the table, giving the laptop all of your attention. 

 ───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Oh my gosh, Ian you can’t say that on camera!” You exclaimed as Shayne laughed, the iPad almost falling out of his hands. 

     “Well if James Charles didn’t want me talking about it, then he shouldn’t have done it,” Ian defended. 

     You smacked Ian on the shoulder as you laughed and he shoved your hand away yelling ‘cooties!’

     This only made you giggle more and you threw a pillow at him. He caught it, pretending to repeatedly hit you with it.

 ───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     You pressed pause. “I don’t even remember what you said. I just know we had to bleep it out.”

     “Oh I do,” Ian said, laughing. “It was—”

     “Next clip!” You interrupted him, pressing play.

 ───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Watch this” you told the camera, glancing at Ian in the stool. “This is about to be the fastest bit in TNTL history.”

     Ian looked at you with confusion in his eyes as you walked towards him, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.

     He immediately spit his water and you clapped, feeling triumphant. Ian choked on water as he lost it. 

     “Wait, now we have to know what you said!” Courtney exclaimed, coming out from behind the divider.

     “Inside joke,” you informed her. 

     “Wait, (Y/n),” Ian said, gesturing to you to come closer, a mischievous smile on his face. “Remember…”

     He leaned in and whispered something in your ear and you both started laughing again.

    “Get a room!” Angela called from off camera. 

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Dude, I remember that,” Ian said, stopping the video. 

     “And we did get a room after that,” you joked. You remembered that moment too, you and Ian laughing over something no one else would’ve understood. You didn’t realize there were so many of these kinds of clips of you and Ian. 

     “(Y/n) stop! They’re gonna believe you and then this clip is going to be put in edits.”

     “You’re welcome Ian and (Y/n) shippers,” you winked at the camera.

     “Wait, we need a ship name,” Ian announced.

     “Put our ship name on the comments,” you said, starting the video again.

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Oh my gosh, I’m gonna puke.”

     You waved your hand in front of your face as you tried to swallow—whatever was in your mouth.

     “What you are eating—or, drinking—is called ‘The Birthday Smoothie’,” Courtney read from the card. “Anchovies, birthday sprinkles, spice drops, and cream of wheat.”

     You gagged and Ian put a hand on your back, laughing. 

     “Can we fly in the puke bucket for (Y/n)?” He asked, looking at you in amusement as you grabbed on to the table, covering your mouth. 

     Courtney handed it to you and you turned, emptying the contents of your mouth into the bucket. Ian rubbed your back as everyone reacted. 

     “You’re ok,” he chuckled.

     You came up a moment later, wiping under your eyes and fixing your hair.

     “That was disgusting.”

     “You’re so dramatic,” Ian rolled his eyes. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

     “Oh yeah, tough guy? Care to try it then.” You gestured to the smoothie still sitting on the table.

     “I would but—I’m on a diet so…”

     You giggled, rolling your eyes. 

    “Oh, you have a—” Ian trailed off, reaching to carefully pull a strand of hair off of your mic, tucking it behind your ear. “There.”

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     And that was the end of the video. You sat there for a moment. You of course remembered that Eat it or Yeet it—in fact it was only filmed a couple weeks ago.

But you hadn’t realized how sweet Ian had been.

     You couldn’t get the image of him rubbing your back out of your head. Of him tucking your hair behind your ears.

     You turned to Ian now, only to find he was already looking at you. 

     “Um—well that was the first compilation. What did you think Ian?”

     “I think I looked good in all those clips so I’m not complaining.” Ian shrugged.

     “Ok Buddy,” you teased. “On to the next one. This one’s called ‘more ian and (y/n) clips that make anthony jealous’ by amangelalover9. Let’s jump in.”

     This video had some of the same clips from the first one but others were ones you hadn’t seen yet. A lot were times you and Ian shared the screen but others were simply moments where one of you mentioned or talked about the other one. 

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

    “I was with Ian the other day…”

     “You know who would think this was so funny? (Y/n).”

     “Wait let me text Ian and settle this.”

     “Bro, (Y/n) said the most wild shit last night…”

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     You watched with Ian, laughing and remembering each part that came on.

     A clip appeared that was older than many of the others—one of your earlier videos, judging by your hairstyle.

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Hey guys, welcome back to challenge pit!” Keith announced. “Today we’re going to be competing to see who can win at doing household chores—but with a twist. I’m talking swords and shit.”

     “Swords and shit? Title of your sex tape.” Ian leaned over and mumbled to you.

     You busted up laughing and everyone else turned to see what was so funny.

     “Sorry Keith,” you wheezed. “Keep going with the intro. Please finish.”

     “Also the title of your sex tape.”

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     Ian reached forward pausing the video on the laptop. “I remember that day.”

     “It was at the end of a shoot week, right?” You asked.

     Ian nodded, looking wistful. “Yeah. I remember it was the first time I made you laugh.”

     “Must have been the very end of a shoot week and I was delirious,” you teased, but your mind was on his words.

     Ian clutched his chest in mock offense. You giggled, nudging his shoulder as you pressed play again.

     As you watched more of the video and laughed with Ian, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. 

     I remember it was the first time I made you laugh

     He kept track of that?

     Eventually, the video ended and you moved on to the final one. 

     “That was so good,” Ian chuckled. “We are so Shourtney coded. Like I feel like if we announced that we were secretly married, no one would be shocked.”

     “Again with the marriage? Is this whole video a secret proposal or something?”

     “Only if you’d say yes,” Ian countered. 

     You knew he was joking, but something about his eyes—about the way he was looking at you—made your heart beat faster. It was probably just the effects of being in a video about you and Ian being in a ‘relationship’, but you found yourself imagining what it would be like if it was real.

     You had a sudden image of leaning across the table and bringing your lips to his. 

     You shook it off. “The jury’s out on that one. Meanwhile, our final video is titled ‘ian and (y/n) putting kelce and taylor to shame and giving us more feels than that one scene from marley and me’ and this one was posted by pandalover717.”

     The crew laughed at the long title and you kept talking. 

     “This is a shorter one—”

     “Shayne,” Ian coughed. A loud ‘hey!’ came from off-camera. You ignored them.

     “—so we’ll see what it entails. Let’s go.”

     You started the video and a Taylor Swift song started playing, dramatizing shots of you and Ian talking or hugging or falling on each other as you laughed.

     I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

    Darling, you’re the one I want 

     Was this how everyone saw you and Ian? You had always been close but—had you been missing something.

    I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this 

    Darling you’re the one I want 

     How did you see you and Ian? How did he? You tried to think of your relationship from the perspective of these edits and fan videos.

     I want to drive away with you 

     I want your complications too.

     You tried to stop your heart from racing. You were starting to see Ian in a whole new light. 

     I want to drive away with you. 

     I want your complications too.

     Seeing all of these moments that you’d had with Ian—you were beginning to form a clearer picture that you hadn’t been able to see before. 

     I want your dreary Mondays 

     Wrap your arms around me, baby boy 

     Maybe one you hadn’t let yourself see before.

     Because you and Ian were friends. Best friends. 

     But what if you could be more than that. 

     You were lost in your thoughts as the video ended and Ian tapped a button on the laptop.

     “That song slaps every time,” Ian announced, turning to you. “What’d you think of that one?”

     You shook yourself out of it, answering Ian. “I love a good edit. These were all so good and it’s so much fun to see how you guys interpret interactions and find little hidden meanings in things.”

     “Or not-so-hidden meanings,” Ian said. He sounded so sincere that it threw you off.

     “What?”

     “Nothing. What—what was your favorite moment from all of those clips? Personally mine is when you lost your lunch after that smoothie.”

     You smacked his arm and he ducked away from you, holding up his arms in surrender. 

     “Not funny Ian, my stomach wasn’t right for a week. And I don’t know if I have a favorite, there were a lot of good ones. By some crazy coincidence basically all of the videos I’ve been in have been with this guy.”

      Ian was silent a moment.

     “And—and what if it wasn’t?” He finally said. “A coincidence, I mean.”

     “What?”

     “It was at the beginning but then I, um, might’ve asked to be put in every video you were going to be in,” Ian admitted, running a hand along the back of his neck nervously. 

     “Why?” Your voice came out breathless. “Why would you—”

      “Well,” Ian started, crossing his arms over his chest. “For starters, how else would people have enough content to make edits about us?”

     “Ian.”

     “Fine. At first it was just to hang out with you more,” Ian said, “We were such good friends and—and then it was more than that. Y’know, once I, kind of, fell in love with you.”

     You could’ve sworn your heart stopped. The room was silent. As far as you were concerned it was just you and Ian.  

     “Is this some bit for the video or—”

     “It’s not a bit,” Ian confessed, smiling ruefully. “I wish it was, because that I’d be good at. I’m not good at this. At emotions and feelings and—”

     But he never got to finish that sentence because you leaned over and kissed him. He kissed you back, his lips crashing into yours with an intensity you’d never seen from him. 

     When you broke apart, the entire room erupted into applause and shouts of ‘oh my god’ and ‘guys!’ and ‘pay up shayne, where’s my 30 bucks?’. That last one was Chanse.

     But you hardly heard any of it. You could only smile at Ian as he smiled back at you. 

     “Wow,” you said. “That was not how I imagined this video ending.”

     “Me neither,” Ian said. “But a guy can dream.”

     You smiled, thinking about how Ian had felt about you all this time. How you felt about him now. It would be a miracle if you could stop smiling.

      You looked away from Ian and towards the camera as Spencer spoke from behind it. “I think I speak for all the fans when I say we are going to have a field day with this video in our next edits. This is straight out of a Lynn Painter book”

     “We?” You asked, intertwining your fingers with Ian’s at the same time as Ian said,

“You read Lynn Painter books? 

     “Yeah,” Spencer shrugged “They’re dope as hell.”

     You giggled as he continued, a small smirk on his face. “And as for the edits…

Who do you think pandalover717 is?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed babes, lots more smosh fics coming soon!! also if you caught my b99 reference ilysm 💋

[simp-ly-writes]

OH, BABY!

─────── · · A Smosh FanFic

Pairing: Boyfriend!Spencer Agnew x gn!Partner!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: Smosh Baby #2! The sequel nobody knew they wanted or needed that finds you walking around the office with a robotic baby and leads to you and Spencer realizing that getting another cat was the best choice for now.

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, established relationship, no mentions of pregnancy only wanting to have kids later, children, light swearing, domestic fluff, fluff, suggestive themes, attempt at humour.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,000~

─ · · A/N: This was so fucking cute and wholesome to write, thank you so much @itgirlcat for the wonderful idea. So much love your way! 🫶

─────── · ·

"You're kidding me," was all you could think to say while deadpanning towards the camera that a crew member held closely to your face. Their ominous laughter ran down your spine as all the blood drained from your face, 'I am NOT ready to be a parent.'

And next thing you knew you were being lead into a dark room, a singular bassinet laid there in wait as you took steady steps towards it. To your surprise, Tommy jumped out from seemingly nowhere as you screamed and ducked down behind the bassinet.

"Throwing your own kid in the line of fire... and I thought we couldn't get a worse parent than Angela-" Tommy began to say, spinning around the bassinet for you to see a small robotic baby staring back at you.

"Hey, I was a good fucking parent, and we all know that!" Angela yelled from across the room as the house lights came back on and you were unsure of where one bit ended and another started.

"So let me get this straight, you want me to... watch over this baby for the WHOLE day? I have work, and responsibilities-" you began to ramble, somewhat dreading the day ahead as the robotic cries started to drown your senses.

Tommy picked up the baby, giving it a kiss o the head before shoving it in your arms and showing you how it worked as you quietly nodded along. Now taking a closer look to what the infant was wearing: a small Smosh games hoodie seemingly custom made with a little pair of jeans and leather boots to match.

"OMG ITS SPENER!" you yelled out in excitement, all worry and your ability to listen to the instructions going outside the window as you placed the baby on your hip and walked straight to Spencers desk to show him apparently his new son.

─────── · ·

Turning past the kitchen/break room and into the office spaces, you walked along the faux-glass walls before reaching your boyfriend Spencers shared space with Damien and Shayne, the later two no where to be seen as Spencer sat hunched over his desk. Infamous can of Kickstart within reach and a framed picture of the two of you just to the side of it.

You remember that picture fondly when you accompanied him and his family on vacation back to Florida, touring where he went to school and grew up brought a smile back to your face. Especially the baby photos what were all across his parents' home walls, you look down to baby Spencer, silently asking them if they are ready themselves- not truly expecting an answer you clear your throat and watch as he fixes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turns around.

"Hey! How're..." Spencers sentence slowly falls off as he takes in the little person within your arms with a raised brow. Shock is raised in his eyebrows, a certain softness in his gaze as he moves to stand, greeting the robot in your arms with a soft whisper. "And who is this little guy, lookin' very handsome."

"Mhmm, I guess so..." you sass back- Spencer can only scoff in return. You try to hold in a laugh as you pass over the baby into his arms, taking in the sight with a tilt of your head and matching his earlier tone, "This is Spener, my... baby..." you are unsure of how to properly address the situation and by the sour expression of unsureness on your face has Spencer laughing wholeheartedly.

"I can't believe you cheated on me," he fakes a sob, holding the baby closer to his chest as you wrap an arm around him. "You know I could physically never, Spencer. I mean we both are still virgins!" you state towards the camera with a wink that Spencer joins and in that moment Shayne and Damien appear back from their break.

"Spener and Spener!" Damien greets with a wide smile, pulling you away from Spencers side with a hug before sitting down at his desk and Shayne does the same, not even batting an eyelash to the scene before doing a double take.

"What the fuck you guys?" Shayne states in disbelief, now at a full stand one more, only to let a sigh out in relief as he takes a step closer. "Oh, we are doing another one of these videos? Do you think you are going to be a better mom than Angela-"

"I heard that!" Angela yells from seemingly no where yet appears right behind you, wagging her finger in Shaynes space as Amanda steps out from behind her. "I hate these babies," Amanda states, looking disgustedly at the robotic creature as it gets passed around the friend circle before ending up in her arms.

Its robotic screeches happen once more as everyones gazes snap towards you and the keys swirling around in your hand. It takes you a moment to realize why everyone is staring at you before you take the baby out of Amandas arms and towards the couch behind Spencers desk and take a seat.

Pulling up the back of baby Spencers hoodie you insert one of the keys into its back, praying for it to be the right guess upon first try- it was not. Pulling it back out, irritation growing over the deafening cries as you can hear multiple people moving around their offices. Ians just behind you all, God I hope I don't get fired for this. You joke to yourself before the cries stop once more, apparently it needed a diaper change.

─────── · ·

Over the next few hours, you bring the baby into every meeting both in person and across zoom. Into the bathroom as you had to turn the face away from you, feeling utmost awkward with your fake child. And even on videos and live streams, your favourite of which was trying to make bits with it... them- in Try Not To Laugh.

Lets just say its easier said than done getting the right costume to put with a baby carrier strapped across your front. The TikTok you filmed for the main channel was doing increasingly well as comments flooded in, loving to see you with baby Spenner walking around the office and how everyone also worked with baby Spencer.

─────── · ·

Your day continues outside of the office as you and Spencer sign yourselves out of the office and decide to make a home video on your phones cameras. Taking the baby to the grocery store as you look over the various baby foods, baby Spener sitting in the cart as the actual Spencer rests his hand across your hip or the small of your back, walking with you and the cart through isles while picking up things you both actually need for your apartment.

"Babe do we need more eggs or did we grab those last week?" Spencer asks from down the isle as you look over the snack selection, now bouncing baby Spener in your arms. "No, we have some left still," you call back before pointing at the various colours and designs for the two of you.

Spencer smiles warmly, crouching down beside you both as he takes a photo and pulls some chips from the isle, placing them in the cart. "Park next?"

"I like the sound of that." And to the park the three of you go, some part of you did feel like a bad parent, holding the baby in your lap while going onto the main roads without a baby seat in the back. Yet you remind yourselves this is just for the video, not an actual baby, its just a robot.

While at the park, you take a short video of Spencer and... Spener going down the slide together. You push them lightly in the baby swing and go on the sea-saw together before taking a walk on the beach to end the day. Watching the sun set over the water you turn to look at Spencer to see him already looking down at you.

"You know... I don't think I would mind this being our future. Not anything soon... but I really like the idea of this later," Spencer comments, looking for your reaction before matching your smile as you lean to put your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around your waist. "How about another cat for now?" You tease yet a part of you is being very serious in that moment, feeling as Spencer stills before rubbing small circles into your side with his thumb.

"What would we name them?" Spencer asks, looking down at the robotic baby in your lap that is now in nap mode... or more likely out of batteries as you both forgot to return to the office.

"Well... I do like the name Spenner-"

"Oh fuck off," Spencer whisper-shouts, yet you can hear the smile in his words as he shuffles to look at the side of your face.

"Okay, but how about Spoons or like Crash... Bandit?"

"Cyclops? Dee?-"

"-Last name twenty?"

"Read my mind babe."

─────── · ·

When you both return to the office the next day, everyone looks anxiously at the baby as you hold it up like Simba and announce. "It is out of batteries, we win these!!!" you cheer as the office claps and joins you. Courtney running over to give you a hug as Tommy takes the child finally from your hands.

"Ready to see how you did?" Tommy asks in a teasing tone, already leading you away from the group as everyone gets ready to start work for the day. The cameras are already set up in the set you started this experiment in, now literally seeing it in a new light as the crew had placed lamps around the room and a small carpet on the floor to create a more homely atmosphere.

"Did I kill it?" you question as Tommy stares at the back lights of the infant with speculation before putting back down its hoodie and placing them gently back in the bassinet. "(name)..." Tommy starts as you can already hear the dramatic sound effects being added in post-production.

"Tommy..." you tease back, leaning more closely in as he too does the same, your noses almost touching before you both pull back with a laugh. "Well, I can officially say that you did NOT in fact kill the baby, and you did better than Angela, congrats! But the bar was already on the floor-"

"I. Am. NOT. A. Bad. Parent. You take those words back Tommy!" Angela shouts once again, turning up in the most unknown of places and all you can do is laugh, loving this bit of the video before doing your outro to the camera.

"Thank you all for getting through this video, if you see a new fuzzy child on either me or Spencers instagrams in the near future... you now knew why," you laugh a bit before continuing. "So please like, subscribe, share this to all your friends and family to show them how much of a better parent you could probably be than me!"

And the camera fades to black.

─────── · ·

🔔 Smosh Pit just posted! watch now?

─────── · ·

Another Smosh Baby?!

Smosh Pit ✓ [Subscribed] 👍 67k | 👎 8.36M subscribers 300k views 1 week ago it's official... click to read more

1,110 Comments

username01 (name) and spencer are couple goals. like did anyone elses heart hurt during that montage. i would sell my literal soul to have that at least once in my life, even if just for an hour or two...

↳ username88 woah okay my dude, do you want to talk about it because damn? ↳ username01 god i was really in my feels when i wrote that shit lol...

username20 Those "Angela not being a good mom" bits throughout the video were so funny. It was like something out of a horror film mixed with looney tunes logic XD

username14 24:01 That montage was giving me the UP movie scene and I was not ready to cry like that on my lunch break 😭 ughhh why must they be so perfect with one another

username54 Anyone else wondering where Tommy keeps getting all these kids from? LMAO /positive

username70 OMG (name) and Spencers new cat is so cute!!!!!

↳ username88 OMG OMG OMG, what did they end of naming she/him/them??? ↳ username70 They ended up adopting a stray, she is called Dee! (last name twenty)! ↳ username88 so cute! i am so happy for them 😭🫶 ↳ username70 me too, me too. 😭

username19 (names) change up from the start of the video is so visually poetic, the arts department and editing bay were both COOKING on this one. Chefs Kiss! 😘

username30 15:24 yeah sure... you both are virgins mhmmm.

username45 when (name) and Spencers wedding happens its going to be a civic holiday, i'm telling you this now. we all are not readddyyyy for itttt

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: I wrote this surprisingly quickly- hope you all enjoyed, let me know what you want more of or if you'd like to see something different! 😄

─ · · SPENCER AGNEW TAGLIST: @lisiliely @missflufffanfics @little-stitious-studios @thejourneyneverendsx @sibsteria @lizzylynch1 @babble2

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, talk of scars {good and bad}, character death, CPR, hospitals/surgeries, ANGSTY AS HELL

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: I may or may not be sorry for this

Part 6: Orange Cream and Peachy Sugar

Part 7: The Summer Filter {You Are Here}

Part 8: The Favor

It was the night of the dance. You were in your room sliding on sandals with thick black straps; they sparkle as you admire the inky polish on your toes. Standing in front of your long mirror, you inspect the outfit.

Still as starry and beautiful as you remember – little dazzling specks of light against a deep navy sky. The heart-shaped neckline gave your chest shape while revealing your battle scars. You didn’t feel the need to put concealer on the discoloration of them.

This was the real you.

Your hair was pinned up in an elegant bun with a few curled strands framing your face. It might’ve taken you fifteen minutes, but you were finally able to put eyeliner on the way you like. Other than that, your makeup was relatively minimal.

It was time to show your parents and wait for Scott to come pick you up.

Since he wasn’t telling parents that he was banned from the dance, he was free to escort you without suspicion. Once at the dance, you’d have to find other friends to mingle with.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your dad says at the bottom of the stairs, “You look amazing.” He looks proud as your mom appears with a camera.

She snaps a picture, “Ah, you are stunning!” she takes another picture of you laughing. “I love everything about the dress.”

Your mom pulls you aside for a posed picture next to the front door before she gives you a hug. One of her hands lingers on your shoulder, her thumb grazing the edge of your 3-inch incision scar.

“You are so beautiful,” she whispers, “And so brave.”

“We’re proud of you, sweetheart,” Tom says next to his wife. “You’re right – a girl needs to go to at least one high school dance in her lifetime.”

You snicker, “Even if I am going with just friends.”

“Remember to take breaks if it feels too overwhelming,” Angela frets, “Get some water and sit down for a few minutes.”

“And you have friends and teachers there that can help you,” Tom adds, “Don’t be all stoic and pretend you’re fine.”

You wave them off as you hear a car pull into the driveway. “Don’t worry, everything will be great.”

You suddenly have an inkling of the fear Stiles must feel with his dad. Your parents don’t know about the target on your back from a bloodthirsty supernatural creature. They don’t know how in danger you actually are. And if anything were to happen, you would feel immense guilt at keeping them in the dark as they fret and worry.

Scott knocks on the door and you open it to reveal him holding three large daisy flowers. “Hello. Oh, wow…” he looks you over, “You look amazing.”

Your cheeks go pink, “Thank you, Scott. I’m loving you in a suit.” You give him a hug and he presents the flowers.

“At least one of these is from Stiles because he’s upset I didn’t give him a chance to contribute,” he laughs, “I know they’re not much, but…”

“I love them. They’re a wonderful surprise.” You take the flowers from him, and your dad takes them quietly while your mom takes a few pictures. “Mom!”

“Just a few pictures for the album,” she says, “I want you to make sure you get more with your friends tonight.”

Scott feels a little tense standing next to you, a gentle hand on your lower back as you smile. “I’ll have her back before two.”

“One,” Tom says, still holding the flowers.

“One,” Scott agrees, “We’ll send you pictures.”

Angela beams, “Perfect, have fun you two!”

The walk to the car was full of tense giggles. Scott holds the door open for you and he clambers into his seat a few moments later.

“Thank you for driving me,” you smile, “I know tonight is going to be a little stressful.”

“I’d rather drive you and make sure you’re safe than just appear on the roof somewhere,” he shrugs, his knuckles pale where they grip the steering wheel. “You are one of the main targets tonight.”

“Don’t remind me,” you say, “Stiles was still bummed when I said he couldn’t drive me.”

“He’ll get over it.”

You smile, “I’m sorry you couldn’t take Allison.”

He’s quiet for a second, “Me too. But she’s not alone either. And it would be harder for me to explain why I wanted to drive with them when I’m not allowed at the school dance.”

“Well, I’m grateful anyways,” you say, “I didn’t realize how nervous I would be.”

“About the Alpha?”

“About the dance,” you laugh, “Is that ridiculous? There’s a psycho werewolf terrorizing us and instead I’m nervous about who I’m going to dance with and how I’ll look compared to everyone else.”

Scott smiles, “Those are the things you should be worried about. And you really do look amazing – I don’t think you have to worry about that one.”

The drive there feels quick with nerves fluttering in your stomach. Your heart rate is elevated, but you focus to keep a handle on it.

Ironically, the front of the school is decorated with stars, just like your dress. Blue and white balloons stand like statues on either side of the front doors while projections and strands of light wind around railings and stairs. You’re dazzled as you watch hordes of students make their way inside.

Scott looks guilty as he says, “I can’t be seen on the grounds.”

“I know,” you say, unbuckling your seatbelt, “I’ll walk the rest of the way. Good luck trying to get in,” you laugh.

Crossing the parking lot was like a never-ending runway. You feel many eyes on you, whispers being said about your scars or your outfit, you weren’t sure. You suddenly wish you brought a purse so at least there’d be something for your hands to hold. Right now they were clenching and unclenching at your sides.

Your heart was starting to beat a little faster as you near the entry table. All these eyes, dozens of people, loud music and strobing lights, and…

“(Y/N)!”

You whip around to see Stiles tripping over the sidewalk curb. He has on a crinkled suit with a black plaid tie. He looks rosy as he straightens himself in front of you, “I, uh… woah.” His eyes are stuck on you – your dress, your chest, your face. His mouth hangs open; he is completely speechless.

You pull him into a hug, “You look handsome in a suit.”

He giggles awkwardly, still choking on words as he looks you up and down. “I – I um… you look…” He looks into your eyes, very warm and sincere when he says, “You look beautiful.”

You try to hide your smile, “See, that’s why we don’t invite boys to go dress shopping. Their reactions are so much better at the dance.”

He shakes his head, acknowledging your rightness, and extending his elbow. “Might I escort you inside?”

“Sure,” you smile, holding onto the crook of his arm.

The inside of the gym was loud and boisterous. Hanging chandeliers and blankets of shimmery star fabric hang from the ceiling. Lights of pink and purple fly around the room, complimenting the live band in the back center.

Your hand tightens around Stiles’ arm, and he stops instantly.

“Too loud?”

You try to take a deep breath, “I just need a second to adjust.”

“Let’s sit down then,” he guides you to one of the round tables and pulls a chair out for you. “I’ll get you a drink,” he says as he tucks you in.

You smile your thanks, trying to relax enough to breathe steadily. You take the time to look for friends around the room. It didn’t take long to find Jackson huddled with Danny and other lacrosse players. He was pouring something clear from a glass bottle into the punch cups. You roll your eyes – well he was coping in his own unique way.

You continue to people watch, seeing your classmates and the dates they came with. Behind you is Scott hiding next to the bleachers. You pinpoint where Coach is and decide that there’s enough distance between the two.

Allison comes sulkily to your table, sitting down and groaning, “I told you I had a feeling Jackson would be a shit date.”

“He’s not in the mood, is he?” you grimace, watching him across the gym drinking straight from the glass bottle. “We could report him.”

“Let him be stupid,” she sighs, leaning back in the folding chair, “He’ll regret it enough in the morning.”

You grab her hand and squeeze, “Did you see that Scott is here?”

Her eyes light up, “I saw him sneaking in through the roof.”

“A flair for the dramatic,” you huff, “I bet you anything he’ll try to dance with you even with Finstock watching.”

“If not, we can just dance together,” she laughs, “As long as I get to lead.”

You hold up your hands, “Whatever you say.” You nod your head across the gym, “Did you see Lydia and Ben?”

Lydia was aggressively dancing with Ben Manley, the pair of them treating the school dance like a nightclub. Allison shakes her head, “She’s trying to get over Jackson.”

“She can’t hide that she’s hurt forever,” you say, “Jackson isn’t going to care that she’s grinding on some other guy at a dance.”

“We’ll be there for her when she needs it.”

Stiles reappears with two cups of punch, “Oh, hi Allison. You look nice.” He hands you a cup.

“Are you sure these aren’t spiked?” you say comically, “Jackson has been passing around the bottle.”

“Of course he has,” Stiles grumbles, “You okay, Allison?”

“We’re waiting for Scott to make his move,” she says. But a loud commotion in the crowd has caught your attention, “Or maybe he is right now?”

You hear Coach yelling a few things in the center of the crowd that you can’t make out. The audience and band go quiet for a second as he yells for everyone to keep dancing. The band picks up with a soft slow dance song and Scott appears a little out of breath but smiling from ear to ear.

“How did you manage that?” you ask.

He only has eyes for Allison as she says, “Yes, I would love to dance with you.”

Scott looks like a lovestruck puppy as Allison drags him onto the dance floor. You smile after them, happy that they’re reconciling. You don’t even notice how long Stiles has been looking at you until he asks:

“How’s your heart?”

“Still a little elevated,” you sigh, “But nothing I can’t handle.”

He nods, looking afraid and hopeful when he asks, “Do you wanna dance?”

You turn to him with warm eyes. You are completely endeared by him again. “Sure.”

His smile comes on quick and fast, standing and letting his chair topple to the ground. You accept his outstretched hand, laughing, and follow him to the dance floor. It was full of couples slowly dancing with their arms wrapped around each other.

The quieter music and lack of raving students was easier on your nerves. Stiles was timid in how he puts his hands on your waist, waiting for you to make the deciding move.

When you wrap your arms around his shoulders and force him to stoop so you can reach, he finally sinks into you. His head rests beside yours, pulling you close by the waist and swaying to match the rhythm.

You have to tilt your head up so you weren’t smothered into his shoulder. “This is better.”

His fingers twitch on your sides, “Slow dancing?”

“It’s less chaotic,” you agree, “It feels… safer. For my heart.”

He leans his head into yours, “I’m glad you still came, (Y/N).”

“Me too.” You put a hand up his neck, grazing the edge of his hairline, “Let’s just forget all the werewolf business tonight.”

“We can until something happens,” he agrees, “I just… I like holding you like this.”

Your brow puckers, face shadowed by pink and purple light. Something warm enters your chest and dribbles to your stomach. “What else?”

Stiles grips your sides, “I like… being this close to you. And smelling that wonderful fruity stuff on you.”

Nervous butterflies were fluttering in your stomach, teasing your lungs with their wingbeats. “You’ve said that before.”

He smiles, “I like you in this dress. I like that your scars are out. I like the fact you came without a date because I get to dance with you like this. And I like knowing you’re smiling right now without me needing to look because I can feel it against my cheek.” He pulls away to see proof of that smile. “I like you, (Y/N). Like a lot.” You giggle and it eggs him on, “Like a lot a lot.”

You smile and shake your head, “I think I’m a little late to the game. Everyone seems to know that but me.”

His expression starts to dip. He wants to hear a similar confession from you. But you don’t have a real answer yet. “You’re not surprised?”

“I think I’ve been in denial,” you say, still swaying to the music but getting lost in the motion. It was making you feel dizzy. The decorations on the gym walls were blurring behind Stiles’ head. “I think I…”

Stiles looks like he’s on the edge of desperation. His cheeks are flushed with oncoming embarrassment, and you can see the hurt behind his eyes. You move a hand to his cheek, feeling the heat there, “I think I feel… faint.” And your head falls to his chest, still conscious but on the verge of passing out.

Stiles holds you tightly to him, still swaying despite your limp legs, “I’ve got you.” He holds you up by the waist, a hand going for your neck to check your pulse. “I got you – I won’t let you fall.”

You dance like this for the remainder of the song, you breathing in his sweet woodsy smell and grounding yourself in his hold. He carries you gently, running his free hand in soft patterns along your back and arms. It was incredibly soothing and if your head wasn’t pounding like you were about to faint, you would’ve fallen asleep.

The song ends and you’re still swaying with Stiles. It takes everything in him not to force a word out of you. It was killing him waiting for you to speak.

You were in the throes of dissecting your feelings. How did you feel about Stiles? You remember the sleepover. The blue handprints on the car battery. The fries in the hospital cafeteria. The mac and cheese with the Sheriff. The suit jacket searching the woods. The garden trellis and rocks thrown on the tulips. The peachy light of your room and Ollie asleep between you two. The way he bandaged your shoulder. The panic in his voice from the video store call. The hugs when you cried. The truth about his mother. The gas station candy in the parking lot. The lessons in kissing.

You feel warm all over, blood still trickling to your legs and leaving your head heavy with cotton. You finally push him away, “I need to sit down.”

He’s compliant, “Okay,” guiding you by the hand and waist to the round tables. “Um… I’ll get you something to drink. Do you want to find a place to lie down?”

You put a hand to your temples, shading your eyes, “Let’s try the drink first.”

He swallows hard. His question about if you reciprocate any feelings for him left in the air. It’s eating him alive. But he leaves to navigate the boisterous dancing crowd to find the punch bowl and maybe something for you to snack on.

You’re left in your sticky feelings about Stiles. You had promised yourself no serious relationships. It would hurt less when you inevitably had to leave them. Therefore, there had to be no serious feelings.

But what you felt around Stiles. It was safe and warm and natural. And after the kissing in the jeep? Puzzle pieces were falling into place everywhere.

It was going to be dangerous liking him back. You would have to be honest with him about your prognosis. You would have to tell him why it wouldn’t work. It would cause him more grief than joy.

You pinch the bridge of your nose – would you allow yourself to like Stiles back?

Your phone in your dress pocket dings with a message from Lydia.

“I can’t find Jackson.”

You whip your head around to find Ben Manley sulking on the bleachers. Of course Lydia couldn’t let Jackson go. She still cares about him.

“He was crazy drunk last I saw him,” you reply, “He might’ve left to blow off some steam.”

“I’ll check the lacrosse field,” she says.

You feel a tinge of panic, “No, you shouldn’t go out there alone. Come back and we’ll think of something together.”

Lydia doesn’t reply and you feel that panic grow. She was on her way to being the most vulnerable pack member tonight. You stand up and will the shakiness from your drained limbs. Scott and Allison are still dancing, Jackson is missing, and Stiles is swarmed with thirsty students at the refreshments.

You were wasting time trying to get backup. If Lydia had at least one more person with her, she’d be safer.

You are quick to leave the gym and find a path to the lacrosse field. All the stadium lights are on and call to you like lighthouse beacons. You decide sending a text to both Scott and Stiles was the safe course of action.

“Lydia ran off to the field. No time. I’m going to get her.”

The grass was damp and uneven. You were grateful for wearing sandals beneath the long dress. Even more grateful when you notice a limp figure on the ground and another towering over her.

“Lydia?!” you cry, running for the pair in the center of the field.

There was blood painting her pale skin, a horrible contrast in the stadium light. Peter Hale was crouched over her, a trickle of blood running from his lips.

“Ah, (Y/N),” he says with his sinister smile, “I was wondering who would show up. Turns out it was the masterpiece coming to the rescue.” He stands and wipes at his lip, “Now, gauging the relationship between pack members, I do believe you are the more invaluable one.”

He speaks with a calm tone, but the blood on his face and the hunting nature of his eyes was unsettling. Your bare arms erupt in goosebumps, and you watch him take a sniff in your direction.

He grins, “Your fear is delicious.”

“Others are coming,” you squeak, blood pumping in your ears. Your eyes keep flickering to Lydia, searching for her chest moving with air. “A fight will break out.”

“We don’t want that on your special night,” he says in a terrifying coo, “I just need to find Derek.”

Your face scrunches, “And how would we know the answer to that?”

“One of you does,” he smirks, “And I’m going to make sure there is plenty of incentive.” He walks over Lydia and in your direction.

In a split second Peter is swiping at you, sending you flying to the ground in a mass of shimmering blue fabric. A thrill of pain like nothing else explodes in your side and you know his claws are out.

You gasp in pain, too sharp to cry out.

“I can hear the unevenness of your heart,” he growls, fangs lengthening in his mouth, “I can smell the sickly symptoms of death.” He bows to take hold of your neck, the tips of his claws digging into the soft skin there, “Let me speed up the process.”

And he lifts you into the air, his nails sinking further into you. This time you cry out, hitting him pathetically with your arms. He throws you back into the ground and pins you beneath his body. His jaws are inches from your jugular when a frantic voice screams across the field.

“(Y/N)!”

Peter lifts his head and watches as Stiles sprints across the grass like his life depends on it. He slides the last few feet, getting on your level. His hand rises to touch you, but Peter growls at him – protective of his prey.

“Don’t kill her,” Stiles says in a shaky voice. His eyes stay on you, avoiding the gaze of the Alpha. “Please.”

Peter hums, “I might find it in me to spare her; if you tell me how to find Derek.”

Stiles stammers, “What?”

A clawed hand grips into your already damaged side and a sharp cry of pain comes out of you. “Tell me how to find Derek Hale.”

Stiles is losing control of his breathing, digging his fingers into the grass to stop himself from getting killed. “I don’t know that. How would I know that? Leave her alone!”

Peter removes his claws, each dipped in the dark red of your blood. “You’re the clever one, aren’t you? And deception has a particularly acrid scent, Stiles. Tell me the truth or I will rip her apart.”

You feel weak and faint as Peter trails his fingers along your bare skin. Tears are streaming from your eyes and into your hair. The tears to your side are searing with pain; with every breath you’re hurting.

One of your ribs must be broken.

Stiles was panicking, unsure of how to help you. “Okay, look… I think he knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Derek, I think he knew he was gonna be caught.”

“By the Argents?” Peter was staring at him with a hunters mark.

Stiles struggles to look between him and you bleeding on the ground. “Yeah, and when they were shot, he and Scotty… I think he took Scott’s phone.” You wince in pain and he pounds a fist into the grass.

“Why?” Peter asks lowly.

“They all have GPS now. So if he still has it and if it’s still on… you can find him.”

“Then lets go.”

Stiles is still frantic, fingers in the grass and tears of frustration burning his eyes. You were writhing on the ground in clear agony.

“No, I’m not just letting you leave them here.”

“You don’t have a choice Stiles; you’re coming with me.” Peter bends down to fish in your dress pocket, producing your cell phone, “Here ‘Lydia is hurt on the field,’ happy now? Sent it to a friend chat.”

“What about (Y/N)?”

Peter searches his pockets for a handkerchief, “She’ll be coming with us.” He wipes superiorly at his chin. Stiles begs from his place on the ground.

“You can’t drag her around with us! She’s bleeding out; she needs a doctor!”

“Then I suggest you don’t waste my time trying to find Derek,” he straightens his leather coat, “Because the longer you take… the longer she suffers.”

“She has a bad heart,” Stiles pleads, those frustration tears building in the corners of his eyes. “Any more stress could kill her.”

Peter squats beside you, making you whimper. “Then don’t cause her any more stress by fighting me.” He sinks his claws under your arm and drags you effortlessly across the field.

You cry out in pain, your legs too weak to flail. Blood leaves a trail behind you, Stiles scrambling to his feet, “Stop it! That’s hurting her too much. Her heart will give out before we find Derek – and there goes my incentive.” He yells the last part, “I won’t care after that!”

Peter grumbles and wraps his arms around your waist and legs, carrying you the rest of the way to Stiles’ jeep. You’re placed in the back, panting and hissing with pain as Peter and Stiles sit in the front.

You try to think of a way to prolong your consciousness. You gather the extra fabric from your dress and apply pressure to your side. The punctures to your neck and arm are less of a concern. At least he didn’t bite you.

“I forget how long it takes for humans to heal,” Peter huffs a laugh, “You’d be perfectly fine by now if you were a werewolf, (Y/N).”

Stiles sets his face as he drives away from the school. He keeps checking his rearview mirror to see how you’re coping.

You elevate your legs, take deep breaths, and keep pressure on your largest wound.

“Don’t feel bad,” Peter says, “If Lydia lives, she’ll become a werewolf. She’ll be incredibly powerful.”

Lydia had been bitten, you realize horribly.

“Yeah,” Stiles says sarcastically, “And once a month she’ll go out of her freaking mind and try to tear people apart.”

“Oh, the bite isn’t so bad,” Peter laughs, “It might actually save (Y/N)’s life if she can’t surpass her own wounds.” He directs Stiles to a parking garage further into town, “I could grant her a bite.”

“And make her a raging monster every month? No, thank you.”

Peter smiles wickedly, “Not even to save her life?”

It was quiet after that, the jeep making its way into the hospital parking garage and to a certain level. They park near a small gray car and leave you there.

The wounds to your side were pulsating with rhythmic pain and heat. Blood continues to soak through the fabric you keep bunching over it. You can hear Stiles being frantic and you can’t imagine how he must be feeling.

The longer he takes the more you suffer.

He was probably going out of his mind with worry. But you know instantly that you would forgive him for however long it’ll take to appease Peter.

There’s a loud bang and the back of the jeep is torn open. You tumble out at the momentum, crashing to the asphalt in a painful heap. You gasp at the cascading amounts of aching hurt.

Peter grips you by the hair and lifts you from the ground effortlessly. You scream, bundles of bloody fabric leaving your hands to claw at Peter’s hand.

“I can be very persuasive, Stiles. Don’t make me persuade you.”

“Okay, okay!” Stiles yells, “Put her down!”

You sob on the asphalt, the effort to breathe between cries is putting strain on your heart. It doesn’t take long for you to fall into a limbo between pain and unconsciousness. Stiles began to frantically type on a laptop. You couldn’t understand what they were saying.

The hurt was too loud.

“I can’t breathe,” you gasp.

Peter goes to stand over you, urging Stiles to focus on the computer, “I’d suggest typing faster there, Stiles.”

“God. Fuck. Shit. God. Damn,” Stiles keeps messing up the keys and needing to refresh, meanwhile hearing you gasp for air behind him. “Wait! Here, look… they’re keeping him… at the Hale House.”

Peter gives you a good kick to the back as he steps over you, “Not at it. Under it. I know exactly where that is.” His ears perk up, “And I’m not the only one. Give me your keys.”

Stiles is practically bouncing on his toes to get to your struggling figure. “Careful, she grinds in second.” But his keys are returned bent and unusable. “What… how am I supposed to get her to the front of the hospital?!”

“You have a cell phone,” he says, “Now, because you did me a favor, Stiles. I’m going to offer this only once… do you want me to give her the bite?”

“The what?” Stiles is unable to focus with you quieting behind him.

“Does she want the bite?” Peter asks more clearly, “This is her one chance to get a cure all for her wounds. Of course it might kill her either way, but… that’s a risk you’d have to take.”

Stiles is at a loss, quiet as he considers. “No. She wouldn’t want that.”

“Very well,” Peter slides into his car without another word.

Stiles’ dress shoes squeak as he reaches your side, ignoring the way Peter speeds out of the parking garage. He kneels at your head, terrified that your lips were going purple. “Oh my god,” he mumbles, “(Y/N)? (Y/N), can you hear me?”

Your eyes barely flutter open before closing again, unable to breathe. He puts his head to your chest, one hand on your neck, searching for a pulse. Your heart was giving out.

“No,” he says, “No way. Not today. You’re not supposed to faint when you’re not breathing.” He pulls out his phone and puts 911 on speaker. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.” He brushes the hair out of your face, revealing road rash from where you fell from the trunk.

911 instructs him to start CPR and wait for personnel to pick you up. Being in the hospital parking garage meant that help would be there soon. Stiles has his hands over the scars on your chest, smeared with blood from your side. He tries to keep his arms straight as he attempts to pump life back into your body.

He gives you a kiss of life, two breaths that would hopefully keep oxygen moving throughout your body. This was not how he envisioned your next kiss. Your lips were lifeless and soft. They were still purple.

You couldn’t die now – not when he still needs to apologize. Not when it would be his fault for not getting you help sooner.

Not when he had just confessed having feelings for you.

~~~

Stiles sits in the hospital hallway, legs bouncing and arms shaking with the movement as he leans on them. His head is bowed as the Sheriff comes speeding towards him.

“You know what?” Noah says as he approaches, “It’s good that we’re in a hospital because I’m gonna kill you!” He speaks firmly, “It has been a madhouse trying to find all you kids.”

Stiles finally looks up and the Sheriff stills.

His son is red-faced from crying. He rubs at his eyes, sniffling loudly as he tries to speak past the lump in his throat. “Is she going to be okay?”

The Sheriff looks behind them at Lydia, “They don’t know, partially because they don’t know what happened.”

“No… I mean, is (Y/N) going to be okay?”

Noah looks at the sorrow in his sons face. “You haven’t gotten an update?”

“No,” Stiles says in despair, “She went back there not breathing and I don’t know if they’ve gotten her back!”

“Listen,” Noah sits beside him, resting a hand on his back, “Let’s handle what we can control first. Now, these girls were attacked by the same thing, right? Did you see anything? I mean, do you have any idea who or what attacked them?”

Stiles licks his lips, hesitant in the truth. He still needs to protect his dad. “No,” he says, “No, I have no idea.”

“But why was (Y/N) with you and Lydia with Jackson?”

“(Y/N) was dragged off the field by whatever attacked them,” Stiles lies through his teeth, “We split up to protect them both. (Y/N) was closer to my jeep.”

Noah clenches his jaw, unsure of how to help his son. “And she was still breathing when you made your way over here?”

“It wasn’t until we reached the parking lot,” Stiles mutters. He runs his hands over the short length of his hair. “God, dad… what if I was too late?”

The Sheriff looks disheartened. “You did everything you could.”

The wait was agony. Agony that only gets worse as Chris Argent comes to interrogate him and Jackson. He’s barely able to keep it together long enough to help create some Molotov cocktails. He instructs Jackson to take them to the Hale House and help.

Your parents appear a few minutes later.

“Oh my god, Stiles,” Angela cries, as red in the face as Stiles was half an hour ago. “Have they said anything?”

“No,” he says, “I’ve been waiting here for nearly an hour.”

Tom runs for the nurses station, “Maybe they’ll give her parents the news.” Angela follows with Stiles on her heels.

A nurse was trying to calm Tom down, “Sir, I understand – let me call into the OR and check.” She makes a call to a different part of the hospital and speaks quietly.

Stiles stays a foot away, not wanting to intrude but needing to hear the news just as badly. Angela was stifling sobs as Tom holds her close to him.

“Okay,” the nurse replies, placing the phone back on the receiver. “She’s currently in surgery.”

“So she’s breathing,” Stiles says loudly.

“Yes,” the nurse continues, “The lacerations to her side are being stitched and some were deep enough to puncture the abdominal wall. There’s been lots of damage and blood loss. So far so good, though,” she consoles. “She did come into the ER not breathing and spent a lot of time without oxygen. But they were able to restart her heart.”

Angela continues to sob into Tom as he says, “Thank you. Please tell the doctor her parents are here waiting for updates.”

They walk back to the waiting room, sitting on the hard cushioned seats. Stiles was slow to follow them, unsure of how to be included in their fretful waiting. It was his fault you were kept from help for so long.

“Stiles,” Angela says, her voice thick with emotion. “Your dad said you were with her when it happened.”

He scratches the back of his head, afraid to look them in the eyes. “I found her after the attack. I tried to get her here as quick as I could.” He licks his lips, “She… she couldn’t breathe as we parked.”

Tears continue to leave Angela’s eyes, “Her heart?”

“It just… gave out,” Stiles breathes, upset that he felt like crying again. “I g-gave her CPR… in the parking lot um – while the doctors came for us.”

Tom is getting teary too as he listens. He leans his elbows on his knees and covers his face. Angela looks horribly between being grateful and being resigned. Like she knew this would be her daughter’s fate, but glad you weren’t alone.

“Thank you for helping her, Stiles,” she pats the seat beside her and he sits. “She wouldn’t have made it to surgery without you.”

He gives her a painful smile. Yes, he got you to the hospital. But he could’ve gotten you here in better shape.

She puts a hand on his arm and rubs soothing circles with her thumb. The burning in Stiles’ eyes was quickly making them water again. He sniffs and leans into his hands like Tom. Angela moves her hand to his back, rubbing the expanse between his shoulders.

They sit like that for another hour before a doctor appears, “Westbrook?”

The trio stand eagerly.

“How is she?” Tom asks. He hadn’t said a word the entire hour.

“She’s stable,” the doctor says calmly. “We were able to repair the lacerations to her side and a few punctures elsewhere. We did have to restart her heart once at her arrival and once during the surgery.”

Angela swallows hard, eyes red but out of tears, “Can we see her?”

“They’re setting her up in a room now. Give it another twenty minutes.” He looks uncomfortable as he prepares himself to say something more. “(Y/N) went without oxygen for over five minutes. When the brain goes without oxygen for that long it results in the death of brain cells. We call it an anoxic brain injury.”

“What does that mean?” Tom crosses his arms, “What would that do to her?”

The doctor clears his throat, “We won’t know for sure until she wakes up. She may be comatose for a few hours or a few days. She may experience some coordination issues, communication problems, amnesia, or other impairments.”

“Oh my god,” Angela whispers, covering her mouth, “Could all that be permanent?”

“It depends on the severity of her brain injury. All minor impairments can be corrected over time,” he gives them all his reassurances.

Not soon after your parents were called back into your room. Stiles stays behind, bouncing his legs and waiting for something – anything – to happen. Everyone he loves is in some kind of danger and he has no idea where they all are.

He’s trying to get comfortable in the hard plastic chairs when Scott and Allison appear. They’re holding hands and running into the waiting room.

“How are Lydia and (Y/N)?” Allison asks.

Stiles slides off the chairs and awkwardly straightens himself. “Lydia is going to be okay,” he nods to the middle room with windows, “Her wounds…”

Scott squeezes Allison’s hand. “Allison knows. She knows everything.”

“Alrighty then,” Stiles hums, “She was bit, but the bite hasn’t fully healed, and she isn’t dead so… whatever that means.”

“And (Y/N)?” Scott asks, looking at every sign that his best friend has been crying.

Stiles swallows, “I don’t know. Her heart gave out and she went without oxygen for a long time.” He licks his lips, rubbing hard at his eyes, “The surgery went well, but we don’t know how bad her brain damage will be until she wakes up.”

Allison, already having lost much that night, was exhausted by the news. She leans into Scott who holds her tightly. Stiles watches it with a pang in his chest.

They talk about the events of the night. How the cocktails Jackson brought weakened the Alpha and Derek delivered the final killing blow. He was now the Alpha. Kate was dead and the Sheriff was at the crime scene. It was a distraction that Stiles was grateful for. It made the time pass quicker than just stewing in his own guilt.

“If it weren’t for you I think Peter would’ve killed a lot more,” Scott says as a way to cheer his friend.

“Jackson’s the one who delivered,” he replies.

Allison looks worried at the obvious disregard of his contribution. “Stiles… you have been a hero tonight.” She shakes her head, “A lot of people are alive because you helped.”

“At what cost,” he mumbles, thinking of your brain injury. “I don’t know.”

“How about we go home,” Scott suggests, “You need some sleep and the Westbrooks would call with updates.”

“No,” Stiles chews on his lips, “I’m not leaving until she wakes up.”

Scott looks at his friend seriously, “Are you sure? That could be a long time.”

“I’m sure,” he waves them off, “I’ll wait for my dad.”

They leave with plans that sound a lot like ‘rooftop cuddling,’ and Stiles is again left to wonder the ‘what ifs’ of the night. What would have happened if he had never left your side to get that drink? What if he hadn’t found Scott’s location in time? What were you going to say about his confession of feelings?

It hurt too much to think.

~~~

Sheriff Stilinski had spent the majority of the night managing the crime scene at the Hale House. The bodies of Kate Argent and Peter Hale were removed, and the property was taped off while forensics worked.

It was nearly daybreak when he left to pass out on his living room couch.

Several hours later he awoke for a finger of whiskey and a sandwich. He was just layering the turkey and cheese when he yelled for Stiles to come down for a talk.

When there was no reply, the sheriff went searching the house, turkey in hand. Stiles was nowhere to be seen.

“Damnit,” he curses, “That complete…” He searches for his phone, dialing and forgetting about his sandwich. “Tom?”

“Yeah, Sheriff, is everything okay?”

“Fine, fine. I just can’t find Stiles. Is he still at the hospital?”

There’s a pause where Tom has a breathy laugh, “Yeah, the kid’s still here.”

“Thank god,” Noah sighs, “I’m sorry, Tom – has he been pestering you guys?”

“No, he’s… well he’s actually just been stuck in the waiting room this whole time.” Tom sounds exhausted. “The times I’ve gone out for drinks he’s been there waiting for an update. I just tell him (Y/N)’s still comatose.”

“God, I’m sorry,” Noah rubs at his eyes, “She still hasn’t woken up yet?”

“Not at all,” Tom swallows, “Not even a twitch.”

The sheriff searches for his keys, “Well, I’ll come grab my son. He needs a shower and some sleep at least.”

“Sure, and Sheriff, we would call you if she woke up,” Tom adds softly, “I know she… she cares about you and Stiles.”

An unexpected twinge of sadness envelopes him, “Thank you, Tom. She’s a special girl.” He clears his throat, “I’ll be there in a sec.”

It takes him another twenty minutes to get to the hospital. On the right floor, he finds Stiles slumped in a hard cushioned chair with his feet propped on a coffee table. He has several magazines open and covering him like makeshift blankets.

His face looks swollen from frequent tears and his eyes look irritated from wiping at them so much. Noah looks at him with a quickly softening heart. The last time he had seen his son cry this much at a hospital…

“Stiles…”

The boy turns his eyes to his father, hidden beneath the blanket of magazines.

“Read anything good?”

He gives a half-hearted smile, “No, but this Victory magazine is actually thick enough to help retain my body warmth.”

“I see you’ve found ways to entertain yourself.”

“I got tired of being stuck in my thoughts,” he sighs, scratching at his head. “You should see the towels the nurses let me fold.”

Noah’s eyebrows raise, “Man, you must’ve been really bored. Did you not sleep at all?”

Stiles shakes his head, “I was afraid of missing when she woke up.”

“And how’s the Martin girl?”

Stiles shrugs, “She’s been able to get up and down with some help. But she’s been sleeping a lot. Her parents are taking turns sitting with her. You know… tension with the divorce.”

“You should get some sleep too.”

“I don’t think I can,” Stiles says, shifting until a few magazines fell to the floor. “I can’t sleep knowing that (Y/N) could still be seriously hurt.”

“And she could be seriously fine.”

Stiles scoffs, “And it’d be all my fault.”

“Hey,” the sheriff goes to sit by his son, knocking a few magazines off his chest. “None of this is your fault. You had nothing to do with the attack.”

“… but I could’ve kept them inside the school. I could’ve stopped them before anything bad happened.”

Sadness creeps into the sheriff, “Let’s get you home. You need to get cleaned up and have a rest.”

“No,” Stiles was quick to reply, “I’m not leaving until I know she’s okay.”

“The doc said it could be days, Stiles. You’re not going to be able to stay awake for days.”

“I can try.”

Noah stands, “No. You’re going to come home for a few hours. I’m gonna be honest, son, you look terrible. And I know you don’t want your little reunion with (Y/N) to be memorable because you smell like musty teenager and look like you’ve got a head cold.” He waits for a few seconds while Stiles pouts like a child. “After you get some sleep I’ll let you stay at the hospital as long as you want.”

A silent battle rages between the two. It takes only one more nudge for Stiles to stand from his uncomfortable chair. “Stiles, you’re not the only one who’s worried about her,” the sheriff gives him another look of concern.

“You have to wake me if I sleep through a call from the Westbrooks.”

“Deal,” Noah claps a hand around his son, leading him to the front doors. “God, do you even own a deodorant stick?”

Stiles jabs his father in the side, “And an antiperspirant spray, jackass.”

Noah slaps the back of his head, “You need to actually use them for them to work, smart alec.”

The entire car ride back has Stiles nodding off against the window. There’s a wet, foggy mark where his mouth rests open. He stumbles into the house and starts stripping as he climbs the stairs.

Noah follows and gathers the clothes, catching the bent ring of keys as they fall from a pocket. It makes him sigh, memories of his wife handling those same jeep keys… then he saw the random sets that had to belong to places Stiles shouldn’t be.

A key to the police station, to the school, to a few neighbor houses.

He would arrange to have the proper keys fixed, and the others confiscated.

Stiles stands in the shower for longer than usual. He lets the hot water run down his head and work at the knots in his shoulders. He feels cramped from being stuck in an uncomfortable hospital chair for nearly twelve hours.

It takes the thought of seeing you again to make him scrub himself clean. His father was right, he wants you to see him fresh and sane. And right now he was anything but.

It feels good to be in a pair of pajama pants and a simple black shirt. He collapses on his bed without much thought. He was more desperate for sleep than he realized.

He drifts into dreams – dreams that he will hold onto in the days to come.

~~~

He walks along the path of a lake, grand berry bushes grow wildly there. Large, tart blackberries and deep, rich blueberries bloom along the leaves. Bushels of ripe berries are everywhere, halfway picked with plenty more to go. He picks a handful of plump raspberries and delights in their sweetness.

The trees overhead protect him from the sun, welcoming him with their shimmering leaves and singing birds. The berries leave sticky sweet juice on his fingers, each delicious as he sucks on them.

Ahead is the path leading to the boardwalk atop the lake. He grins as the summer sunshine appears to warm his skin. He admires the shiny red strawberries growing in twisted strands near the picnic tables. A cutting board is laden with freshly cut lemons and red berries – a pitcher containing sour pink lemonade beside them.

All the colors seem brighter, like a summer filter overlay everything. Stiles picks up an already prepared glass, ice cubes clinking and submerged in the pink drink. After a sip he promptly eats a few cut strawberries, smelling them with an air of familiarity.

He loves the smell of strawberries and summer fruits.

In an open cooler beside the table, half-buried in chunks of melting ice, are bright orange creamsicles and bubbly sodas. A candy tray holds caramel chocolate, sugary peach rings, and sticky gummy worms.

He was quick to sample everything, his attention catching something floating in the lake. A girl was lounging in a large nectarine orange floatie, sunglasses on her face and sunscreen on her shoulders.

Stiles smiles wide, running for the boardwalk. It was all so vibrant and warm. The red of the berries, the lemon yellow, bright orange creamies, shimmering green trees, sparkling pink lemonade, and the brilliant blue of the lake water.

It smelt of sugar and sun warmed earth and fresh berries. It smelt like (Y/N).

He stops on the edge of the boardwalk, shading his eyes to see you lounging in the floatie. “(Y/N)!” he calls to you.

You look up at him, cheeks peachy pink from the sun, “Stiles?” You sit up, swimsuit beautiful with lavender purples and sage stems. “What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “But I’m glad to see you.”

You float closer to the boardwalk, moving the sunglasses to your hair. “Do you even own a swimsuit?”

He laughs, “Probably buried beneath a few camp shirts.”

“Figures,” you smile, lifting a hand bangled in rose gold, “Help me up?”

He swallows, “Yeah, sure.” He bows to take a hold of your hand, but there’s resistance. You yank on his arm and manage to flop him onto your floatie. He flails as you try to balance the giant inflatable.

It makes you laugh to see him so frantic, “You’re going to tip us!” He lands on you, your hands wrapping around him in a fit of giggles.

He holds onto your sun warmed skin, pulling you too close to the edge. Side heavy, the floatie tips over with a scream from your lips. A splash makes the water ripple as you tread to the surface, spluttering water.

“I told you to calm down,” you laugh, splashing at Stiles.

He splutters more, making ridiculous faces as he wipes the lake water from his eyes. “It was getting hot anyways.” He splashes at you next, causing you to squeal with laughter.

The splash battle was short and intense, Stiles mimicking his favorite water benders in sending waves your way. You dive for the ladder at the boardwalk, scaling it to make a quick getaway.

Stiles curses, following your dripping figure. “Get back here!” he runs across the boardwalk to meet you at the picnic table.

You are eating a plump strawberry, tossing one at his head for good measure. He ducks and gives you a sly smile, opening his mouth like a target. You promptly aim a large berry, laughing hysterically as he jumps and catches it in his mouth.

Both his arms go in the air, triumphant, “Did you see that?” he cries between loud chews. He runs to you, tickled by your laughter. He wraps you up in his arms and soaks you in.

This is you. You remind him of summertime. The vibrant colors of life. The sweet berries that grow wild. The sun that warms whatever it touches. The water cooling sunburnt skin.

The orange cream and peachy sugar.

He spins you once and sets you down, still inches from you. The pair of you are laughing like summer will never end.

Then you lock eyes.

The laughter dies slower, smiles never leaving your faces. But your eyes are entirely too warm to be just mirth. He’s looking at you like the sun itself. He was embracing the embodiment of color and sweetness and warmth.

He looks down to your berry stained lips.

With one second of hesitance he leans down to your mouth. He devours the sticky sweetness of your berry lips. He kisses you hungrily, desperately, like it was the one and only time he’d be able to kiss you.

You respond with holding his face, fingertips digging into his cheeks. His hands drift down your sides to the backs of your thighs. In an upward motion he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

A sigh of surprise escapes you, taller than him momentarily so you have to angle his face up to yours. He groans in delight as he carries you to the picnic table. He sets you on top of it, moving his hands to your thighs, searching for that moan of satisfaction from your mouth.

He nips at your lips, loving every sound you make. He nuzzles into your neck, finding that sweet spot to kiss. He has to pull back to take a breath.

You look tired. Your lips are purplish-blue. His brow knits. “(Y/N) you’re…” He lifts a hand to your chin and finds that it’s coated in bright blood. Brighter than those red berries. “Oh my god!” He pulls back to see a fresh wound to your side, soaking the lavender swimsuit in rich blood. “Oh my god, (Y/N) – what do I…”

Your chest stutters and choking sounds come from your throat. A strained redness enters your eyes as you reach for him, puncture marks along your neck. Stiles is frantic at your absence of words, “What’s happening?” he yells, “What did I do?”

You fall back onto the table, dull lemonade spilling and mixing with your bright blood. Berries and lemons roll to the ground. You choke and flail as Stiles cries his panic.

And he sits straight up in bed, sheets tangled between his legs and pillows on the floor. He’s sweating and cold, the sun setting outside as he scrambles for breath. He throws his legs over and bows over his knees.

~~~

With no word from the Westbrooks, Stiles finds himself wandering the neighborhoods until he finds your house. He looks longingly at your window, dark as it was with the recent sunset, he could just make out the cat staring back at him.

“Oliver,” he whispers, finding something else to distract himself with. He goes for the front door, hoping that in the commotion of getting to the hospital, your parents left it unlocked. He was right.

The cat was there to greet him, mewling loudly and rubbing his head against Stiles’ legs.

“You hungry, little buddy?” he closes the door and makes his way to the kitchen. Inside the pantry he finds a container of dry food shaped like little fish. “I would think (Y/N) made you gourmet cat food.”

Ollie stands on his back legs and stretches his front paws up Stiles’ leg. It was super cute. “I guess maybe just for special occasions, huh?” he sighs, taking a scoop and pouring it in the food bowl by the back door.

The cat purrs and flicks his floofy tail as Stiles sits at the dining table to watch him. It must’ve been ten minutes when the front door opens again.

There was Melissa and Scott, holding keys and a duffel bag embroidered with the hospital logo.

“Oh! Stiles, what are you doing here?”

“Um, I… well, I knew Ollie needed to be fed.”

Scott shuts the door while Melissa continues to look discontented, “Who’s Ollie?”

“The cat,” Stiles gestures to the fluffy animal, “(Y/N) would kill me if he went without food for this long.”

“You broke into the house to feed the cat?” Scott smirks, hands in his pockets.

Stiles lifts his arms, “No! The door was unlocked.”

Melissa laughs, “Still strange, Stiles. You still entered without permission.” She walks to the stairs with the duffel bag; Scott makes his way to the dining table.

“What are you guys doing here?” Stiles asks in a low voice.

Scott slumps into a chair, “The Westbrooks need clothes and stuff, so mom volunteered to pack a bag.”

Stiles crinkles his brow, “Did you do something with your hair?”

“Maybe,” he wipes a hand up and catches the gelled back fringe, “I’m trying something new.”

“I didn’t realize you had a forehead,” Stiles smirks.

Scott mumbles a retort. “I thought you were going to camp out at the hospital.”

“I was until my dad decided to drag my ass out,” he grumbles, “But there hasn’t been any news that she’s awake, so…” He plays with the hem of his shirt, feeling a little empty of conversation. “How are you and Allison?”

“Great,” Scott smiles an idiot smile, “Until her dad hunted us down and nearly killed me.”

“You’re kidding,” Stiles grimaces, “After everything that’s just happened?”

Scott shrugs, “I’m still a werewolf, I guess. He let me live, but I have to stay away from Allison.” His smile grows more subtle, eyes on the floor, “At least, I have to pretend to.”

“Great plan, Scott. Let’s remember how this guy hunts and murders the supernatural for a living. He has a literal collection of the best weapons money could buy, with – let me add – special werewolf ammunition that can work around your little healing superpower.”

“Yeah, but I still get to see Allison.”

Stiles slumps a little further down his chair, Oliver snacking on his dinner in the background. “You’re impossible.”

“I could say the same about you,” Scott retorts, “You’re just as hopeless.”

“You know I told her how I feel about her…” Stiles speaks quietly, avoiding his friends gaze.

Scott measures the rhythm of his friends heart, “And?”

“And she got faint…”

“Made her weak at the knees, did you?”

“And she ran off to be attacked by the Alpha.”

“Ouch,” Scott hisses, “No return confession?”

Stiles clears his throat, “There wasn’t time for her to.”

“Then I guess there’s still a chance that she does,” Scott says softly, “It could be the first thing she says when she wakes up.”

Melissa comes down the stairs with a heavy duffel bag full of clothes and toiletries. She huffs at the boys, “You two coming?”

“Back to the hospital?” Stiles asks, standing quickly.

“Yeah, we’re going to drop off the supplies and maybe grab a late dinner.”

“Count me in,” he replies, scratching Ollie behind the ears in goodbye.

~~~

Stiles had been wandering the hospital hallways all night, refusing any sleeping aide from Melissa as she left. She’d be back for her day shift in a couple hours.

In a pathetic attempt to see you, he creeps past the night nurse to stand awkwardly at your window. The blinds are drawn and he wails silently, upset that it’s been so long since he last saw you.

He falls to the ground and slumps against the wall. Past the point of tears, he just melts into the floor. Until he hears a sneaker against the tile.

His eyes fly to the door to see Angela standing there with dark circles under her eyes. “Hello, Stiles.”

He clambers to his feet, rubbing his shaved hair flat against his head, “H-Hi front desk Westbrook.”

She smiles at that, “Have you been here the whole day?” she leans against the door frame as if she were hiding whatever was inside.

“No, my dad made me go home for a nap.”

“That’s good,” she says, “Um… Tom is asleep on the couch, but if you want to see her…”

“Yes, please!” he says entirely too loud.

She shushes him, “Again – her dad is asleep. Let’s try not to wake him; it’s the first sleep he’s gotten since the accident.”

Stiles nods vigorously, straightening his jacket and pulling on his hoodie strings. “Yep, I got you. Roger that.”

She refrains from rolling her eyes, endeared by him much like her daughter was at times. “She hasn’t moved an inch, but if you hold her hand long enough I swear she squeezes back.”

They step into the darkened room, only a lamp in the corner providing some light on the machines at work. You lay stone cold on the hospital bed. Dressed in a white gown and layered beneath a scratchy cotton blanket, you would look asleep if it weren’t for the numerous machines tracking your vitals.

Stiles goes into shock for a second, standing rigid by the door while Angela goes for her usual chair by the couch. She gestures for him to move, afraid speaking would wake her snoring husband.

With shuffling steps, Stiles makes for the chair beside your bed. Many stickers were on your chest, each connected to wires that lead to a machine. A thin yellow tube goes into your nose and is taped at your cheek. A monitor is attached to your index finger and the back of your hand has an IV stuck there.

He can see little stiches beneath your chin where Peter stuck his claws, and he knew your side was heavily bandaged with surgical tape. The right side of your face, the side that fell onto the asphalt as you tumbled out of the trunk, had road rash. Bloody scrapes were at your forehead and on that cheekbone. They were both covered with a shiny ointment.

“You can sit down,” Angela whispers, nodding to the chair, “She won’t bite.”

Stiles gives her a stiff smile, sitting in the chair. It was much more plush than the ones in the waiting room. He scoots closer to your bed and ponders your face. You look peaceful – not at all how you looked right before losing the ability to breathe.

It was making his dry eyes burn. Your lips weren’t purple anymore. They had the soft pink color he saw in his dreams.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he says softly. It put a lump in his throat “I – I’m… god…” He bows his head and finds that the warmth that usually took hold of him when he saw you… it ached and burned in his chest. “I’m sorry.”

He reaches for your left hand, closest to him. It was free of wires and tubes, but it had hospital tags around your wrist. Your fingers are cold, and he wraps both his hands around them.

Angela tries to mind her own business, pulling a book from the side table to read. Or at least give her eyes something to look at.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles continues, he holds the mess of hands to his mouth, “I’m sorry for everything.” He tries to compose himself, tired of crying. “Um… don’t worry I fed Oliver before I came over.”

He misses the smile that Angela has on her face.

“And I’m pretty sure he deserves some fancy gourmet fish cake for the trouble,” Stiles deflects, rubbing his thumbs across the back of your hand. “He was worried sick about… about not eating.”

Angela huffs a laugh behind her book.

“That’s why dogs are better, you know. They freak out when their owner is sick. Cats just freak out when they can’t find their next meal.” He tries to swallow past the lump, “I was… I was freaking out there for a second.”

His fingers become light and lazy like they were the night on the preserve when you got drunk. “I felt hopeless again, seeing you like that.” He sniffles and clears his throat, “Which would make it super awesome if you would wake up soon,” he laughs sadly, “Please wake up soon. Please be alright.”

He holds your hand for another half hour, searching for that squeeze that Angela mentioned. Until Tom stirs on the couch and Stiles stands abruptly, suddenly afraid of his intrusion on a family matter.

He waves goodbye to a saddened Angela before returning to his hallway wandering. He walks and walks until the shift changes and the sun begins to rise again. His eyes feel dry and droopy, like he was in need of another emergency nap.

He slumps against the nurses station as Melissa appears in her scrubs, “You hanging in there, kiddo?” She rubs across his shoulders and he groans. “You didn’t sleep last night?”

“I napped all afternoon,” he says into the station counter, “(Y/N) still isn’t awake.”

“I’m sorry, kid,” she sympathizes, “She’s a part of my rounds today. I’ll make sure to give you updates, alright?”

He gives her a silly smile where his face was squashed into the counter, “Thanks, McCall.”

He wanders until he finds the gift shop open. There he buys a foil balloon covered in smiley faces and says, ‘Get well!’ It stays tied to his wrist as he makes his way back to the waiting room by your door.

Getting as comfortable as he could across three hospital chairs, he starts to fall asleep. It only takes five minutes for him to be lightly snoring, chair arms digging into his shoulders and lower back.

He fidgets there, balloon bobbing above him as he fights the stiffness of the chairs. He’s so exhausted that it doesn’t even wake him from the dreams he was diving into. Dreams similar to the summer day at the lake with you.

Ones where he got to hold you and kiss you again.

Melissa checks your chart by the door before sneaking a look at the snoozing boy.

“Oh, just like that. No, no – you first,” he mumbles, “Me first?” he drools in his sleep.

Melissa shakes her head and smiles, returning the chart and being startled by Tom walking out of your room. “Oh, Mr. Westbrook, you scared me.”

“Sorry, Melissa. And it’s Tom, please.” He stretches his arms, looking at the same thing she was moments ago. Stiles is stretched out across the chairs making kissing noises at the thin air. “Has he been here all night?”

“He’s been here all weekend,” Melissa folds her arms.

“That’s… concerning.”

Melissa pats his arm, “He’s one of the good ones.”

“You sure about that?” Tom winces at the dream kissing, “He seems like a load of trouble.”

“Oh, he’s plenty that,” Melissa laughs, “But he’s got a good heart. He cares a lot about your (Y/N).”

Tom folds his arms, “Speaking of which, she was twitching a bit in her sleep just an hour ago. Would you mind checking on her? See if she wakes to some stimulus or something.”

“Of course,” Melissa says, following his lead into your patient room.

Stiles wakes as the custodial service empties a garbage can by his head. Rudely woken at a really good part in his dream, he groggily smacks the balloon tied to his wrist. It floats back to hit him in the face and he falls out of the hospital chairs.

“Oh my god!” a muffled voice yells from your patient room.

Stiles flies to his feet, throat bobbing as he listens for something else. “(Y/N)?” He walks to your windows, blinds open now that the sun was out. His knees wobble at seeing your eyes open and mouth smiling.

He jumps to the door, creaking it open slowly as to not disturb the sudden commotion inside.

“Okay, lets run through basics,” Melissa says, “Cover one eye for me.” She measures your sight, dilating pupils, and your depth perception. “So far so good. Lift both arms for me and smile.” She checks for any signs of one sided weakness, but you pass with flying colors.

“Is she fine?” Angela holds onto her husband, “Is anything wrong?”

“Okay, (Y/N) – I need you to wiggle your toes. Good. And can you feel this?” Melissa checks for any numbness in your extremities. “Perfect. Now can you repeat this for me? Sally sells seashells…”

You lick your lips, “Sally sells seashells.”

“Amazing,” Melissa claps. There wasn’t an immediate speech impediment. “Alright, now tell me your name.”

“(Y/N) Westbrook.”

She nods, “And do you have any pets?”

“I have a gray cat named Oliver.”

“Where were you born?”

“In Palo Alto,” you say, still with confusion in your brow. “What’s going on?”

Melissa holds up her hands, “We’re just checking for any brain injuries. What surgery did you get last summer?”

“I had a device put near my heart,” you point to the 3-inch incision on your chest. “What the hell?” You move your left sleeve to look at the claw marks on your shoulder.

“And where do you go to school?” Melissa asks.

You shake your head, touching the scars, “Um… I go to school at home, I guess. I’m homeschooled.”

The room goes silent.

Melissa tries to maintain the calm, “(Y/N), do you know why you’re in the hospital?”

“I’m assuming because of this,” you point at the claw marks, “Cause I have no idea where they came from.” You scoff and find a hitch in your chest – a pain in your side, “Or maybe there’s another thing by my ribs. That actually hurts a lot.”

“Oh my god, she doesn’t remember,” Angela whispers, terrified.

Tom rubs a hand down her arm, “Just give them a minute.”

“Do you know who these people are?” Melissa points to your parents.

It makes you laugh, “Yeah, that’s my mom and dad.”

“And what about me?”

You lick your lips again, “You’re Melissa McCall. You always help when I’m in the hospital.”

She looks stiff, contemplating the next move. She looks behind her to see Stiles standing frozen at the door, balloon stuck behind him. Melissa grabs him by the sleeve and drags him into your view, “Do you know who this is?”

Stiles gives an awkward wave, balloon bouncing along with his hand. “Hi, (Y/N).”

You squint your eyes, a frown growing, “No, I’m sorry, who are you?” You miss the way the room steels over with fright. “How do you know my name?”

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912 @iloveyou2mia @everrrsincenewyork @gisellesprettylies @dullypully @taylordaughter @greenoliveslover @nataliambc @anehkael

[sage-lights]

could i rest here for a while?

word count: 1958 VidCon afterhours in Amanda and Angela's hotel room. (for the everyone in the amangela group chat. and especially for the kindest soul, @babychosen. ❤️‍🔥)

“Would you quit shuffling around over there? I can barely hear what’s going on in the 911 call,” Amanda chides, rolling her eyes playfully, though the flicker of frustration in her voice is mixed with a fondness she can't quite hide.

“Turn up the volume then! You’ve got a remote for a reason,” Angela fires back, her voice laced with mock annoyance.

Amanda turns on her side and looks over at the wiggling form to her left, “What are you even doing over there?”

“I’m trying to find a comfortable position to settle in.”

“You’ve sunk so far into the bed that it looks like the comforters are swallowing you whole,” comments Amanda. She leans forward to grab her phone from the nightstand between their beds and snaps a picture of Angela. In a sea of pearl white bed sheets, only Angela’s head pokes up out of the blanket.

“No, wait! No, don’t take a picture, ‘Manda!” Angela yells indignantly, thrashing slightly under the covers.

Amanda laughs at her mini tantrum, “You look like a floating head, Angie.” She turns the phone around to show Angela the photo in her camera roll.

“I look horrible in that! Oh my god, you have to delete it.”

Amanda hums in response, placing her phone back on the nightstand without deleting the picture, and directs her attention back to The First 48. She can hear Angela huffing out of frustration, and Amanda smiles to herself. On the screen, dramatic flashes of the evidence photos paired with an even more dramatic voiceover was setting the scene of the crime.

“The gruesome murder of the perfect all-american girl shook this otherwise quiet Nebraskan town. Who could’ve carried out such a horrific crime? All eyes turned to the quarterback boyfriend, the last person to see Jennifer Wiles alive.”

Amanda hears Angela snickers softly to herself and muses, “Imagine being in the voiceover booth for a job like this. Like, how many takes of this do you think they have to do?”

“Cut!” Amanda mocks, dropping her voice to a deep Southern accent, “Sorry, can we get that line again? Maybe this time, try to sound more like you’re a cop who couldn’t give less of a shit about this case. Alright, ready? Take 56, action!”

Angela repeats the voiceover, but with the strangest intonation and facial expressions known to man, causing Amanda to double over in laughter.

“Holy shit, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sound like that. It was like you were a baby learning to speak for the first time,” Amanda manages through labored breathing.

“That could be a fun game though,” muses Angela, “trying to give the worst line read ever.”

“Okay wait, I think you’re onto something!” They take turns, each read more outrageous than the last, their playful banter filling the room with warmth and joy. Eventually, after a particularly hilarious exchange that leaves them both breathless, they finally settle back into their cozy positions, the laughter slowly subsiding as they resume watching the show.

Suddenly, Angela shoots up from her slouched position and messily kicks the comforters off of herself. Before her feet are even fully situated in her hotel provided slippers, Angela is tripping over herself to get to the counter next to the TV with the coffee maker and concessions.

“What are you doing over there?” Amanda asks and then tilts her head, “Huh, feels like I was just asking you that.”

Angela rifles through the snacks, excitedly holding up a folded brown paper bag shrink wrapped plastic, “Amanda. Lehan. Canto. How good does popcorn sound right now? Every good movie night needs to have popcorn.”

Amanda raises an eyebrow skeptically, “Never once during our movie nights have you ever craved popcorn.”

“Okay, well, where the hell am I gonna find goat cheese, salami, and crackers to make a charcuterie board for us right now?” Angela rips the plastic wrapper off, crumbles it into a ball, and tosses it into the trash.

“Check the market pantry in the lobby,” shrugs Amanda.

“Ugh, too far away,” Angela sticks the unpopped kernels into the microwave and sets a timer for two minutes.

“Lazy.”

Angela sticks her tongue out at Amanda, “Yeah, and what about it?”

“You know you have to pay for that, right?” Amanda props her elbows up on her legs in front of her and rests her chin in her hands, watching Angela intently. The siren sounds of the Wiles case echoing from the shitty hotel speaks are momentarily forgotten.

“Company card, duh. Smosh can pay for it. VidCon is technically a company trip anyways.”

“I’m telling Ian and Anthony that you’re wasting their money on late night snacks. Gonna run Smosh into bankruptcy and then we’re all going to be out of jobs. All because someone wanted popcorn.”

“It’s one bag, ‘Manda, chill,” right as Angela begins to defend herself, the microwave dings. She grabs the inflated and buttery bag, but immediately drops it back onto the glass tray. Quietly, she whispers Ow, hot and opens the fridge under the desk to soothe her burnt fingertips against the cold interior walls.

“You okay?” Amanda asks, her voice softening.

“Yeah, the bag was just hotter than I expected.”

“Well, duh. It’s literally steaming because of the microwave.”

With her sufficiently iced fingers, Angela carefully carries the popcorn back over to her bed and settles back in, “Wow, and for a second I thought you were actually being nice to me.”

Now it’s Amanda’s turn to stick her tongue at Angela. Childish, she knows. But with Angela, she doesn’t feel embarrassed acting a little immature. And besides, Angela did it to her first.

Amanda sticks her hand out expectantly across the divide. Angela eyes her in disbelief, “You have the audacity to talk so much shit while I was making popcorn and now you want to ask for some? No way, go make yourself your own bag.”

“I don’t want a whole bag's worth, just, like, half a bag's worth.”

“Interesting. Splitting my bag between the two of us would mean you get half a bag of popcorn. Huh, how convenient!”

“You know what they say, sharing is caring!”

Reluctantly, Angela passes the bag over, “You’re lucky that I love you.”

Amanda slowly pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth, a smug grin spreading across her face as she savors the buttery flavor. Angela’s gaze lingers on Amanda’s lips for a moment before she shakes herself from the thought, quickly refocusing on the show.

For a while, they take turns handing the bag back and forth, sharing the snack like it’s a playful game. But as the night wears on and the light from the TV flickers dimly, the fun begins to fade. With every pass, Angela feels the weight of fatigue pulling her down, and the popcorn-sharing routine starts to feel tedious.

“Okay, I’m tired of you hogging all my popcorn,” Angela grumbles, half-heartedly glaring at Amanda. “Passing the bag back and forth is so fucking annoying.”

Amanda chuckles, “Alright, alright,” she replies, scooting over to the right side of her bed, “Here, we can share my bed instead.”

“Oh, of course. You’re making me move,” Angela says, but there’s no real annoyance in her tone. She’s already climbing out of her bed, shuffling over to Amanda’s side. Curling into Amanda’s warmth is one of the few moments where Angela feels her hyperactive brain quiet down completely. It’s peaceful beside Amanda; Amanda is her peace.

“Hey, you’re the one complaining about sharing the popcorn. I’m totally okay with tossing kernels into your mouth and having you catch them, if that’s more your speed.”

“Shut up, you’re stupid,” Angela half-heartedly retorts, pulling the blankets over her and mirroring the position she was in moments before in her own bed. Amanda mimics Angela’s position, sinking down further. She wraps her left arm around Angela’s shoulders, pulling her closer into her side. Angela, a willing victim, lets herself be enveloped in Amanda’s warmth. She rests her head on Amanda’s chest, sighing.

Nestled in the ripples of the blanket between them is their joint custody bag of popcorn, like a child squished between their parents. For the first time all night, they don’t say anything to each other.

It’s so silent that Amanda can hear Angela’s even breaths. She’s sure Angela can hear how fast her heart is beating through her chest. Unconsciously, Amanda begins to stroke the length of Angela’s arm with her fingers, feeling the warmth radiate between them.

As Amanda looks down at Angela, who was now fast asleep with the arm Amanda was caressing slung over her stomach, a warmth spreads through her chest. She finds herself wanting to lean down and press a soft kiss on Angela’s forehead. But as she leans closer, hesitation creeps in. She pulls back and clears her throat, trying to forget the urge.

After a while, Amanda can feel her eyes start to droop. She hasn’t paid much attention to this episode of The First 48 to be invested in seeing the resolution. 

“Baby,” Amanda whispers. No response. She tries again a little louder, “Ang? Angela?” Still nothing.

Fuck, Amanda thinks, What do I do?

For all the times they’ve had a movie night or simply hung out at each other’s apartments, never have they stayed the night, let alone shared a bed like this. What was the protocol for something like this? Was Amanda supposed to keep trying to wake Angela up? Maybe carry her back to her bed?

Amanda hesitated, glancing at the empty bed across the room, then down at Angela, who had curled closer into her side. The thought of waking her up felt wrong—she knew her friend had been working herself to the bone between the shooting schedule of Smosh, rehearsals for the newest Starkid musical, filming days for her podcast, and whatever other creative projects Angela promised her friends she’d be a part of. It seemed like this was the first time in days that she’d actually rested.

Maybe Amanda could move to Angela’s bed. Slowly, Amanda tries to sit up and release herself from Angela’s grasp. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect as Angela holds onto Amanda even tighter, furrowing her eyebrows disappointedly.

Amanda sighed. She could move, give Angela her space, but the weight of exhaustion tugged at her, her limbs heavy with fatigue. Maybe it was fine—just for tonight.

Amanda feels around for the remote, turns off the TV, and gingerly places it on the nightstand. She’s careful not to hit Angela, and flicks the light switch off too, engulfing their room in darkness. She sank back into the pillow, carefully wrapping her arm around Angela again, her eyes fluttering shut almost instantly.

With another yawn, Amanda settles in. Before she knows it, she’s dead asleep as well, wrapping herself around Angela.

(Angela blinked, waking to a mouthful of hair that wasn’t her own. Her fingers twitched beneath something warm, and as her brain slowly caught up, she realized her hand was flat against Amanda’s stomach.

Oh, shit.

Her heart raced. She carefully glanced up, making sure Amanda was still asleep. Thankfully, she was, her features soft, her messy hair falling across her face.

Angela’s eyes lingered a moment too long—despite everything, Amanda still looked beautiful, even like this. But the panic snapped her back. Gently, she slid her hand out from under Amanda’s shirt and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her.

Moving quickly, she rushed through her morning routine, her pulse still pounding in her ears as she fled the room. She just needed some space to think.)

(When Amanda wakes up, she immediately notices how cold the left side of the bed suddenly feels.)

[xetlynn]

Twilight- The Switch Of Daylight- Chapter One, Birthday Wishes

(Alice X Reader X Jasper)

[One] [Two]

Charlie and I are downstairs, getting the gifts ready right before we make our way up to go wake up Bella.

Or she’s already up we just need to give her these presents. Charlie goes up first with me behind him excited. He knocks on the door once and then enters. “Happy Birthday, Bells.” He says. “Dad, [Name] we agreed no gifts.” She tells us and I roll my eyes. “At least mines is not wrapped.” He hands her a digital camera, “Okay, this is actually kind of great. Thanks, Dad.” She grinned at it, Charlie then gives her another gift, this time it was wrapped.

“Goes with this one, from your mom. We coordinated- well, she coordinated me.” He explains and I smirk as I did hear all their phone calls. “Mines not a part of it.” I hand her mine, “Don’t open it yet.” She nods and places it next to her. She opens the gift from Mom, it’s a scrapbook. “To put your pictures in, record your senior year.” He says then pauses as he thinks for a moment. “Man, senior year. How’d you get old so fast.” He teases her. “Not that old,” Bella mutters. 

“I don’t know, is that a wrinkle.” He jokes but Bella freaks out, racing over to her mirror, searching for the wrinkle. “I was kidding.” He huffs. “So not funny Dad.” She grunts.

Charlie makes his leave and I close the door behind him. “Open my gift.” I grin. “[Name]-” “I don’t want to hear it.” I cut her off, shoving the gift in her arms. I patiently wait as she opens it. There lay two silver bracelets in a box. Had two charms each on both, hers having a dark blue gem then a plate that had the words “Love you, always” engraved into it. Mine had a red gem with the same saying. She smiles and then pulls me into a hug. “I keep forgetting how cold you are now.” She laughs, stepping back and we put the bracelets on one another. “I love it, thank you.” She jingles it around and I snicker, doing it back. 

“I’m glad because I had no idea what to give you. But I wanted to piss you off with a gift.” I winked, and before she could say anything back I was already out the door. 

I rode my motorcycle to school, I had told Angela that I’d give her this book I owned but I kept forgetting. Pulling into the school Angela’s already jogging over to me. “You brought it?” I then let my face drop jokingly, she doesn’t know I’m joking though. “It’s okay if you forgot again-” I cut her off with my own laughter, pulling out the book from my backpack. She sighs and chuckles too, taking the book from me. “I had to.” I bump her and then stand up from my bike. Taking off my helmet and placing it on the bike. I turn back to her with a smile, fixing my hair as well. 

“I miss your septum.” She suddenly says and I raise a brow. She starts to stammer as I patiently wait for her to let it out. “I mean, I didn’t actually mean to say that out loud it’s just um, you got rid of it out of nowhere it was a part of you and now it’s like an empty... Space.” I cross my arms, kind of agreeing with her. “I guess that’s true.” I shrug. I walk her to the others but not even within minutes Bella comes and they rush over to her truck like a flock of geese.

I watch as Bella forces them to take pictures on her new camera, they all have fun with it even though Angela doesn’t like pictures she joins in as well. It was cute. It ended as fast as it started though once that familiar Volvo pulls into its normal parking space. I smirk as their faces falter. “Oh good, Cullen’s here.” I hear Mike say dryly. “Yay,” Jessica adds. They walk back over to where I was. Jessica turns to me “You’re dating the other two but you’re not like obsessed with them.” If only she knew. I shrug, “Too many homophobic and judgy people for that.” They all give me a look. “You know I’m right.” I laugh, I then notice Jacob running towards my sister, Edward seems very irritated. I didn’t even realize the group went away from me as arms wrapped around my waist, lips kissing my shoulder. I take the arms, pulling the person in front of me, I already knew it was Alice. We stood there waiting for Jasper to join us.

 We walk into the school together. Alice and Jasper holding hands. Alice was holding a wrapped gift in her other hand. “Do you think she will like it?” She asks me and I take an annoyed breath. “Bella doesn’t like gifts in general but she will appreciate them.” I was not annoyed with Alice, but more with my sister who acts like she doesn’t secretly like the attention she inevitably will always get on her birthday. We went to the side of the hall, I kiss Jasper’s cheek. “Hey, cowboy.” He scoffs a laugh, rolling his eyes. Ever since he told me his backstory I’ve been teasing him about being a “cowboy”. “Hi, darling.” He whispers for me to hear. I peek over to see Alice staring at us, we look slightly down at her since she is shorter than us. 

I pull her into our arms, she looks up and pecks at my lips. “You know for your birthday you’re going to get spoiled, right?” She tells me in a matter-of-fact tone. “I look forward to everything you wish to give me.” I place my hands on her hips as Jasper then points out that Bella and Edward are walking through the door. As Jasper and I walk slowly Alice skips over to my sister, presenting the present. “Happy-” “Shhh” Alice hugs her, leaning over to her ear and whispering “Birthday.” Over Alice's shoulder, she makes eye contact with Jasper who offers a nod. She pulls back from Alice, trying to hide the gift. “Alice, didn’t I say no gifts?” 

“You did, I didn’t. I’ve already seen you open it and guess what? You loved it!” She excitedly says. “You had a vision about my birthday.” Bella seemed annoyed but I knew she appreciates my girlfriend. “And about the green dress, you’ll be wearing to your party tonight. Great color on you.” She compliments her, also giving away the fact that she’s throwing a party for her. 

“My party?” 

“Please? It’ll be fun.” Alice pleads, I hold Jaspers's hand. “Can I?” He only nods and I drain his energy then focus on Bella who slumps, defeated. Only because I’m controlling her emotions. “I guess I can deal-” “Great! See ya at seven!” Alice hugs her before racing off before she can change her mind. I laugh, squeezing Jasper’s hand as a thank you. “Wait, Jasper, no fair with the mood control.” She pouts and he gives her an apologetic nod. “Wasn’t me,” 

“Was me!” I called, we get dragged off by Alice leaving my sister slightly upset. 

I told Charlie about the party, I was wearing this black suit that Alice requested I wear. Lately, she’s been dressing me in what style she thinks fits me best. Very fancy stuff I might add. I left on my bike to go help finish setting things up.

Getting there I was set to be with Carlisle on some things. I hold my hands behind my back pretending to act innocent. “Do you think I can change without Alice getting upset?” I ask him and he laughs shaking his head. “No, not at all.” We lean against the kitchen counter, watching Alice who is making sure everything is perfect. “I figured.” I take off the jacket to the suit though.

Bella and Edward finally make their way into the house, she’s wearing the exact dress Alice told her about in her vision. I smile, finishing up with Carlisle before heading over to Jasper, giving him a quick kiss. “What was that for?” He asks and I kiss him again. “Just wanted to,” I tell him happily. “You look amazing.” He compliments, I roll my eyes. “I never want to wear a suit again.” He laughs in response. “I’m serious.” “I know you are.” He kisses the top of my head.

Alice comes between us, taking our hands and leading us into the living room. “You two look perfect.” We lean down so she can give us both a kiss. We stand up straight and chuckle at her as she goes to get the lovebirds upstairs. 

The three make their way down the steps, and Bella is immediately embraced by Esme and Carlisle. “Sorry about all this. We tried to rein Alice in.” He humors her. “Like that’s even possible. Happy Birthday, Bella.” Esme steps back with a grin on her sweet face. I notice Alice holding up a camera right as she clicks it to go off. The flash startled my sister a tiny bit. “Found it in your bag. You mind?” She asks, Bella shakes her head no as in she doesn’t mind. 

“Dating an older woman. Hot.” Emmett speaks up to Edward. I hide my face in Jaspers's shoulder laughing. “What?” He asks defensively after Edward had elbowed him. 

Rosalie then steps up, handing Bella a silver package. “It’s a necklace. Alice picked it out.” She walks away. Short. Not sweet. But short.

Bella finally looks over to Jasper and I. She waves and I know it’s for him, he does it back and I smile, proud of him. Alice snaps a picture of him and I then back to Bella. “Show me the love!” Edward pulls Bella into an embrace, they look deeply into one another's eyes. Another flash. “For your scrapbook. Now open your presents.” She drags the girl over to a table with a pile of gifts, a huge cake, and a stake of chine plates. 

“Alice, I’m the only one who even eats.” She motions to the huge cake. “Hope your hunger. Here, this one’s from Emmett.” Everyone crowds around, I stand in front of Jasper. Bella opens it to see an empty car radio box. “Um… thanks?” She looked up, confused. “Already installed it in your truck.” He proudly states.

“Finally a decent sound system in that piece of-” “No hating on the truck. Thank you, Emmett.” Bella smiles then Alice hands her another gift. “Open mine.” Bella starts to open it then she cuts her finger on the wrapping. “Ouch, paper cut.” Blood appears and I feel Jasper tense and I get pushed aside. “No!!” I shouted as he lunges at my sister. Edward flings Bella behind him causing her to crash into the table. The plates shattered beneath her. I run over to her as Edward shoves Jasper into the wall but he ricochets off it and comes back at Bella. Emmett along with Carlisle tackles Jasper to the ground, Alice holds him whispering to him to comfort him.  I groan at the scent of her blood, trying to help her. My jaw tensed.

Bella lifts her arm up and a pool of blood leaks out. I grunt, getting her to stand up. “I need to get out of here,” I say through gritted teeth. Accidentally pushing her onto Carlisle I storm out of the house. Not even moments later Emmett and Rosalie bring out Jasper. 

I stare at him, draining his energy, his snarls coming to a complete stop. The two let him go and he falls to the ground as he’s losing more and more control of himself. I don’t even realize how far I am going. “[Name]! Calm down!” Alice shoves me back and I stumble back. He lays there collecting himself. “He- My sister. I am not sorry!” I rub my face, and looking back at him I notice dark circles under his eyes. 

“I didn’t mean to go that far.” I bow my head down. “I forgive you, I need the night to myself and my sister though,” I tell them both, frowning at the sight. I go back inside and Edward was waiting outside of the door where Bella was getting cleaned up. 

“You hurt her.” I spit out, his eyes glancing up at me. “You have brung nothing but trouble to our lives,” I tell him with sincerity. “I wouldn’t have been a monster if it was for you entering her life.” I point a finger at his chest, but he doesn’t respond. “I am angry that I now have to risk her life just from a cut.” I shove him into the wall. “You will fix this.” I furrow my eyebrows angrily at him, pushing him further into the wall right as the door opens. I step back. “I’m driving you home.” I grab her by the arm, she tries to get out of my grip but I don’t allow it.

“[Name]!” “Enough! You will go home with me and that is final, Bella!” I shout at her, “Enough with this game and risking your fucking life!” I scream, she finally drops down defeated and we step outside. All of the Cullens are watching, Rosalie is even tense from the scene. I let Bella climb in and I slam the door. 

“You all think about this night. Think about how you’re putting my sister in danger.” I speak just loud enough for them to hear me and not her. “Am I clear?” I fold my arms. They only nod in response. “I will talk later.” 

So this one is a little shorter than my last few but wanted to end this chapter here or else the next one would've been way too long for my liking. Also, Alice's height is 4'10 in the book so that's what I'm basing it off of. Jasper is 6'3 and I'm making [Name]'s 5'6 medium height bitch. I kind of got writer's block. Well not really, I can write the story in my notebook but I can't get it all on my computer because I get a little bored after a little bit. It takes me longer to come up with ideas when I'm typing compared to actually writing it might be weird but it's what I do.

[saintslewis]

❝ it’s the soul that needs a surgery ❞

pairing: lewis hamilton x black!fem reader

summary: you’ve never felt a shared pain worse than what Abu Dhabi have given you and Lewis.

warnings: this entire drabble is based on AD21, cuss words, lots of crying, mean words said by mean people, slight…everything atp.

saint’s notes: feeling a bit sad after watching a Lewis edit where he still smiles even after AD21 and still stays positive and that just breaks my heart so i’ve decided to break yours 🫵🏽

taglist: @thisismeracing (thank you love), @flowerchild-96 (for your kindness)

-

The heat in Jeddah was unbearable and everyone seemed to be affected by it but chose to continue with whatever they were busy. As media followed you to the buzzing Mercedes garage, you took out your phone to inform your husband that you’ve arrived and will be waiting for him with Angela.

Your confidence had reached an all time high from the moment you landed in Abu Dhabi. It was a day of the champion spirit to float around the Hamilton household once again, a day for Lewis to win his 8th World Championship and for him to continue his legacy as the greatest driver that Formula One has ever seen. You refused to think anything negative about this race but something in the back of your head kept itching to argue your positive feelings about it. He had hyped himself up for today and you joined him, knowing that everything would go well.

Spotting your father in law, Anthony, standing outside the garage made you sigh of relief, knowing you could safely offload your thoughts to someone who most likely had the same thoughts as you in concern for your husband. “Hey Anthony.” You greeted as you walked up to him with his arms ready to envelop you in a hug. “Y/n! How are you feeling? It’s quite hot here, isn’t it?” He commented, looking over at the busy pit lane.

“I’m feeling confident. Surprised there’s no ice cream station around.” You joked and he flashed a smile. “Oh, there is, in the paddock club. Made sure to check for you.” Anthony smiled and you could only flash a smile back. “Hey, don’t stress about it, Y/n. Everything will be okay, even if he doesn’t get it and that’s a very big if.” He assured and you took a breath in, not wanting to seem negative. “The Red Bull’s are the ones stressing me because they’re just everywhere but like you said, I shouldn’t stress. Now, would you like some ice cream?” You asked and he nodded. “Need a little pick me up. I’ll be here when you get back.” Anthony responded and walked back into the garage.

By the time you had arrived to the paddock, it had been quite full so it was clear that the paddock club would be as full with many different people from all around the world. You waved to whoever seemed to want your attention, stopping to take pictures with fans or sign autographs all while having your airpods in, a habit you gladly took from Lewis. You knew people would talk about you, what you’re wearing, what you say and being quiet, just like your husband, has helped you a ton in terms of not taking your words out of context. Did SkySports F1 always have close ups of you during races just to see your reaction to anything? Yes but you never engaged unless it was to a smile or a wink to the camera.

Entering the paddock club with two of your security personnel, your long blonde braids swiftly followed behind you and it caught the attention of many, especially a woman who never really liked you or your husband. “Oh my! Y/n! Hi!” The shrill voice behind you had exclaimed to you, hearing their heeled footsteps come close to you. “Kelly, hello.” You smiled but anyone around you could see that the smile never reached your eyes. “Just came over to see your hair and wow, what a statement!” She giggled and she reached her hand out and inched her hand closer and closer to your braids but you moved away as quickly as you could. “Always have something to say.” You muttered to yourself as you turned towards the makeshift ice cream parlour.

“Also wanted to say good luck for today with Red Bull and Mercedes being head to head, y’know? Speaking of your hair, I saw a couple of hair ties that reminded of the two of you-”

“Okay Kelly! Just…stop commenting on our hair, our jewellery or just anything that involves my husband and I.” You sighed out. The look on her face was of shock and disbelief that you would even dare to speak up to her. You flicked your braids behind you and grabbed the two cups of ice cream after paying. Walking out of there in a quick pace, you kept your face neutral and made your way to the Mercedes garage with no one bothering you.

Giving Anthony his ice cream up in a hurry, he observed your face and immediately directed you to where Lewis was, his drivers room. Knocking on his door, you heard a ‘come in’ and entered, seeing him seated with his race suit around his waist and his airpods in just like you. He faced you and his face lit up at the sight of you. “Hey, love. You look so beautiful.” He complimented you and you smiled but it didn’t quite reach your eyes once again. “Let me guess. Someone criticising your looks?” He guessed and you could only nod at him before crashing into his chest and him hugging you right back, feeling the warmth of him envelop you.

“It’s not even about that because people always have something to say. It’s a specific sloth’s girlfriend that’s pissing me off.” Lewis squeezed you within the hug. “Don’t call him that.” You could hear the laugh creeping up but he chose not to. “It’s not me, it’s the internet. She tried to touch my hair then said some shit about hair ties and you know I could beat a bitch up and then she was on some “good luck” type shit-”

“Y/n.” Lewis called out and held your face in your hands. “They want you to stoop down to their level then drag your name all over. Everything will be fine, especially today. As long as I have you and my family beside, I already feel like I have won.” He smiled and gave you a peck before looking into your eyes. “You’re so corny but so sweet, Sir.” You said, fluttering your eyelashes at him and he chuckled while looking to the side.

“You are a dangerous woman, Mrs Hamilton.”

-

The silence around the Mercedes garage was unsettling once the drivers got to the last two laps of the race. Lewis and Max were head to head with the Red Bull going suspiciously faster. You stood next to Toto and Anthony, tearing your eyes away from the screen to look at the person who’s eyes were piercing into you. There were multiple cameras around you so you couldn’t see clearly at whoever was staring at you. Looking back at the screen, all your hope poured out to Lewis, praying to whoever was listening that he should win.

Your heart seemed to stop at the very moment the world saw Verstappen cross the finish line and hearing the cheers of the Red Bull garage not too far from you. A few groans spewed out of a few engineers as they began to get ready for Lewis to come back after the podium celebration. It seemed as if the cameras came close to you as a single tear slipped out of your left eye, face stoic as ever. You blocked out everything that happened around you. Toto becoming angry, Anthony urging you to come with him to see Lewis, your phone continuously buzzing but all you could do was stare at the screen as you watched Lewis park the car and his helmet dropped down as you saw people cheering behind his car.

Your throat felt closed up and goosebumps run through your body. You felt nauseous but chose to keep it down, knowing you would not be able to even breathe when you see him. You walked out of the garage only to see other drivers coming out of their garages and Lando and Sebastian walking towards the Mercedes garage, mainly towards you.

“Seb..” You muttered out and you could see the pity coming from them but they were trying to make it not seem like they were pitying you. “I’ll talk to you guys later.” You uttered as you waved them off in shock, walking towards the podium celebrations where Lewis’ face was on the screen and you tried your level best to keep it in.

Eventually standing with Anthony at the entrance of the garage, there he was, walking towards the two of you. Lewis hugged his father first whilst giving him encouraging words and you see a few tears escape his eyes and that broke you. Your own tears started to fall and Lewis could hear you despite all the noise. He looked at you once and brought you to his chest for you to sob all your feelings out.

“I’m so sorry.” You cried and he just held you, your arms around his waist. “Everything will be fine, princess. I’ll be okay.” He said as he helped you calm down, rubbing your back. You lifted your head off his chest and looked up into his sad, beautiful eyes. “I love you so much. You’re a champion to me.” You tried to smile at him and he kissed your forehead.

“I love you so much more.” He said, not caring about the world seeing you console each other.

present day

Your sunglasses were perched on your nose as you leaned onto the railing of the Mercedes hospitality in Austria. The race was going terrible for the drivers who weren’t Max Verstappen. Penalties were being handed out left right and centre and it wasn’t a pleasant sight. An hour after the race, you watched how Lewis and Lando interacted in the media pen and how there was no bad blood between them.

“It always shocks me when you and Lewis still keep a positive energy around you even when it feels like the worlds against you.” You heard Susie’s voice as she walked up behind you. “As Selena Gomez said, you kill them with kindness. Us being positive makes people really mad on the internet but everything will work out soon.” You smiled to her as you took off your shades and put them in your handbag.

“And he will get his 8th World Championship title very soon, i can feel it.” You added with a wink which made Susie smile and you looked back at Lewis on the screen to see with a big smile as he bid goodbye to the interviewer.

[runningincircl3s]

Sinematic

Vinny Mauro x Reader

Chapter 1

chapter warnings: negative thoughts?

IM SO EXCITED TO FINALLY START SHARING THIS STORY!!! i've been working on it for months, and personally i think it's literally one of the best things i've ever written so i hope you like reading it as much as i've loved writing it!! :)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been two months since your one night stand with Vinny. In that time, you got booked for a small tour with a local band, happy to be picking up your camera again, and you considered quitting your job and to get back into photography full time. 

This weekend, you were visiting Shae with Angela for your monthly girls weekend together. Usually, you’d go to a spa hotel or somewhere nice, but this month you had all been busy and none of you had the chance to book anything, so to Shae’s house it was! 

The evening was spent the way it always was- gossiping, watching movies, and giggling together. But as another movie ended, you excused yourself to use the bathroom, completely unaware of how one small detail was about to change everything.

You reached out for the toilet paper, and suddenly froze. 

You caught a glimpse of a pack of tampons. 

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at the box. 

All of a sudden you couldn’t remember when your last period was.

You furrowed your brows, grabbing your phone and opening your period tracker to check the dates. 

You had missed your last period, which you were supposed to have when you went on the small tour, you must have been so busy that you didn’t think twice about it, and it was a couple days late this month.

You broke out in a cold sweat. Your heart pounded as you washed your hands and left the bathroom, suddenly feeling lightheaded. You needed water.

Shae’s voice pulled you back into reality, making you jump as she walked into the kitchen behind you. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked, “You were in there for a while… It’s not food poisoning is it? Justin had that last week and-”

“No,” you forced out a chuckle, gripping the glass of water tighter than necessary. “…Can I ask you something kinda personal?”

Shae’s expression softened. 

“Of course.”

“When you found out you were pregnant… How did you know?”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I kept taking tests, I guess.” A beat passed. “Why are you asking?”

Your grip tightened around the glass. 

“Well... I missed my last period.”

Shae’s eyes widened. 

“Shut up. But you haven’t…?”

“No, this can’t be fucking happening,” you groaned, panic bubbling in your chest. “I didn’t notice last month because I was touring. Everything was so chaotic, and-”

“The store’s probably closed now but we can always go tomorrow and pick up a couple tests?”

You nod your head, hands shaking as you set your glass on the counter.

“Fuck…” You ran your fingers through your hair, “Do I tell Vin?”

“It’s Vin’s?!” She practically shouted, “Excuse me?! Did I miss a chapter?” 

“We… Well, we slept together a couple months ago, it was a mistake, a one off-”

“You saw Vinny again and didn’t think to say anything? I can’t believe this.” 

“That’s not the point-”

“What’s happening?” Angela’s voice cut in as she entered the room, her tone laced with amusement.

“Y/n’s pregnant!” Shae laughed, “And get this… It’s Vin’s.” 

But what you didn’t know was that Justin just happened to be walking past at that exact moment, hearing every word that had just come from Shae’s mouth. 

His steps faltered. His stomach dropped.

Wait.

He was not supposed to hear that.

His mind raced. Should he do something? Say something? Did he mishear? No, he definitely heard correctly!

This wasn’t his business, but Vin was his friend. And if it were him in his place, he’d want to know.

He slowly walked away, pulling his phone out of his pocket, contemplating whether he should get himself involved or not. Ultimately deciding it was a bad idea, sliding his phone back into his pocket and walking back up the stairs to his room. 

“I’m not!” You shook your head, “Look, I changed my birth control not so long ago, so it’s probably just messed up my cycle!” 

“That could be why it’s late,” Angela agreed, “It messes up your hormones and shit, it takes a while for it to go back to normal.”

She pulled her phone out, googled your problem and set it on the counter to show everyone. 

How changing birth control can affect your periods:

Missed periods: It's normal to skip a period for a month when switching birth control pills. 

“See, I’m not pregnant.” You told Shae, although you were also trying to convince yourself too. 

“I wouldn’t rule it out, honey,” she said, “Still take a test just to be safe.”

You nodded your head, telling them you’d pick up a test on your way home tomorrow. 

Justin was now sitting on the edge of his bed, still pondering what to do about this situation, whether he should give Vin a heads up or wait and let you tell him. But if this was him that it was happening to, he would want to know as soon as possible. 

So he got his phone back out, found Vin’s contact and started typing. 

Hey man, I don’t know if this is still a sore topic but y/n’s here with Shae tonight and I’ve just overheard something they’ve been saying. I could be wrong but… Let’s just say you might need to start shopping for baby drumsticks soon! 

He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding after he pressed send. He felt a little bit guilty, but he was just looking out for his friend. 

It’s what anyone else would’ve done, right?

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“No! Fuck! They got me again!” Vinny groaned as he saw his screen glow red again. 

He had gone back to streaming games on his twitch most nights, meaning he’d be staying up into the early hours of the mornings, playing until his eyes turned red, until he could barely keep them open. 

He lived a pretty simple life when he wasn’t on tour. Even more so now that his roommate had left. He’d wake up, take a shower, get lunch, play drums for a bit, play games for a bit, start streaming, order takeout for dinner, play more games, stop streaming, play more and then eventually when it was physically impossible to stay awake for any longer, go to sleep. He told himself he liked the simplicity of it, but the truth was, he needed the distractions. Because when things got too quiet, too slow, his mind always wandered back to you. 

He missed you more than anything, but after what he had gone through, he had to be more cautious. He couldn’t give you his heart once more to only have it broken all over again. As much as he wanted to trust you, he didn’t know if he could. He didn’t even know if he could trust himself these days. This is why he left that morning, he couldn’t risk anything. 

“Vin, isn't it 4am? why are you still streaming lol,” He read a comment from the chat, “Maybe it’s because I’m not tired!” 

He said as he yawned. 

“Okay I lied, I should really get off stream now,” he yawned again, “I love you guys, I should be here at the same time again tomorrow…” He looked at the time. 4:08am. “Thanks for being here!” He smiled before ending the stream, yawning once more. 

As he picked up his phone and his empty cup, heading up the stairs to his room, he saw he had a text from a few hours ago that he hadn’t read. 

From Justin?

He tapped the message, his eyes skimming the words.

Then his entire body tensed.

“No fucking way,” he muttered under his breath, sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. He read the text again.

And again.

This had to be a mistake.

Justin must’ve misheard. Yeah, that was it. 

Because if this were true, you would have told him yourself. He wouldn't have heard it from Justin. Not like this.

It must’ve been a prank. Vin let out a sigh of relief, followed by a chuckle. Justin was clearly just trying to scare him, he was probably with his friends. 

But you and Vin swore not to tell anyone about that night you spent together, so what was really going on?

His eye caught the joint that was sitting on his dresser, it had been rolled the previous afternoon. He called it his emergency sleep aid, but he knew if he was to smoke now, he’d spiral and probably end up having a panic attack. 

His mind continued to whirl with memories of that night, of the way you looked beneath him, of how easy it had been to fall back into old habits. He had spent the last two months convincing himself that night was a mistake, that it didn’t mean anything. But now?

Now, it's all changed.

His fingers hovered over your contact. Should he call you? Text you? 

Instead, he set his phone down and ran a hand over his face. He needed to sleep.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The drive home from Shae’s the next day felt like a blur. You felt like you were in a bad dream you just couldn’t wake up from. The streetlights passed in streaks, and the radio hummed in the background, but you weren’t really there, you were surprised you even made it to the drugstore. 

The fluorescent lights inside were too bright, too clinical. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your hoodie, walking straight past the aisles of makeup and skincare, your heart pounding harder with every step as you approached the health aisle, and there they were.

The shelves were overwhelming. How were there this many options? Which one did you need? Early detection, digital, triple check, clear results in words- Why did it even matter? Your fingers hovered over the boxes, hesitation creeping up your spine.

It was fine. This was fine. People do this every day. 

Just pick one.

You grabbed the closest box to you and turned on your heel, heading for the self-checkout before you could second-guess yourself. The employee working behind the counter barely glanced at you as you wandered past, but you still felt exposed, like everyone in the store knew. 

You scanned the box before stuffing it into your bag and paying with shaky hands. As you stepped outside, the cold air hit your lungs like a shock. You could finally breathe.

You exhaled sharply, gripping the bag like it held something dangerous.

You could take it as soon as you got home. Get it over with. 

But as you tossed it onto the passenger seat and started the car, the panic settled deeper in your chest.

What if it was positive? Then what? 

Your grip tightened on the wheel. You didn’t want to know. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

You drove the rest of the way home in silence, with one thought on your mind. One person. 

Vinny. 

What would he think? What if he didn’t want it and you did? What if he did want it and you didn’t? 

Once you were home, you unlocked your door and rushed to your room, sitting yourself down on the edge of your bed and breaking down in tears. 

As if she sensed you were upset, your phone lit up, Angela was calling. 

“Hi.” You sniffled as you answered. 

“Hey, just wanted to make sure you got home safe.” 

“I did, yeah…”

“Good,” she smiled, even though you couldn’t see, “Did you pick up a-”

“I did, it’s still in my car. I’m too scared to do it, Ang. I don’t know if I can.”

“Hey, the worst that can happen is that it’ll be positive, right? And then whatever you choose to do with it is your choice, girl. But don’t forget it could also be negative.” 

“I know…” You said, blinking tears out of your eyes, “Nobody’s told Vin, right?”

“I haven’t, there’s no way Shae would.”

“Okay, I don’t want him to know unless… Well, I just don’t know how I’d even tell him if it was positive.” 

“Hey, you don’t even know if it is! Stop worrying so much!” 

“I know.” You frown, “Look, I’m going to have a shower and maybe take a nap, then I’ll think about taking it.”

“Call me when you do, okay? I don’t want you having to do that shit alone. If I didn’t have to leave for work tonight I’d be right there with you.” 

“I will, thanks Ang.” 

“No worries. Just keep me updated, okay?”

“Yeah I will. Thank you.“

You always wondered what you did to deserve the best friends in the world. 

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

@collapsedglasshouses @miss570 @dominuslunae @sunshine-lvrr @death-ofpeace-ofmind @blade-dressed-in-red @amelia-acero @kait16xo @oobleoob this is a new taglist so if i missed you or you want to be added please let me know!!

[mvltiwritez1]

Culinary Genius - Angela Giarratana x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: during a two truths one lie video, Y/n reveals a truth that no one in the office knew.

WARNING(S): light swearing

DISCLAIMER: the truths and lie for Y/n may not be true to you but just imagine. Also not really romance, just a cute scenario.

————————————————————————

Y/n sat across from Angela with the last card in her hand. Angela had guessed each of her lies right and she guessed all of Angela's lies right but she knew that this last round would stump her.

"My first statement is; 'I once broke my wrist doing parkour' Shayne style, second; 'I have read 100 books since January and it is now May' and the last one is; 'I am considered a really good cook'" Y/n read off the options written on the card, a soft smile on her face as she looked back at her. Angela narrowed her eyes at the woman, thinking of a question.

"When did you break your wrist?" She asked, leaning forward. Y/n looked up to remember when.

"I broke it when I was about thirteen/fourteen. I was with a couple of friends and we just liked jumping around on stuff and one time I fell off of a playground structure and completely broke my wrist" She replied, holding up the wrist that went through the trauma. Angela looked at her wrist and nodded, thinking of another question. Murmurs commenced behind them from Amanda, Courtney, and Arasha but Y/n wasn't paying attention to them. She was waiting for another question.

"You're a reader so the 100 books isn't that hard to believe. And of course, I've never heard anyone talk about your cooking skills. I think it would've come up" Angela thought aloud and Y/n tilted her head innocently.

"I think you're lying about the 'good cook' thing. It definitely would've come up" Angela continued and Y/n raised her eyebrows slightly and brought her head back upright.

"Is that your final answer?" Y/n asked and Angela nodded, confident from her correct guessing the other rounds. She even went to get her gun but Y/n quickly reached for hers and shot at her first, causing Angela to gasp and look up at Y/n in surprise. She grinned widely at Angela and set the gun down, as well as her.

"What?! You're a 'really good' cook?!" Angela put air quotes over 'really good'. Y/n nodded, chuckling slightly. Angela looked at the camera and then at the gallery, seeing different surprised looks on the others' faces.

"No one knew but I learned a lot about cooking all my life. Family recipes, techniques for different cooking styles. Some people who have tried my cooking have told me I'm 'really good' it's not just a self title" Y/n scratched at the back of her neck nervously.

"That's crazy. You need to show me your skills soon" Angela chuckled. Y/n shrugged.

"I'm down" She replied, Angela smiled.

"Aweeee it's a little date" Amanda said in a baby voice and everyone laughed.

"Wait. What was the lie?" Angela asked and Y/n went to answer her question.

——

When they were done filming, Y/n's shirt had somewhat dried but she still brought another shirt to change into so she went to her bag at her desk and got the shirt so she could change in the gender neutral bathroom.

She was looking at her phone as she walked towards the bathroom, she collided with someone but quickly caught them before they could both fall. Y/n dropped her phone accidentally but focused her eyes and found Angela in her arms, flustered. Y/n smiled and helped her get back to her feet.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention" Angela blushed, picking up a bag off of the floor. It was probably a change of clothes as well. Y/n picked up her phone and held her new shirt tighter in her hand, checking the screen.

"It's no problem, I shouldn't have been on my phone" Y/n chuckled and put her phone in her pocket before looking back at Angela.

"Well I'll see you later" the brunette said, recovering from being caught. She left and Y/n continued on her route to the bathroom, having an idea.

——

The work day was done and Y/n set her bag on the hook near the door, taking her laptop out of the bag. She set it down on her couch before immediately going back out to bring her groceries into her apartment.

She had decided to make one of her signature grilled sandwiches, simple but did the job. She thought back to the time that she and Angela had lunch and the brunette ordered a plain grilled cheese. Y/n wanted to make it the way she usually did which was normally with sourdough bread, compound butter - to add an acidity and extra flavour to the bread - and sliced marble cheese. She wouldn't make Angela's until lunch the next day but she blended the butter with parsley, lemon juice, and a little bit of red wine vinegar. Y/n also put the butter in a container, ready to take to the office tomorrow.

Dinner for her was just one of those sandwiches since they were quite easy to make. Y/n changed out of her work clothes and brought up Angela's contact on her phone.

Y/n<3: Hey I just want to say, don't bring lunch tomorrow. Or buy it, ok? Also meet me in the kitchen at lunch.

Angela shortly replied,

Ange: ok...why?

Y/n<3: Can't tell you, it's a surprise ;)

Ange: lol alrighty then

Angela probably thought Y/n was crazy but she decided to go along with it.

——

Angela got done filming a Smosh Games video and Amanda walked up to her, a smile on her face.

"Lunch?" Amanda asked, seemingly knowing the answer.

"Sorry 'Manda, Y/n told me not to get anything for lunch and meet her in the kitchen and I said I would." Angela looked apologetic, Amanda smirked and raised her eyebrows.

"She's going to cook for you. She kept her word" Angela actually had forgotten what they'd filmed the previous day. It was close to the end of the week so that was bound to happen. Her eyes widened and Amanda chuckled.

"Enjoy Ange" Amanda said and went up to Courtney, striking a conversation with them.

Angela walked to the kitchen and saw Y/n in there, setting some things up. Angela smiled softly and walked in, causing Y/n to look up.

"Hey! You must've been wondering why I asked you not to get lunch or bring one" Y/n leaned against the counter, her uncovered arms holding her up as she looked at the slightly shorter woman.

"Well I think I know why now" Angela chuckled and approached the island in the kitchen, looking at the ingredients.

"What are you making?" She asked and Y/n smiled back at her.

"I'm glad you asked, I'm making a grilled cheese" Y/n said confidently and Angela snickered.

"Hey, don't disrespect my sandwich game baby" Y/n stood up fully and reached for the sourdough. Angela blushed at the pet name but cleared her throat to calm herself.

Y/n took the butter container and a butter knife and spread the butter on the pieces of bread, parsley in with the butter as well. Angela looked in confusion.

"What's that?" She knew how to cook, pretty well actually but she hadn't expected something other than butter.

"It's compound butter. Usually people use this stuff for enhancing the flavour in meats, vegetables, and even baked goods but I use it for sandwiches sometimes" Y/n explained and walked over to the pan on the stove with a plate of ingredients. Angela nodded, watching the process in interest.

"Is there anything extra you want on it? Or just cheese" Y/n asked, placing one of the pieces of buttered bread in the pan as well as the cheese.

"No thank you" She smiled. She kind of felt like a child but was excited about trying whatever Y/n cooked. Y/n smiled and nodded, putting the top piece of bread on the sandwich, closing it off. She turned the stove on and turned around to face Angela.

"You know you really didn't have to do this." Angela continued, her back leaning against the kitchen island. Y/n shrugged her shoulders.

"I said I would cook for you and this was an easy way to do so. Though it's a bit of a bummer it's not fancy" Y/n joked at that last bit. She then turned around and checked the bottom of the sandwich, it was a perfect golden brown so she flipped it over to cook the other side.

"Dude, you're literally making me a sandwich for lunch because you said you could cook. It doesn't have to be fancy. It didn't even have to happen" Angela said, stepping closer to Y/n. She stood beside her at the stove and looked at the sandwich, it looked amazing already.

"It's almost done" Y/n looked at Angela before pressing down on the sandwich to fully cook the other side and make sure the cheese is melted.

Soon enough, Y/n checked the other side and turned the stove off once she saw the golden brown colour on the bread. She then plated it and gave it to Angela.

"Your lunch Madam" Y/n put on a terrible English accent and Angela laughed as she grabbed the plate.

"Aren't you going to have one? Because I can wait" Angela asked and Y/n smiled at the respectful nature of Angela when it came to this.

"I already made one this morning so let's go sit" Y/n replied, dropping the accent. She would go back and wash everything she used after being done with lunch.

They both walked out and sat in the seating area. Angela let it cool off while Y/n opened her lunch bag, pulling out a sandwich cut into triangles.

They both took a bite at the same time. Flavour bursted in Angela's mouth and she made a noise in surprise. Y/n watched her and gauged her reaction to be positive. Angela took another bite as Amanda and Courtney sat at their table.

"Hey guys. What did you make?" Amanda asked, sitting down with a salad.

"I made a grilled cheese for her" Y/n replied and Courtney's eyebrows rose.

"Oh! Is Y/n's cooking skills as good as she says?" Courtney asked Angela. The brunette hadn't said anything yet but she looked up at them, a closed smile on her face. She nodded enthusiastically and Y/n blushed.

"Now I'm wishing I didn't get a salad" Amanda joked, winking at Y/n, Y/n and Courtney laughed.

"Honestly that sandwich smells really good. And I'm not usually a sandwich girlie" Courtney said, patting Y/n on the back softly.

"Thank you thank you. They're my specialty" Y/n flipped her hair jokingly as Angela finished off the sandwich.

"Good?" Y/n asked.

"So good. Holy shit Y/n, why did you hide this skill from us?" Angela asked and Y/n chuckled.

"Well I didn't hide it per se. I just never brought it up" Y/n smiled cheekily.

[chiefdirector]

Conversing | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act One | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

Damian Barrett moved the coins in his hands, rattling them back and forth as he waited for the seconds as they passed. He had been instructed to call at exactly 17:47, not a second sooner or late. He was to say a few words and hang-up. The call had to be short, and from a payphone. The Instructions had been very clear, he had no margin for error. 

He looked down to his cracked watch for the third time this minute, he only had 30 more seconds. His heart was pounding in his chest, so much so he could hear every thump after thump after thump. Taking a deep breath, he counted a few more seconds before slotting the coins, one by one, into the payphone and dialling the number he had memorised weeks ago.

He listened as the phone rang once, twice, three times before the recipient answered. “Hello, Damian. I am so glad to hear from you, and at the correct time too. Good boy.”

“I was arrested earlier, one of the cops, some girl detective or whatever, recognised my snake.” He said gruffly, trying to keep his voice quiet in such a public setting.

“And…?” The voice rang out, satisfied at the report so far.

“She seemed thrown off by it. Then they let me go, no charge.”

The voice laughed softly, so much so Damian wasn’t sure he had heard it. “Excellent. You did well.”

“Is that all you wanted from me? Are we even yet?” He snapped. 

Damian had been in business with the person behind the voice for a while. He had never seen their face or even learnt their first name. He was desperate one day when his phone rang, he took the offer, forever debiting himself to the faceless voice.

“Not quite,” The voice said before pausing for a moment. Damian nearly hung up the phone when they began to speak again. “Although, if you want to pay off some more of that debt, I have another job for you, relatively easy.”

“Easy?” He snapped, “Nothing is easy with you! I’ve just been arrested, and youre saying whatever comes next is easy.”

“Calm yourself, or I won’t be so nice next time. You’ve seen what happens when I decide that I want someone gone. It’s why I enlisted you of course. Besides, a child could do this job.”

Damian leant his head back, cursing everything he could think of. “Fine. What is it.”

“I need you to mail me something…”

----------

The payphone was found destroyed in the morning, the machine was smashed to bits. Local CCTV placed a hooded man waiting there for nearly half hour before taking a short phone call. 

It didn't take long for the case to wind up on Detective Bradford’s desk. Opening the file, her eyes cast down to the images captured by the surveillance camera. It was a little blurred, but once she focussed into the details, it was unmissable. A snake tattoo with bright red eyes.

Swiftly, she grabbed the file and images, weaving throughout the bull pen to Lopez’s desk. It took some restraint not to slam it down.

“Hey, I think we were right to be concerned about Barret.” She opened the file again, letting Angela look inside, “This wasn't long after he left here.”

Lopez picked up the file, flipping through the pages as (Y/N) had done only a few moments prior. “I think we need to go to Grey, this should be added to the reports. But that phone is smashed, you do know that we will have no record of anything dialled from there? It’s another loose end.”

“Yeah, I know, but it is something, more than we had at least.”

“It’s something to watch out for.”

----------

The crinkled paper felt familiarly rough under her fingers as she ran them along the pages. Ideally she wouldn’t have had to read books in such disrepair but you do not get many luxuries in prison, so she would take what she could get. Placing the book down, the prisoner sighed, laying down in her bed. 

She didn’t need a clock to know what the time was, she had spent years observing the routines of the days and the movements of the guards. She could practically tell what they ate for lunch at this point. It was a simple way to keep her mind occupied, death row wasn’t full of mental stimulation after all. She knew that in less than four minutes a guard, most likely Donovan, would be coming round with mail that had been pre read and searched for any kind of threat. 

They couldn’t be blamed, if anything she found it adorable. Their pathetic attempts to stop her communicating with the outside world. The prison should have known about her contraband phone and stationary, she did make it far too obvious after all. But then again, if someone doesn’t want to see something, it has a slight habit of not being noticeable. 

Two minutes. 

She could tell by the sound of the cart entering the corridor. It was a creaky old thing, one of the wheels tended to spin away from the others, making an awful screech when it was turned. It was a shame the prison was too cheap for a can of WD-40. It would’ve made her predictions a tad more challenging. 

Thirty seconds. 

She sat up again, straightening out the bright orange prison uniform she wore. She had always taken pride in her appearance and the uniform made no dent in that. Power was exerted from looks, and she would be damned if she didn’t keep a firm hold of the power. 

Ten seconds. 

Slowly she stood up, stretching her arms out, waiting for the door hatch to open

Five seconds... 

…four…

…three…

…two

The hatch slammed open, a parcel of torn open letters shoved through. As she had predicted, the voice of guard Donovan rang out before the hatch slammed shut again. “Rosalind Dyer, mail call.”

Chapter 18 | Chapter 20

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4

Tags are open :)

[pumpkinsy0]

Why are you watching me your posts are always relevant to my situation..

Anyway

Sylvia and Angela headcanons?

yea i actually watch everyone who interacts w me i place lil cameras on them, hope u dont mind!!

BUT IVE BEEN WAITING FOR AOMEONE TO ASK ME ABOUT HCS FOR THEM FOR THE LONGEST TIME WOOO LETS GO ONE ANGELA AND SYLVIA HCS POST COMING RIGHT UP🤵🏽‍♀️🍮

•angela sees sylvia as like the fun aunt or better yet, older sister, shes the only girl in her world and she doesnt have any girl friends and gere comes dally w sylvia

•it works bc sylvias always wanted a lil sister!!

•tim has an odd feeling about their relationship, he doesnt want sylvia around angela bc lord know what shes teaching the girl but i think tim understands that angel needs a female guidance somewhere, cause their mother sure as hell aint it

•curly actually doesnt mind, guaranteed he thinks its weird that its dallys on and off again gf so maybe he questions it a tad, cause like whag could they possibly have to say to each other, but who is he to judge, angelas alright so hes alright

•i keep forgetting that i hc sylvia as haitian too so let me make it clear that angela would find sylvia speaking kreyòl to her very comforting, its not the best bc she wasnt born in haiti but angela doesn't care, as long as sylvia keeps calling her “zanj” she’ll be fine

•a good chunk of angelas stuff is actually from sylvia, partially hand me downs, partially clothes she bought for her

•i think a lot of ppl judge them and thats a good reason of why they gravitate towards each other, nobody else rlly gets it but them

•ik they rant to each other about their love lives, or rlly just their lives in general, them shits is a MESS they need an outsiders perspective to tell them if theyre going crazy, and look as much as they love each other, they wont always tell the other what they wanna hear, theyre very upfront ppl

•however they would butt heads from time to time, as i said, theyre like sisters, its only natrual

•i truly cannot explain this to u, but them having a heart to heart kinda reminds me of its raining somewhere else from undertale

•when dally comes over w sylvia, sylvia is usually upstairs w angela until dally calls her down or is kicked out

•they kiss each others cheeks everytime they see each other

[lamuradex]

Novella November: Day 7

@novella-november One Week Update!

A week already. And yet it feels like it should be longer.

Anyway, wordcount.

My Current Wordcount: 15,882

Alright, that's more than I expected. I've only just realised I've passed the half way point. I'll say, the TrackBear leaderboard is acting as quite the motivator. That line graph. I'm getting a little competitive.

Whatever, I'm enjoying myself. And it's a good distraction from certain world politics going on... More importantly, this is just a story I've wanted to write for ages, Ninth Realm, and I love having a good excuse to write with a challenge like this!

AND, as I did back in September for 40K in 42 Days, I'm gonna start posting large-ish snippets of what I've been writing with each update.

So, snippet time.

This snippet is an early pivotal moment in the story, where Angela is finally given a voice... literally. She's been mute up until now and has had some trouble communicating, with only a vague grasp of sign language and some written words.

Snippet below the cut!

Elsewhere in the building, Angela, as was now her name, was sat in a cell. The door was open, unlocked, and the bed given fresh linens. It honestly was just a barely decorated bedroom with a solid door and a camera in the corner. One of them, Hunter, had promised to switch the camera off.

She sat back on the bed, alone with her thoughts. She often was. Unable to speak, socialising was a rarity. But these seemed like good people, the friendly Pheobe, her nervous looking paramour, big kind Hunter, stern Mike, the man Reggie who she hadn’t really met yet… and then that pleasant doctor. Simon. Polite and caring. It was a long time since someone had properly cared. She wasn’t even sure how long.

Her dour thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. It waited, clearly expecting a response, but Angela didn’t have a method of answering. The visitor eventually worked this out, and opened the door, Pheobe popping her head in.

“Hi. Sorry, forgot you couldn’t answer. How are you settling in?”

Angela gave a thumbs up. There was nothing to complain about, really.

“Cool. I just wanted to come down and check on you. Also, I thought I’d bring you some clothes.” She produced a pile from behind her back. “Those bandages look a little chilly, you know? I’ve got nothing again the au naturel look, but I thought you’d like the option. Just some of Jess’s old things that she never wears. She prefers to make a statement with her clothes, as you likely saw. I think she’s also a bit bigger than you, so you might need a belt, but it’ll do for now. So… enjoy.” She put down the clothes and stepped back.

Angela accepted them with a genuine smile. She had no trouble with the au naturel look either, but now that she mentioned it, it was a little cold in here. And she did generally prefer to wear clothes.

“Also… there was something else,” Pheobe said a little more hesitantly. “I don’t know if this is stupid or not, but I made you something.”

Angela curved an eyebrow curiously. Pheobe produced something from a pocket, a small device on a strap.

“I know you can sign and everything, but I’m not a great translator. Simon taught me some last year, but most if it’s fallen right back out of my brain. But I saw the way you communicated using my phone, and Simon said you did the same with his tablet. Something to do with you… emitting emotions, like how I felt yours. So, I just thought…”

She handed the device over, which Angela took carefully.

“It’s basically just a speaker attached to a small computer. Repurposed an old phone with text to speech. I can’t guarantee it’s perfect, but it should work, and it might mean you can communicate without us looking at you or over a radio. And that’ll make Mike happy, if we’re working with you for the time being.”

Angela held up the little device. It was as described, just a little speaker grill on a box on a strap. She tested the strap for its strength.

“I was thinking you could put in on an arm or-”

Angela placed the strip across her neck, laying the box across the front of her throat.

“Or wear it as a choker. That’s cool too. It’s like a voice box!” she realised.

Angela clasped it at the back, and swallowed to make sure it wasn’t in the way. She nodded once it was comfortable.

“It should be able to communicate just like the phone.”

Angela sat straight, focused, and tried to focus her thoughts. To speak without moving her lips. To speak with-

“BZzztt… SPEAK WITHOUT-” the device blurted. Angela stopped. “I CAN… I can speak,” she said through the box, concentrating and lowering the volume. The voice was flat and monotonous, and just vaguely female, but it was a voice. She concentrated again. “I can speak,” she repeated, trying to fluctuate the tone. It barely shifted.

“There you go!” Pheobe said excitedly. “That doesn’t, like, hurt or anything?”

“It’s a little DIFFICULT,” the box suddenly yelled. Angela pulled her new voice back. “It takes effort. But thank you.” She said in her new flat monotone.

Pheobe was beaming. “It’s no trouble.”

“Thank you, Phay-o-be.” She paused, hearing the wrong sound come out. “Phay-o… Phay-o…”

“Maybe I can tweak it a little. Tighten up the text to speech.”

“Phay… Phee… Phee-Be… Pheobe. Thank you, Pheobe,” she said finally, genuinely aglow with gratitude, even if her new voice didn’t show it. “This is wonderful.”

“Seriously, it’s no trouble. I’ll leave you to work out how to use it. See you in the morning, Angela.”

“GoodNIGHT Pheobe,” Angela returned, managing regain control of her volume.

“See you in the morning,” Pheobe repeated, and headed back upstairs.

Angela sat on her bed, cross legged, thinking of all the words she could say. She picked out some that seemed the most important.

“Hello. My name is Angela. What is your name?”

And into the night, she continued to practice with her new gift.

[fluentmoviequoter]

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Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!SWAT!sniper!reader

Summary: Mid-Wilshire officers need assistance, so your SWAT team joins them to diffuse a hostage situation. As a result, Lucy learns that Tim has a girlfriend.

Warnings: hostage situation, this is early seasons but I added Nyla bc I love her, fluff, crossover, some grumpy!Tim

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Can you see me now?”

“Street,” you sigh into your radio. “Why are you whispering? You’re 46 yards away, it’s not like I’m going to locate you by sonar.”

“So, you’re saying you couldn’t shoot me from here?”

“Considering your big head is square in my sights, no, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“My head is not big!”

“Are you two done?” Hondo asks tiredly.

“Depends,” you answer with a smile. “Why are you asking?”

“20 Squad,” Hicks calls over the radio. “Mid-Wilshire division just requested tactical support. There’s a hostage situation at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, corner of Wilshire and Fairfax.”

“Let’s roll!” Hondo commands.

You stand from your position and ignore Street’s static murmur of “That’s where you were” as you return your long-range precision sniper to its case.

“I need my AR-10,” you request as you approach the SWAT parking lot.

“Loaded in Black Betty,” Luca yells from the driver’s seat.

“You’re the best, Luca!”

“I know.”

“Officer Lopez?” Hondo inquires as you exit Black Betty at the corner of Ogden Street and Wilshire Boulevard.

“Thanks for coming,” she answers. “We’ve got an active shooter and at least fifteen known hostages. Our shooter, Wayne Ritter, entered the building, toured the exhibits, then disarmed a security guard and started making demands.”

“How long ago?” Deacon asks.

“About an hour. We’ve had a hostage negotiator on the phone with him several times but he’s not making any progress.”

“Has he fired any shots?”

“At least three. We’re not sure if anyone is injured.”

“You’ve got officers on the east side of the building by the urban light display,” you point out. “You think he’s going to use that exit?”

“Just trying to cover our bases,” another woman answers. “I’m Officer Harper, I work with UCs, just assisting the detectives on this one. Ritter’s a prime suspect in a carjacking turned homicide a few miles from here.”

“There are three sets of doors on the north side of the building. Open into a fenced area that backs up to Fairfax,” Tan says, looking at a virtual map.

“Can he get to the underground parking from there?” Luca asks.

“If he hops the fence, yeah.”

“We’ve got officers blocking off the parking area,” Angela explains. “And three groups waiting on Fairfax, including my rookie. If he leaves, we’ve got him.”

“We’re just more worried about what he’ll do to get out,” Nyla adds.

You look around the immediate area as Deacon gets more information about the employees, security guard, and the operating cameras inside the museum. When Hondo notices your furrowed brows, he steps toward you.

“What are you thinkin’?”

“Three doors at the back into a fenced area is a terrible choice. A few doors and an emergency exit to the east trap you with a bunch of cops. The building’s probably locked down, so he can’t get to parking from inside,” you list off. “If he hasn’t tried to leave, it means he’s looked. There’s only a few windows in the building.”

“You want to find him.”

You nod and point toward the intersection of Wilshire and Fairfax. “There’s windows on this side, facing south. If I can locate him, I can take him down.”

“We can’t get you close enough,” Harper interjects. “We’ve got deadly force authorization, but we can’t risk putting you anywhere near his eyeline."

You smile at her concerns, and Street steps back.

“Can he see 433 feet above street level?” you challenge.

“145 yards?” Luca asks incredulously.

“The AR-10 shoots up to 600.”

“It’s not about the gun,” Deacon adds.

You turn toward Hondo, hoping he has more faith in you than the rest of your team.

“She can do it,” Street argues.

Lopez watches you and Hondo, and Nyla raises her phone to her ear.

“5900 Wilshire Boulevard,” she says. “31-stories?... Yes, sir…” She ends the call and tells Hondo, “SBE officials are allowing us to use the building as we need.”

Hondo sighs and shakes his head. “You’re lucky I trust you.” He smiles as he adds, “That we all trust you. Get up there and find this guy.”

You nod and then pull your AR-10 onto your back and run down Wilshire Boulevard to enter the skyscraper.

“Hopefully he actually has a big head,” Street calls after you.

A shot rings from the museum, and Angela raises her radio to ask, “Bradford? Where’d that shot come from?”

Tim and Lucy duck behind a concrete art installment east of the museum as a shot echoes off the smooth surfaces surrounding them.

“Bradford? Where’d that shot come from?” Angela asks.

“Northeast corner,” he answers. “Chen and I are south of the gate.”

“SWAT team’s here and we’ve got a sniper getting in position. Any sign of our hostages?”

Tim moves to the end of the abstract wave he’s using as cover but can’t see anything through the dark windows of the door closest to him.

“Nope. Nolan’s in the garage. Interior access can’t be far from where that shot came from.”

“Nolan?” Harper calls. “What’s your status?”

“All clear down here. The doors haven’t opened. We’re holding a few civilians on the far east wall. The shot was above us,” Nolan explains. “Probably not far from the south entrances.”

“Can somebody get a thermal reading?” Nyla asks loudly.

“Walls are too thick from this direction,” an officer answers. “Airship One is two minutes out, going to try to get a shot from the roof.”

“Send us in,” Hondo suggests. “We’ve got thermal scanners, if we can get to a window or door, we can find this guy.”

“Harper, Lopez!” someone calls from the mobile control center. “Grey’s on the phone with Ritter!”

Hondo follows Angela and Nyla into the trailer, where Sergeant Grey has a call on speaker.

“I understand, Wayne. We’re working on getting that for you. But I need to know that everyone inside is okay. We heard a shot, and you aren’t trusting me enough to tell me what happened.”

“‘Cause nothing happened!” Wayne snaps.

“Okay,” Grey concedes, turning to look at Angela. “Then can you tell me how many people are with you? We’ll need to help them, too.”

“They don’t matter!”

Someone screams in the background, a sound laced with fear. Wade shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Twenty minutes,” Wayne demands. “Or there will be one less person for you to help.”

“Mr. Ritter!”

The line beeps, and Wade slams the button to silence the ended call. “He is progressing and if we don’t get some eyes in there quickly, we’re going to be cleaning up a slaughter instead of recovering hostages.”

Hondo raises his hand to his ear, and the Mid-Wilshire officers watch as he smiles.

“I might be able to help with that,” he says.

When you finally reach the thirty-first floor, your adrenaline is pumping, but your breathing is slow and even. You had to stop three well-dressed businessmen from getting on the elevator with you. One even had the nerve to flirt with you until he saw the gun at your back. So, when you finally step out onto the roof, you sigh in relief. At the northwest corner, you lower to one knee and raise your handheld scope, which shows distance, wind direction, wind speed, and crosswinds.

“Perfect,” you murmur.

After you raise your gun to your shoulder, you lean toward your dominant side and use the ultra-clear scope to look into the southern windows. You move your steadying hand to your radio, propping the gun against the concrete pillar before you, and switch your radio on.

“Hondo, I’m in position,” you alert. “Got eyes in the back windows.”

“10-4,” he replies. “I’m with Mid-Wilshire’s watch commander. If you get a shot, take it.”

“Can I get a physical description of our guy?” you request. “I’d rather not pull an accidental Jack Traven and shoot a hostage.”

“Right here,” Grey offers as he pulls up Wayne Ritter’s record on a laptop. “Security cameras are showing him in dark blue jeans, a white or yellow button-down shirt, and a new mustache.”

Hondo raises his phone and takes a picture of the screen, then speaks to you as he types. “I’m sending you a picture. 5’10”, dark hair, wearing dark blue jeans, a light button-down, and he’s got a mustache now.”

“New look for a new crime?” you joke.

“New attempt, at least,” Hondo agrees. “Deacon and Street are moving to the east side to assist, and Luca and Tan are taking Black Betty to 6th and Fairfax in case he tries to run.”

“Hondo, is anyone covering the west side of the building? If he finds a way to bail that direction, he can get to Orange and disappear.”

“You have someone on the west side?” Hondo asks the people in the trailer with him.

“All units,” Wade radios. “Who’s covering the west side?”

“Bradford and Chen,” Lucy answers. “There’s only one egress route, but it’s locked.”

“Don’t try to open doors, Chen!”

“I didn’t! I can see the lock.”

Wade shakes his hand and gestures to the radio in a there’s your answer motion. Hondo smiles knowingly and relays the information to you.

“Is there exterior roof access?” you ask.

“Not that we know of.”

“Hondo, I’ve got movement,” you alert, shifting your weight as you prepare to shoot.

“Movement at the northside doors, too,” Street calls.

“Eyes on several subjects on north side,” a Mid-Wilshire officer notifies.

“He’s planning a roach light,” you and Tim Bradford radio simultaneously.

“Roach-light?” Nyla asks.

“When you turn on a light, roaches run in different directions and you can’t pick out any particular one,” Hondo explains. “I thought our girl was the only one that used that nasty analogy, but I guess she’s infecting your people with it, too.”

“That’s not the only thing she’s teaching him,” Angela points out. “He’s learning some manners, too.”

“Who?” Nyla asks.

“Focus,” Wade encourages.

Hondo switches his radio from his earpiece to the small speaker attached to his vest as officers continue alerting Grey, Lopez, and Bishop of movement in the museum. He shakes his head and prepares to call out for you just before you radio.

“Eyes on Ritter. I’ve got a shot.”

Wade nods, and Hondo commands, “Take it.”

You exhale as you squeeze the trigger. After your shoulder jerks back slightly, you reposition yourself to watch the impact. The bullet hisses through the air for only a second, and then the glass of the center window shatters before Wayne Ritter hits the ground.

“Suspect down,” you radio. “Code 4 here.”

“All units, Ritter is down,” Wade alerts. “Repeat, Ritter is down. Move in for hostage recovery.”

“Street, Deacon, move in on southern windows,” Hondo says as he exits the police trailer.

While you watch through your scope, he meets your team and, with Street, covers Deacon while he climbs through the broken window and kneels to secure Mr. Ritter.

“Nice shot,” Deacon applauds, looking up toward the roof you’re waiting on.

“Thanks, Deac,” you answer. “Hey, Street, that’s how you get someone down while making sure they can still pay for their crimes on this side of the grave.”

“Say that to my face,” he retorts.

“I am. You just can’t see me.”

“Hondo,” Street begins.

“I’m not getting in the middle of this. Get this guy to transport so we can help with recovery. Deac, on me.”

As Street pulls the injured shooter toward a waiting police cruiser, you lift your rifle and return to the roof access door. The trip down is faster than it was going up, and you walk toward a group of officers gathering the hostages outside of the museum.

“Who’s that?” Lucy asks as you walk to Nolan’s side.

“How can I help?” you offer before she gets an answer. “My team is clearing the upper levels.”

Nyla calls your name, jogging toward you. “Ritter didn’t have the gun on him, and he’s saying that he had his own plus the one he lifted from the guard.”

“I’ll find them,” you reply. “I’ll let my team know so they can keep an eye out too.”

“I’ll help,” Tim offers.

You nod and step away with him as Nolan joins you. Lucy watches you go, completely enamored by you and your skills.

“Who is that?” she repeats.

“The SWAT sniper?” Angela clarifies. “That’s Bradford’s girlfriend.”

Lucy’s jaw drops as her eyes widen. “She is Bradford’s what?”

“Your TO didn’t share that? Shocking.”

“Is there really a sniper here?” Jackson asks excitedly. “The one time I agree to go somewhere without my TO, I miss a sniper.”

“Not just a sniper,” Lucy explains. “Bradford’s sniper girlfriend.”

“Well, duh, she’s the best sniper in LA county.”

Lucy throws her arms up and asks, “Did everyone know except me?”

“Bishop knows too,” Jackson adds to mess with Lucy.

“As much as I’m not enjoying all this TO-rookie talk, I’ve more cases to work,” Nyla interrupts. “It was kind of nice to meet you all.”

“See you around!” Angela calls.

“You sound sure of that.”

“Call it a hunch, partner.”

Nyla waves off Angela’s teasing tone and turns toward an unmarked car. As Lucy continues asking questions about how someone like you ended up with someone like Tim, you search the museum for the weapons Ritter left behind in his attempt to flee.

“I’m surprised you didn’t just storm in and save the day,” you tell Tim as you circle an art display.

“Last time I did that, you threatened to shoot me,” he points out.

“Because you need to stop putting your life in danger when there are better options.”

“You mean like calling you?”

You smile at Tim over the top of the ceramic statue and shake your head. He raises his brows and prepares to speak before Nolan clears his throat.

“I found a gun,” he states when you look over. “I’m sure it can wait, though.”

“Where, boot?” Tim snaps.

You look at him to communicate a silent warning to be nice.

“Behind the plaster self-portrait over here. Looks like a standard issue private security piece,” Nolan answers.

You follow Tim to the wall and nod as you look at the weapon. While you tell Hondo, Tim tells Grey. In less than five minutes, you locate the other gun and regroup with your team outside the museum. Several officers thank you for your assistance or applaud your clean shot, and you ignore Street’s dramatic and sarcastic fawning over you.

“Oh, you shot that unarmed man so well! Will you please sign my face?” he asks, clasping his hands together as he raises his voice.

“Uh, excuse me?” someone asks, looking between you and Street. “Is it true that you’re dating Officer Bradford?”

“You must be Lucy,” you realize, offering your name and hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I swear none of it is true.”

You lean toward her and whisper, “Tim’s not as hard on you when you’re not around, just so you know.”

“Why are you dating him?” she blurts out. “You’re so different, so nice, and he’s so… Tim.”

“People like us tend to find each other on accident,” you explain. “I got lucky with Tim.”

“What Officer Chen is trying to ask is why you’re dating a cop that is nowhere near as talented or cool as you,” Hondo offers, smiling at something over your shoulder.

“Is she asking that?” Tim muses behind you. “That’s interesting.”

“Honestly, it’s a fair question,” Lucy admits, shrugging.

“Why do you seem so surprised?” you wonder aloud.

“I’m shocked! I thought he was single, for one, but you’re amazing! You can do anything!”

“Or date anyone,” Street adds. “Hondo has been trying to make her see that for years.”

Hondo shakes his head, looking at Tim as he promises, “I have not.”

“Now that we’ve established she’s too good and talented for me, Chen, maybe we should get back to work,” Tim announces.

“Why bother?” you tease. “I already did all the heavy lifting.”

Hondo’s phone chimes, and he sighs before he says, “We gotta roll.”

“I’ll see you tonight?” you ask Tim.

He nods and doesn’t complain when you step toward him and kiss his cheek.

“Don’t be too hard on Chen,” you whisper.

“She’ll be busy spearheading your fan club,” he grumbles. “Or starting a petition for you to dump me.”

“People like us work, Tim. That’s why we’re so great together.” You step back and smile as you call, “Nice to meet you, Lucy.”

“You, too!”

After you get into Black Betty and close the door, Lucy and Tim stand side-by-side and watch until the lights disappear between buildings.

Lucy sighs. “I want to be her when I grow up.”

“I wasn’t aware you’d planned that far ahead.”

“Maybe I will start that petition now.”