#Thank goodness I have insider knowledge know and the next time I pick a doctor

[auxiliarydetective]

OC Pride Challenge: Day 12

You can find the challenge here

We're currently in LGBTQIA+ Tropes week and for today's prompt I decided to use...

Mentor in Queerness for Raevyn Maumahara

I've always seen Raevyn's species, the Tehiko, as a species that has a very special relationship with gender and even though Raevyn is cis and traditionally feminine, she would have those same beliefs. I also always wanted her to have a special relationship with Topa and so spun my own headcanons about Topa's gender long before it was actually addressed. You can imagine my excitement when I watched A Tale of Two Topas. But this fic doesn't take place then, it takes place around the episode Sanctuary.

“Thank you for watching over Topa again, Commander,” Bortus said.

“Oh, it’s really no big deal,” Raevyn replied with a smile. “Topa and I get along well. Don’t we, Topa?”

Topa only gave a weak smile. This confirmed Raevyn’s suspicion. The Moclan mind was hard to read, but she knew Topa well enough from many hours of babysitting to notice when something was wrong.

“Don’t you have better things to do than watch our child?” Klyden asked.

Raevyn knew that way of speaking too. But she overlooked his hostility and just said: “I think getting to spend time with Topa is one of the best ways I could spend my free time.”

Kill ‘em with kindness.

“We must go now,” Bortus declared, “or we will miss our gathering. Come, Klyden. - Be good, Topa.”

“Yes, papa,” Topa said quietly.

With that, Klyden and Bortus left and Raevyn stayed behind with Topa. Immediately, Topa moved over to the sofa and picked up his puzzle cube. Raevyn sighed and sat down next to him, watching him for a while.

“What’s wrong?” she finally asked. “Are you having trouble with your parents?”

“You could say that,” Topa said.

“It happens to everyone. You know, as we get older, we start to notice little things that never bothered us before and then when we talk about them, sometimes our parents won’t understand because they’ve been doing it this way since - well, since we were born - and they’re not gonna change that just because some inexperienced little rascal said so. Or they don’t like the person we’re becoming because we’re not growing up the way they expected. That’s not a bad thing, it’s just life. Part of growing up is forging your own path and bickering with your parents as you do.”

“Hmm,” Topa mumbled and stopped fidgeting with his cube. He looked up at Raevyn and put it down. “Papa has been telling me that women are inferior.”

Raevyn couldn’t help an ironic smile. It had to happen sooner or later. Klyden was… well, he was a very conservative Moclan. It was common knowledge that, unlike Bortus, he had little understanding and respect for women in higher ranks - or women in general -, especially women like Raevyn.

“But I don’t believe that,” Topa continued.

“Oh boy, am I glad,” Raevyn chuckled.

“Commander Grayson and Doctor Finn are both very capable.”

“They are.”

“And you… you are a hero!”

“Oh gosh.”

“You are! And a true warrior! Papa doesn’t think so. He says a man wouldn’t have gotten captured and injured like you.”

Raevyn scoffed. She looked at her right hand which was now made of shimmering metal. She would’ve loved to see Klyden endure torture and high-voltage currents, watching his body break before his eyes. Was that too sadistic? Maybe she did hate him. But she had to try to at least stay on neutral ground with him or he wouldn’t let her see Topa anymore.

“My parents had a bad fight over you a few days ago,” Topa said. “Papa said he doesn’t want me spending time with a crippled female.”

Raevyn felt rage cooking up inside of her but she swallowed it down. Crippled female. Was that all he thought she was?

“Ouch,” she finally got out. “... And what did Bortus say?”

“He defended you. He said you were a great warrior and a great Chief of Security. To him, you are a good influence to me and an example to look up to.”

Raevyn smiled. “And what do you think? Do you think I’m crippled?”

“No. Your endurance is admirable and… I actually think your prosthetics are fascinating.”

“Do you wanna touch them?”

“Can I?”

“Sure.”

Raevyn took off her uniform jacket and lay it on the sofa next to her, then she offered both her arms. Whereas her left hand had only gotten its fingers and palm replaced, her right arm was metal up to its elbow. Her neck was metal too, a fusion of Tehiko and Kaylon engineering, as were her feet. The battle had really taken its toll on her and it had taken time for her to adjust to her new limbs. But if she could use them now to entertain a child… Topa carefully touched the metal surface of her hand, looking at the different components of sleek design. Isaac and the others had really outdone themselves to make it remember her flesh hand.

“Can you feel this?” Topa asked, poking the middle of her palm, causing her fingers to slightly curl inwards.

“I can feel everything like Isaac can. It’s the same technology.”

“So you can feel hot and cold too?”

“Hot and cold too. Except my prosthetics can’t freeze or get burned, thank god.”

For another minute or two, Topa eyed Raevyn’s hands. Then, his eyes wandered to her neck. With an amused smile, Raevyn leaned back and let him touch the different metal platings.

“Did you know my voice is simulated?”

“It is?”

“Yeah, like a simulator character. A bit freaky to think about, to be honest.”

Topa nodded. Then, his eyes sank and he pulled his hand back, pondering something.

“Raevyn,” he finally said, “why does papa hate you? Is it just because you are female?”

Raevyn sighed and fully leaned back on the sofa, looking at the ceiling for a second. Then, she looked at Topa again.

“It’s complicated. Your father is a very conservative man. He believes in traditional Moclan morals and all that. Well, traditionally, Moclans and Tehiko don’t get along. There’s some things our cultures have in common, like our focus on the military and strength, but some things are wildly different and don’t really mix well. My homeworld used to be a matriarchal society, meaning women were the ones in power. We’ve moved past it now, but we used to be the polar opposite to your people.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, but there’s another thing he probably hates even more: Since ancient times, we Tehiko have always had a very special relationship with gender identity.”

Topa furrowed his brows. “What do you mean? What is ‘gender identity’?”

“Oh, your father never taught you that, did he?” Raevyn gasped. Immediately, she started to feel a little nauseous inside.

“No, but I want to know. Please, tell me about what your people believe!”

Could she really tell him? A Moclan child? What would Klyden do if he found out? Then again, for the same reason that she maybe shouldn’t tell him, she simply had to, especially considering who Topa was and what had happened to him shortly after his birth. If she wasn’t going to tell him, who would?

“Alright,” she sighed. “But you have to promise not to tell your papa, okay? This is our little secret.”

Topa nodded eagerly and looked up at her with big eyes. So, Raevyn started explaining:

“Well, your papa probably told you that there’s only male or female, right? Nothing in-between. That’s already medically incorrect, but that’s not what we’re gonna talk about. What your dad tried to tell you about is someone’s sex. Their biological sex, what they were assigned at birth. Now, you were assigned…”

“Male.”

Wrong.

“Correct. But what matters is how you feel. That is your gender.”

“So…” Topa said slowly. “Someone could be male and feel like they are female?”

“Exactly.”

“Would they still be male?”

“No, they’d be female, according to my people’s beliefs, because their feelings are what matters. My people believe someone’s body to only be a hull, so someone’s sex is only secondary to someone’s true gender. Besides, with today’s medicine, you can change it at will anyways to match how you feel.”

“Amazing.”

“And people can’t just feel male or female either. They can feel like neither or both or somewhere in-between or outside of those norms.”

“Someone can be neither?”

“That’s right.”

“What would you call that?”

“Non-binary.”

“Non-binary… And if someone feels like a gender that isn’t their assigned sex?”

“That’s what we call trans.”

Topa looked baffled. Hopefully, it was the good kind of baffled. It seemed like he was catching on, at least. Hopefully, he wouldn’t spill anything at the dinner table and get in trouble with Klyden. But it was too late to back-pedal now.

“I should probably say that believing in someone’s gender is common sense among most Union cultures,” Raevyn continued. “But my species is especially open about it because we’ve had concepts like that firmly established in our society and culture for much longer than other species. Other cultures still have the gender binary pretty cemented, even today, and switching between or blending genders isn’t as common. We think of gender as something fluid - humans would say it’s a spectrum.”

Topa’s eyes were widened with excitement. He looked up at Raevyn and smiled. Then, his smile faded a little.

“Why do I have to keep this a secret?” Topa asked. “It is beautiful.”

Raevyn smiled, but she felt bad inside. She was proud of Topa, she really was. As if he were her child.

“You see, Topa,” she sighed, “if things went by me, you wouldn’t have to. But your papa… How do I say this…? Klyden wouldn’t be happy to hear you talk about it. He’d get very angry at you and me and I don’t want you to get in trouble with your papa because of me. He’s just not ready to hear it yet. Maybe, one day, he will be.”

They sat in silence for a second. There was something else that needed to be said.

“Of course, if you feel like you might not be male,” Raevyn continued, fighting with herself not to spill the secret she, too, had to guard, “you can’t go around hiding it. No one should have to hide who they really are. If that happens, you come talk to me again and we’ll figure something out.”

Silence again. But it was a comfortable silence. Topa smiled and nodded. Raevyn finally felt like she had said what needed to be said and had given Topa something to fall back on once he inevitably found out about his past. Or maybe he would never need this advice. But just in case he did, she would be there. Klyden would be their biggest issue, but she would find a way to deal with him. Besides, Bortus was there, too, and he would most likely be on their side if push came to shove. But that wasn’t something they had to worry about right now.

“Can I see your homeworld?” Topa asked sweetly.

“I’d love to show you,” Raevyn said, “but it’s a Saturday night. I bet all the simulators are taken.”

“Oh.”

“But we can look at pictures if you’d like.”

“I would love that.”

[fionacle]

I ended up writing something else, but this is a WIP from an English project I had in 2020 (we had to write a sci-fi)

    “Wait a second sweetie, let me get my purse.”  My mom jogs back into the living room to grab it and I lean my back against the front door.  Today is the day we get our chips upgraded, a monthly procedure where doctors and technicians take it out and upload more information.  My mom walks back over with her arm holding out the door key so I step out of the way.  She unlocks it and I step outside to let her lock up, taking in the chill autumn air.     We walk over to the car and I pull the driver’s side open, stepping into the seat.  She gets in the passenger side and I pull my door shut and take the key out of my pocket.  It slides into place and turns with a satisfying click, starting the engine and making the vehicle vibrate to life.  The car in front of me has already left so I just turn away from the sidewalk and drive forward, finally starting our journey to Input Inc.’s public building.     I have the route memorized by now, so much so that I don’t even need to think about which direction I’m turning the wheel.  Memorizing and automation are easy nowadays since our chips just pick up and store whatever we learn or experience.  All of my memories since I turned five are stored there, it’s like a hard drive for my brain with an astronomical amount of space.  It lets you know more, and thanks to this technology we now get to plug in whatever information we want to our heads.     Ah, would ya look at that, we’ve arrived.  The white paint and countless windows on the tall structure are a bright contrast to the dark terrain around it.  The only other bright thing in the area is the morning sky, it almost feels deliberate.  I pull into the parking lot and find a spot maybe twenty-or-so feet from the entrance.  I pull the key out and push my door open, slamming it shut and waiting for my mom to do the same.  Once she does I press lock and we walk to the door.     I hold it open for her and then step inside as well to approach the receptionist on our right.   -get chip removed -forget everything and looses mental development since before got chip -get chip back -remembers everything -accidentally given knowledge of what current lifestyle lacks -tells friends -friends admit they’ve been skeptical -doesn’t tell mom -drives to library on outskirts of town -reads up on history -finds out that head of input company is choosing what to let people know and learning the old way is important -calls friends -develop plan -goes home to find mom sitting next to dad on couch -dad confronts about info he wasn’t supposed to get -pretends to not know what he’s talking about and that he thinks chips are good -dad suspiciously and reluctantly leaves -mom questions -boy gives excuse -boy boy calls friends to tell about what happened -plan to shut down company and reveal evil of father -next day in trouble because call was recorded -taken to private Input Inc. building and given procedures to remove memory of truth -something goes wrong and entire memory on chip gets wiped -friends have to help Marlo who now acts like he’s 5 -friends pretend they didn’t believe him and get away with it -spread truth around -people don’t want to listen since chips make things easier and no school means more time for gaming -take Marlo around to try and regain personality, memories, intelligence, etc. but barely works -next month upgrade malfunctions so everyone goes back to how they were before they got chips -people that got chipped late in life take dad down -society continues similar to how it does now but with everyone acting younger -generations later society is back to normal but problems with school system are fixed and parents have a new thing to use to convince their kids to work -someone related to Marlo learns of this dark time of the past in school and is convinced he can do better than Marlo’s dad, taking biology and computer science (Yea, I’m removing the girlfriend character)

[itsyourchoicedevotionals]

A Warm-Fuzzy

“The Lord said to Satan, “Very well, then, he is in your hands; but you must spare his life.” Job 2:6NIV

Poor Job, he’d lost everything, herds, servants, children— everything. His wife told Job, “curse God and die,” (Job 2:9). Covered from head to foot with boils, Job had every reason to denounce God.

When the pains, which had put me through the ordeal initially, reoccurred, I believe I understood how Job might’ve felt. How could I be sick again? I’d discovered where I’d opened the door through sin, learned my lesson, repented, please God—‘no.’ But there I lay on a gurney in the ER, unable to breathe again— with massive pain in my heart area.

Doctors ran a CT SCAN, but no answers, just horrific pain. How could God abandon me again? Standing up inside, I wasn’t going to allow hopelessness to overtake me.

Flipping channels, trying to concentrate on anything but the pain, I found the 700 Club. It had been twenty plus years since seeing it on TV. I didn’t even know it existed.

Inside, I felt a warm-fuzzy. Back in the mid-1980s, I’d been laying in a hospital bed with spinal fluid leaking from a myelogram, (the precursor of today’s MRI). Testing was done to see if I had a ruptured disc. The spinal headache was intense pain. Flipping channels back then, too, Ben, a co-host, was praying. God gave him a word of knowledge— ‘the Lord was healing a woman in a hospital bed with leaking spinal fluid.’ That was me! I knew it, accepted it, and was immediately healed.

Well, now some nearly 30 years later, 700 Club wouldn’t have the same type of segment on their program, would they? Absolutely, they did. (You can watch it, if you want. I’ve watched it several times now on youtube. Just look up 700 Club— December 6’s, daily broadcast.) Gordon Robertson said, ‘There’s a woman with her right hand over her heart.’ He proceeded to say I was troubled with many things, but God was healing my heart pains, angina, fixing the trouble, plus giving me peace. Two hours later the pain was gone and peace replaced it. Hallelujah.

Doctors spent the next two days trying to prove my heart was ailing— there was too much infection in my body… They wouldn’t listen to their patient say, ‘God healed me in the night.’

Right now the world doesn’t want to hear about— “how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power, and how He went around doing good and healing all who were under the power of the devil, because God was with Him.” Acts 10:38NIV. All they want to hear about is bad news.

People don’t believe— “I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you.” Luke 10:19NIV which holds hands with— “And these signs will accompany those who believe: In My name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes, with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.” Mark16:17-18NIV. Per Strong’s Concordance “snakes” Greek word was ‘Opheis,’ ’Probably from optanomai; a snake, figuratively, an artful malicious person, especially Satan.’ Holy Spirit told me demons or the demonic for snakes. We have authority.

This world needs our testimonies. God’s power, His healing and love more than ever before. We have the power given to us, but will we use it to lead others to truth? Satan won’t spare anyone’s pain, unless we force him to do so. Will you wield God’s power? It’s your choice. You choose.

LET’S PRAY: Holy God help us to rise up whole. Meet the world head-on with Your love for them. Give them Your mercy, in the name of Jesus Christ I pray.

by Debbie Veilleux Copyright 2022 You have my permission to reblog this devotional for others. Please keep my name with this devotional, as author. Thank you.

[wallabywannabe]

Sometimes at work I just want to pull a Clippy and be like, "it looks like you're trying to test this patient for vitamin D deficiency! I say that because the diagnosis code you used is 'Screening for Vitamin D deficiency'! But the test you asked for is Vitamin D dihydroxy (not to be used for vitamin D deficiency screening). Did you mean to ask for the much more common and less expensive test, Vitamin D 25 hydroxy, instead?"

But no, we're not supposed to fill out a follow up request if a doctor explicitly asked for the test, which they did.

Hey, this is a great example how American healthcare is wildy inefficient and riddled with errors!

[lipstickstainz]

touches - s.r.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: Spencer doesn’t like to be touched. But what happens, when he gets comfortable around you? Warnings: fluff, Spencer being cute, getting shot but nothing too explicit and oh, and a bucket full of angst Word Count: 4,4k  A/N: hello friends. I have a part two of this in my drafts if you like! I hope you enjoy. gif not mine.

You had heard a lot about the BAU team before joining them.

About the cases, the trust, the bond. It had always been something that had fascinated you. You had experienced some things with your previous team as well, but the BAU was in a whole different league.

Before you had been moved there, you had already familiarized yourself with the teammates. You didn't want to come unprepared to a team that knew each other inside and out. Also, you were a person who put your foot in your mouth quickly.

You were most impressed by Doctor Spencer Reid. You had heard the most about him. He was a genius, with an IQ of 187 and he could read 20,000 words a minute. Not to mention his eidetic memory. You had even read his doctoral dissertations. While you didn't understand everything, they were incredibly interesting and gave you a little insight into the mind of the spectacular Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you first met, you concentrated on not reaching out to him. You merely raised your hand to greet him, which he returned with a smile, and although he tried to hide it, you knew that this small gesture meant a lot to him.

While the other team members put their hand on his shoulder or ruffled his hair, you were almost tensely careful not to touch him. If he should want to, he would make the first move.

It happened some time later, as you stood side by side in the office kitchen. While Spencer poured himself a coffee, you poured hot water into your teacup. You asked him for the sugar that was next to him, and instead of sliding it over to you as you had been doing, he held the dispenser out to you. You reached for it and when your fingers brushed his, it went through you like an electric shock. You suddenly felt warm and your heart beat faster, but Spencer didn't seem to notice. He smiled at you before walking back to his seat. You looked after him.

After that incident, you were both a little more relaxed. While you didn't push it, Spencer didn't seem to mind you handing him files or touching each other briefly when you sat next to each other. After an incident on the plane, even the team noticed.

Spencer was on his way to the trash can when you got up to sit with Emily and Hotch to discuss the current case. You squeezed past each other as the plane made an unexpected swerve. You tried to grab onto the seat next to you, but the sway was too sudden. Before you could fall, Spencer grabbed your arm with one hand and your hip with the other and held you tight. He pulled you straight toward him so you wouldn't land face down on the ground. Even when the plane was back on course, he didn't let go. As you tried to regain control of your irregular breathing from the shock, Spencer looked at you closely. You felt his gaze on you, almost burning into your forehead, but neither said a word. As you broke away from each other and each sat down in your seat, you noticed his gaze still on you. When you looked up, he looked away.

Next came your birthday. Even though you didn't want to celebrate and your real plan was to have food delivered and watch your favorite movie for the hundredth time, the team dragged you to a bar. "Pathetic," Derek had called the plan, and you had punched him affectionately in the shoulder, but by the time he put the first drink in your hand, you had all but forgotten his comment. While some of you sat at a table and the rest enjoyed themselves on the dance floor, you sat at the bar. You did love your team, but on your birthday you didn't want to hear about any cases outside of work. Which couldn't be avoided when you were around each other 24/7.

You sipped your drink, secretly cursing Derek for having so much alcohol in it. You scrunched your nose.

"Did you know that alcohol tastes different when you drink it with a straw?" Spencer asked, sitting down in the empty chair next to you. You turned to him and raised an eyebrow questioningly. "When we ingest something, the aroma molecules go up our nose and we can tell from the start whether it's going to taste good or not. Also, the nose detects different flavors than the tongue. So if you drink the drink with the straw so the glass is farther away from your nose, you'll perceive the taste of the drink differently than it is." Even in the dim light of the bar, you could see how red he was getting. When you didn't answer, he laughed nervously and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I was rambling again."

You took another sip of your drink. "Don't apologize, Spencer. I like that you're so smart. And I like that you're comfortable enough to want to share your knowledge with me," you smiled gently at him. He returned your smile.

"I appreciate you not reaching out to me then, by the way," he confessed, nibbling on the label of his beer bottle. "I don't like shaking hands with strangers, and it makes me uncomfortable when I'm expected to but I don't. So, thanks for that."

"It's okay," you said, but he let go of his bottle and turned to you completely.

"You never pushed me to do this. You waited for me to make the first move on this because it means more to me than it does to you. There aren't many who are that respectful and understanding." He got up from his chair, but left the beer bottle on the counter. He held out his arms. "I haven't wished you a happy birthday yet because I didn't want to do it in front of the team. They'd make a big deal out of it." He gestured for you to give him a hug. He actually wanted to hug you.

"Spencer, you don't have to do this," you said, but before you knew it, he had grabbed your hand and pulled you off the chair, right into his arms.

You had often imagined what a hug from Spencer would be like, especially when you saw him hug JJ or Emily after a hard case. But you had imagined it differently.

He had his arms wrapped around your waist and held you so close that you almost couldn't breathe. You felt his long fingers on your skin, despite your T-shirt and you felt his warm breath on your neck and his curls on your temple. Goosebumps spread over your body and you prayed he didn't notice. "Happy birthday," he whispered in your ear and before you knew it, he placed his lips on your cheek before pulling away from you. Smiling, he reached for his beer and sauntered back over to the table, leaving you standing at the bar. With a pounding heart and fire in your veins. And in that moment, you just thought that work colleagues, or even maybe friends, shouldn't feel that way about each other.

After your birthday, it was no longer an issue for Spencer. Under the table, he'd nudge you with his knee if you weren't paying attention for a second, or he'd put his hand on your shoulder when he looked over you at the computer screen. He also didn't mind if you were so exhausted from a case that you fell asleep by his side on the plane, with your head on his shoulder. You didn't realize it, but JJ had pointed out that Spencer always pulled you a little closer then, resting his cheek against the top of your head. For him, the constant touching was no longer an issue.

For you, it was. Every time his skin brushed yours, you felt warm and your heart skipped a beat. Whether it was at dinner, at a briefing, or just walking by. But it was bearable.

It got bad when he touched you longer. On particularly hard cases, he had taken to looking under the table for your hand and squeezing it twice. It was a gesture of friendship and care. If you held each other, nothing could happen to you. On the plane, you always sat next to each other, playing cards or absorbed in your own thoughts. Spencer, however, got into the habit of putting your legs over one of his if you had to fly for a particularly long time. At first, the team gave you strange looks, which made you uncomfortable, but didn't bother Spencer in the least. So you tried not to let on, which was pretty difficult when you were surrounded by profilers. Flames blazed in your veins at those touches, heat tingled under your skin where he touched you, and when he pulled you into his arms on certain occasions, you almost felt dizzy.

This is not how you should feel about your best friend.

"Thales, Miletus, here's your key," Hotch said, tossing Spencer the room key as the team checked into the hotel. He'd resisted at first the nickname Garcia had picked out for you - classically, after the discoverer of magnetism - but since everyone was using it, even the earnest Hotch had given up on it. "Prentiss, JJ, your room is right next to ours." The two women nodded and the four of them walked down the corridor while Derek was kind enough to take the girls' bags.

You couldn't look after them for long, because Spencer had already grabbed your hand and intertwined his fingers. "Come on. Our room is waiting."

You had never shared a room. You'd either always had your own, or shared one with Emily or JJ, but never with Spencer. You wouldn't mind so much if you weren't into him. Hopefully there were two beds. On opposite walls. Far away from each other.

When Spencer unlocked the door and you entered, you wanted to sink into the floor. Double bed. One blanket. You tried to mentally prepare yourself for the stay by setting your bag down on a chair and stopping in the middle of the room while your best friend inspected it. He didn't seem to notice that you had only one bed and, more importantly, only one blanket. At least, it didn't bother him.

When you returned to the room that evening, you went straight to the bathroom and took a shower. The water was as cold as you could stand it. It was supposed to cool you down and prepare you for the night. It wasn't every day that you shared a bed with your crush. After combing your hair and changing, you slipped under the covers and tried to fall asleep as quickly as possible so you wouldn't notice Spencer's presence next to you when he came out of the bathroom.

Your thoughts cheated on you. What if you snuggled up to each other in your sleep at night? Or you would unconsciously snuggle up to him, but he didn't want you to? Then you'd have to get another room tomorrow. And it would get so awkward that you wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Spencer finally as he climbed into bed next to you. Immediately, you felt his warmth. He hadn't taken a cold shower, apparently.

"It's always hard when kids are involved," you answered truthfully. It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't what was floating around in your mind either.

"Come here," he said, opening his arms. Hesitantly, you slid closer to him so there was still space between you, but it didn't seem close enough for Spencer. After he turned out the light, he pulled you close enough for you to rest your head on his shoulder and with his free hand, he reached for yours and intertwined your fingers again. Your heart stopped. "We can do this, Y/N. We've done it all so far." You heard his heartbeat beneath you, felt his breath on your hair, and the warmth of his body burned into your skin. "Try to get some sleep. We'll know more tomorrow," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead before you fell asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, you felt Spencer behind you. His chest was pressed against your back, his arm was wrapped tightly around your middle, and he had his face buried in your neck. Immediately goosebumps spread all over your body. You tried to pull away from him a little, but he pulled you even closer. Spencer was still asleep, so he didn't notice how he carefully slid his hand under your shirt and how his long fingers danced over your soft skin. You held your breath, afraid to move or give away your racing heartbeat. At one point he pulled his arm back and turned onto his back before lifting his hand and rubbing his eyes. His hair stood out in all directions and he smiled sleepily. You were getting hot.

"Good morning, Y/N." Good morning indeed.

The case took longer than planned, though of course you can't plan a case. After the third night, you had gotten used to sleeping next to Spencer, but the cuddling worried you. The longer you shared that room, the more complicated your feelings became. It was almost unbearable.

Derek, Emily, Spencer and you found the unsub in a remote car yard. While the latter surveyed the building, Derek and you looked around the yard.

"What's going on between you and Reid, anyway?" he asked curiously. You gave him a meaningful look, but he didn't care. "It's come to all of our attention. You guys are inseparable, he has to touch you all the time, and those looks."

"What looks?" you probed, trying to sound as unsuspecting as possible. This time Derek was looking at you. So he had noticed. And if Derek knew, so did the others. Fucking profilers.

"Y/N," he started, and stopped. When you turned to him, he twisted his mouth into a weak smile. It was a very different Derek who stood before you. Not the go-getter who sometimes made fun of Spencer. He seemed genuinely worried, and that made you nervous. "Friends don't look at friends that way."

A loud bang rang through the air and the conversation was all but forgotten. You took cover and communicated via hand signals. Quietly, you moved forward. It wasn't long before you saw a figure running away behind the cars. "We got him," Derek said into the mic, and together you dashed toward the unsub. He ran toward the woods and disappeared. Derek looked at you and nodded. You split up.

Gun drawn, you ran forward. Leaves crunched beneath you, but you tuned that out. You focused on the birds above you, the shadows of the trees, and the gun in your hand. He had to be here somewhere.

You didn't even startle when you felt cold metal against the back of your head. "Don‘t. Move." You took your fingers off the trigger and raised your arms. "Put the gun down. Vest off." Slowly, you bent down and placed both on the ground. The only thing you could think about was that you would hopefully find them later. "Walk.“ With your hands clasped behind your head, you took one step at a time. Derek was nowhere to be seen. You wished you hadn't split up.

He led you to a rundown cabin in the woods that wasn't marked on any map, which is why you couldn't have known about it. He pushed you inside and closed the door behind him, his gun still pointed at you. "If you had wanted to kill me, you would have done it long ago," you gave out, but he didn't go for it. It was a game of fire. You knew the file and what he was capable of.

It was only a few moments before someone kicked open the door and Derek stormed into the cabin, closely followed by Spencer. "Put the gun down and keep your hands off," Derek yelled. Up until then, you hadn't realized that the he had pulled you close and was holding the barrel of his gun right to your temple You only had eyes for Spencer, who was deliberately not looking at you.

You tried to get his attention, but he wouldn't budge. You raised a hand and moved it toward your shoulder, hoping Spencer understood your message. But he wasn't looking at you.

Look at me, Spencer. Come on. Look. At. Me.

His eyes moved from the unsub to your fingers, tapping a spot in your shoulder. You repeated this until he finally looked you in the eye. Then he shook his head, barely perceptibly. Again you tapped the spot. If Spencer shot through your shoulder, he would hit the perpetrator in the torso, and even if the bullet slowed down through you, it would still do enough damage. And you were willing to take the risk.

But Spencer didn't shoot. And time was running out for you. "I trust you," you said, no sound escaping your lips. He gritted his teeth. "I trust you, Spencer. Do it."

And then he shot.

-

"Welcome back, sunshine," Derek grinned, wrapping you in his muscular arms as you entered the office. "We've all missed you."

It had been three months since you had been shot in the field. Spencer had shot you through the shoulder as planned, and you were right. The perpetrator was shot and the rest of the victims were found. So it was almost a happy ending.

Almost. Of course, you had to listen to a few more things from Hotch on the way to the hospital. You were tired of living and he was disappointed and angry, but incredibly relieved that nothing else had happened to you. You could have been the next victim, too.

"All of you?" you prodded, and Emily, who had joined you, screwed up her face.

"He's not back yet. He extended his vacation," she said, putting a hand on your shoulder. "He's not really over it yet."

You hadn't heard from Spencer since the incident. He hadn't visited you at the hospital, called you or been to your home after you were discharged. You were best friends and the fact that you hadn't seen him in three months hurt more than the gunshot wound. The only person Spencer talked to was JJ, but even she couldn't give you any information.

He probably blamed himself, but why? You had wanted him to shoot. It had been your plan. Besides, he had shot so well that you didn't suffer any permanent damage. He shouldn't worry about it.

It was strange to work a case without him. Not having him near you. Not being able to feel his warmth. You tried to reach him, by phone, by letter, but you got no answer. Even though you hadn't spoken in months, he was your best friend and you were starting to get really worried. He had cut off contact with JJ himself.

When you walked into the office one morning, you were almost breathless. Spencer was standing at his desk, leaning against it, and the others were standing around him. But you had no eyes for them. Spencer was back. Your Spencer was back. As you walked toward them, you got a sinking feeling. He looked good. Changed, but good. His hair was a little shorter and he didn't look as pale as usual. He also seemed more confident and self-assured, which unfortunately made him even more attractive.

He didn't see you until you were almost in front of him. He smiled weakly at you before standing up straight. "Y/N," he said, and it felt so good to hear your name come out of his mouth. Immediately, goosebumps spread across your body. You expected him to give you a hug or insist on talking to you in person, because a lot had happened in the time without him, but he didn't. He turned around briefly and pulled something off his office chair. Not something. Someone. "This is my girlfriend, Vicky."

You didn't know what had happened in the last few months. Did you even want to know? Spencer hadn't contacted you in a long time, only to reappear with a girlfriend? You didn't understand the world anymore. The rest of the team must have felt the same way, because as you stood at your regular table in the bar, the couple was the only topic of conversation. In fact, you would have preferred all the murder cases.

"I'll be honest," Penelope said, taking a big gulp of her drink, which took quite a while since she always drank with a straw, "I was hoping you two would get together." She pointed her finger at you and then toward Spencer, who was standing at the bar with Vicky. You saw her run her finger through his hair and had to look away. Didn't she know he didn't like that?

"Hotch and I even bet money on it," Emily confessed, turning back towards the table. Apparently she didn't want to watch them either. "We would have gotten you a nice wedding present from that."

"He looks happy," you said, but you guessed that's not what the others wanted to hear from you. You sat at a table made up mostly of profilers. They knew exactly how you felt about the whole thing.

"Give it a rest," Derek said, putting his arm around your shoulder. Even the overly positive music in the background couldn't lighten your mood. "We all know how you feel about Spencer. And honestly, we thought he would feel the same way about you."

"But he doesn't, so please let it go," you shot back, instantly regretting it. Your friends weren't to blame for the whole situation. It was you. As you dared another look, Vicky pulled Spencer onto the dance floor, which you knew he didn't like either. Didn't she know him at all?

"I don't know what got into him," JJ confessed, sipping her Coke. "Those two don't even fit together." They didn't, but maybe that's why it worked. There was this theory that opposites attract, but you could never have imagined it with Spencer.

When Vicky grabbed Spencer by the tie and pulled him down so she could kiss him, your heart broke. It was different when you just knew two people were doing something. But when you saw it, all hope was lost. Even from a distance, you could see their tongues and you almost threw up.

"That's my sign," you said, pressing a kiss to Penelope's cheek. "See you." They all said goodbye to you and even over that awful music, you could still hear "It must hurt terribly to see him like that" and "I couldn't do that" as you walked.

Outside, the cold night air surprised you. It hit you in the face like a slap, but nothing hurt as much as knowing Spencer was happy without you. He didn’t need you and he didn't want you. That was fine, but that didn't mean you had to go along with it. Since he'd been back, he'd barely spoken to you. On the plane, he had sat at the other end of the room, and he had actually switched rooms at the hotel just so he wouldn't have to be near you. He'd even started shoving files back at you instead of handing them to you, like he'd burn if he touched you.

The lights in Hotch's office were still on when you came into the office. It was just after midnight and you knew he would still be there. When you knocked on his door, he invited you in. "What can I do for you?" He hadn't even had to ask. He knew why you were there. It was written on your forehead. "Are you sure about this? I'll write a recommendation, but only if you really want me to." You nodded silently. "It's because of him, isn't it?" he asked, his usually hard expression softening.

"Yes," you answered curtly. There was nothing to add.

"I'll make some calls. You get a week to pack. I'll call you tomorrow," he said, getting up from his desk. Surprisingly, he pulled you into his arms. "We're all going to miss you terribly, Y/N. And you're welcome here anytime."

It didn't take long for your things to be packed, and it didn't take long for the others to notice the following day. Your desk was empty, the files had been processed, the pictures of you and the team were gone, and your mug with a picture of Spencer and you on it that he had once given you was gone, too.

"Where is she?" asked Emily Derek, who didn't have an answer ready either. They looked around uncertainly and as the rest entered the bullpen, Hotch came out of his office. He looked like he hadn't slept. He walked down the steps and stood in the circle of confused team members. Even Spencer was puzzled.

"Agent Y/L/N left us last night," he began, sounding very composed. The others didn't know how to respond, so they just gave each other confused looks. "She has asked for a transfer and will start there next week. Please refrain from trying to talk her out of it. The transfer has gone through."

It took everyone by great surprise when Spencer dropped his bag and stormed out of the office. He didn't need to explain where he was going. It was obvious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried to call you, but it went straight to voicemail. It wasn't long before he arrived at your complex and shot up the steps to your apartment. He took two steps at a time. He stopped in front of your door and pounded his fist against the wood, hoping you would open the door for him and explain what you were doing. When nothing happened, he dialed the number again. Again and again, until the voice in the phone said to him, this number was no longer in service.

He ran his hand through his hair before sliding down with his back to the door. He put his head between his knees and cursed himself.

You weren't there anymore.

part two

[heroloverangel]

Delicate

This is technically a sequel to last year’s Dad Mirio fic but can be read on its own! Everyone’s favorite Wholesome Dilf continues to live rent-free in my brain.

“I miss you soooo much,” Mirio says for the fifth time in the past twenty minutes. You give him a comforting smile from your side of the screen, you know how he feels. Your husband’s been gone for three days now helping with a disaster in Osaka, and he probably won’t be home for the rest of the week. It’s hard being married to one of Japan’s top heroes, you think to yourself. You wish you could be there with him, putting your training to good use where it’s needed, but your current assignment is too important to ignore. It’s as if he can read your mind from the other side of the country. “How’s my buddy doing?”

You smile and tilt your camera down to show off your heavy stomach. At eight months pregnant, you’re sidelined from hero work no matter what the crisis is. “He’s alright,” you confirm. “I think he’s bored without you around, though.” He lets out a little whine that’s almost heartbreaking; it’s obvious where he’d rather be right now. You take pity on him and drop the phone level with your belly to give him a better view. 

“Hey buddy,” he coos. “I promise, I’ll finish as fast as I can so I can come home to you and Mama soon.” You feel movement inside you as he talks. You don’t know how good your baby’s hearing is, especially through the video chat, but you’re sure that he’s reacting to his father’s familiar voice. “I can’t wait to get back and feel how strong you’re kicking in there. I bet you’re driving Mama crazy!” You relax further into your pillows and let him babble on to your bump about his day saving civilians and clearing out rubble, only a little lonely when you look over at the empty half of your bed. You really do miss him, your house is far too quiet and calm without his usual energy filling it.

You yawn after a few more minutes and glance at the time. “Sorry, it’s getting kinda late. Would you mind if we called it a night for now?”

He smiles, but you can tell that he’s trying to hide his disappointment. “No problem, I know you need your sleep. We’ll talk again tomorrow, okay?” You agree and tell your husband you love him before hanging up the phone and settling in for bed. You’re tired, but you’ve gotten too comfortable with him sleeping beside you and it takes awhile to fall asleep on your own.

You spend the next morning balancing your laptop over your swollen belly while you browse through maternity clothes. There’s a local shop that promises same-day delivery, and you treat yourself to a few things for your last month. You read through your email, a magazine wants a quick interview for an article about hero families and you’re happy to answer their questions. It’s hard to move too much in your condition, but you make sure to do the prenatal exercises your doctor recommended and then have a nice long shower. Your new clothes arrive and you leave them on the dresser for now while you eat lunch and call your family. It still seems too quiet in the house without Mirio, and you’re getting bored when your phone finally rings and your face lights up at his name.

“Hey sweetheart! I’ve got a surprise for you!”

You can hear the smile in his voice and it warms your heart. “Is it dinner? I think somebody in here’s really craving steak tonight.”

He laughs. “You’ll see. Just have a seat on the couch and close your eyes for a second, okay?”

This isn’t the weirdest thing he’s requested over the phone, and you obey. “Alright, they’re closed. What are you planning, Lemillion?”

“You can open your eyes in three...two...one…” his voice disappears from the phone, all you hear is the background noise of birds chirping.

“Mirio?” Your eyes are still closed.

“SURPRISE!” 

You jump in shock and drop your phone, your eyes flying open. He’s standing in front of you with the biggest grin on his face, completely naked. It takes you a second to realize he must have phased through the front door to surprise you. You struggle to stand but fail, and he has to pull you up himself into his arms for a deep kiss. “You’re home early! How’d you manage that?”

“The others knew how much I wanted to get home, with you being pregnant and all, and everybody worked extra hard to cover for me so I could leave first.” You owe every single one of them a thank you gift. “Boy, that Uravity is amazing with rescue work!” Oh, you owe her twice as much after this.

“I’m glad you’re home,” you sigh happily. Your husband drops to his knees in front of you and pushes your shirt up to kiss your stomach, rubbing his hand where he feels a faint kick.

“Me too. I missed our family so much.” His arms wrap around you and he rests his head against your middle. You run your fingers through his hair, both of you taking a minute to relish your little reunion. It’s only been a few days, but it was more than enough to make you homesick for each other.

He stands back up after a bit and you head for the hallway. “You should go grab your phone off the porch and take a shower. I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you too, when you’re done.” He’s happy to obey and you follow him down the hall, pausing at the front door then into the bedroom. You wait for the bathroom door to shut and then spring into action as fast as you can. You clothes come off; you kick them under the bed instead of wasting precious time trying to pick them off the floor. 

You reach for the new clothes on the dresser and find the outfit you’d picked for his welcome home gift. The bra is made out of soft white lace so flimsy it looks like it’ll tear if you breathe too hard. It ties closed with a ribbon in the front and your clumsy fingers finally form a decent bow on the third try. A skirt attaches beneath the cups and just skims your thighs, the two halves of it parted to show off your obvious pregnancy. You’re lucky that the matching underwear ties on the sides with more ribbon; you’re not sure you’d be able to get them on without five minutes of struggling if you had to step into them. 

You look at yourself in the mirror and adjust the skirt of your lingerie. Despite the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination, you look sweet. Innocent. Delicate. A grin spreads across your face; it’s perfect.

You get dressed just in time; you hear the shower turn off and the door opens a second later. “There, all clean and-” Mirio freezes at the sight of you and you see his fingers twitch against the towel wrapped around his waist. “Oh, wow. You look...just, wow.” He’s crossed the room faster than you can react, strong arms wrapping you in a tight, warm hug. “You’re so gorgeous like this, babe.”

You lean into his body; you’ve missed this while he was gone. “Well, it’ll be awhile before we can do this again. I figured we should really enjoy ourselves while we still can.” He nods and gives you a surprisingly gentle kiss. You can tell he’s holding back his strength for your benefit and the knowledge makes your heart flutter.

Mirio recovers from his surprise quickly and returns to his usual unstoppable energy. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise!” His bigger hand is warm around yours as he guides you to your bed, losing his towel in the process. You don’t hide your staring; his body is gorgeous after so many years of training and you could look at him for hours. He sits back against the headboard and carefully brings you with him to straddle his lap, and you feel his cock already growing hard against your thigh. “We’ll take it easy,” he promises. “I know we have to be a little more gentle now since you’re so big-” You stare down at Mirio silently, but he continues. “What? You are big, that’s a good thing. You’re growing our baby in there, he needs all that room!” You just shake your head; you can’t really feel annoyed when he’s this sweet.

He looks up at you with pure affection written all over his face and leans into your touch as you run your fingers through his damp hair. “How can you be this buff and this adorable?” It’s not the first time you’ve asked as much, and every time he laughs you off with a faint blush on his cheeks. You lean in for another kiss while his hands move from your hips over your ribs to the front of your slip.

“This is so pretty, you should keep it on.” He gives your chest a squeeze and you whine, too sensitive from the hormones wrecking havoc on your body. You knew your breasts were going to get bigger, but they’ve turned out to be overachievers and you’ve jumped up two cup sizes already. “They’re still really sore, huh?” You nod and he offers you a comforting smile as he plays with the bow before finally tugging it open. Your nipples are already hard, and you don’t miss how he licks his lips when his thumb brushes over one. “I could help you with that, if you want.”

“Mirio…” You love your husband and all his enthusiasm, but you’re well aware that he can be a little too eager and get carried away. He’s being careful now as his fingers trace against your warm skin, his touch barely teasing you. He pulls you closer; you can feel the smile on his lips as he leans into your neck. He follows your pulse, down your collarbone to leave kisses at the swell of your breast and you sigh. “Okay,” you agree. “Just remember to-”

“I know, be gentle. Don’t worry babe, I’m gonna take good care of you.” He pushes your lingerie out of the way to get a better view at your heavy chest and appreciates the sight of it. “Man, our kid’s not gonna be lacking on calcium, is he?”

“I love you, please stop talking.” He laughs but obeys, his tongue flicking over your nipple and making you squirm in his arms. He does it a few times and you let out a little gasp when he takes you into his mouth. “Go easy,” you remind him, but he’s already distracted with his task. You asked your doctor about doing this before and were told it was perfectly fine, but you can’t quite shake the thought that it’s a little weird as Mirio begins to suck at your tender nipple.

You’ve tried this before, but every time he’s been too rough in his excitement and you’ve had to yank his head away from you in pain. Tonight though, he’s trying his best and after a few seconds of discomfort there’s an unfamiliar tingle deep in your breast as your body responds to his stimulation. “It feels weird,” you groan, but your fingers thread into his hair so he won’t pull away. “It’s not bad, just weird.” You’re not entirely sure you like what he’s doing, but you’re willing to continue until you figure it out. His tongue brushes over you with a slightly different motion, and something in you clicks into place. “Can you do that again? I think I liked that.”

His laughter is muffled but still obvious and you can feel the smile against your skin. Mirio’s happy to assist, one strong hand settling on your back to keep you steady. It wasn’t a mistake; he repeats his movements and you realize that it feels good. It feels really good, you have to admit, as his eyes slip closed so he can focus entirely on pleasing you like this. You hold him tight to your body, fingers running through his messy hair while you enjoy the affection so happily given. You’re still sensitive though, and after a few more minutes you start to get overwhelmed and have to pull him away.

“It tastes good.” His grin is huge as he licks his lips. “It’s sweet, just like the rest of you.” You’d roll your eyes if he wasn’t so cute. He gives your breast a gentle squeeze and earns another whimper from you, then turns his attention to the other one. “Don’t want this side feeling left out, right? Lucky I’m here to take care of everything!” Your heart skips a beat, you’re so in love with this silly, wonderful idiot. You don’t get a chance to respond, once his mouth is back on you it’s hard to do anything besides pant and whine for him.

You squirm against him, his dick pressing against your thigh and your panties doing very little to hide how much you’re loving this. “Miriooo,” you moan, and the look in his eyes is nothing but pure happiness that makes you melt. “You always take good care of me,” you coo, reaching down to stroke his cock lightly. “You’re so good to me, honey.” He pulls you closer and releases your chest to look up and meet your eyes.

“Babe, I’m just giving you what you deserve. You’re literally making a brand new, little person in there. If that’s not worth being extra nice, I don’t know what is.” He really has no idea how perfect he is. His thumb brushes over your nipple and your body is so sensitive now it makes you shudder. “Alright now?”

You stop for a second to consider. Your breasts do feel a bit lighter, there’s less pressure weighing down on you after his help. “Yeah, thanks. You’re the best, really.”

He brushes off your compliment in favor of pulling at the strings holding your underwear together. “Just doing my job, miss.” He groans at the sight of you fully naked and traces a finger along the lips of your cunt. You hadn’t noticed just how wet you were getting as he’d worked on your nipples, but now two of his fingers slip inside you with no effort. “I love you so much,” he says with another kiss.

You buck into his hand mindlessly, too eager for his touch after only a few days. You want to hold off and come with his dick buried inside you, but you can’t deny yourself when you’re this needy already. “I want it,” you whine pitifully.

His other hand gives your hip a reassuring squeeze. “I know, baby. You can have whatever you want, just tell me.” His thumb swirls over your clit and he doesn’t miss the jolt that runs down your body. “Right there, huh? My pretty little wife wants me to make her come?” His smirk is playful and there’s a glint of mischief in those friendly eyes.

“Mirio, please.” Hearing him talk like that does something to you and you hide your face in the crook of his neck.

His hand moves faster and your pussy clenches tight around his fingers. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. Just let yourself go for me.” His voice is so warm and soothing, you can’t resist. Your orgasm is marked with desperate whispers in his ear as his hand moves gently between your thighs to urge you on. “That’s it, honey. You’re so good, I want more of you.”

It takes you a minute to calm down before you’re able to pry your sweaty face away from his shoulder. His fingers leave you aching to be filled again, and you swallow hard when you watch him bring them to his mouth to lick them clean. 

“That’s my girl,” he smiles like the sun and you look away, almost embarrassed by the affection between you two. You can’t see anything past your swollen belly, but you can feel his thick cock ready for a turn. “Are you up for more? It’s fine if you need to wait-”

You fumble blindly for his cock until the tip presses just outside your cunt. “I want you inside me. Here, Mirio. Your pretty little wife wants to make you come.” The blush spreading across his face at your words is a special reward of its own. His hips thrust upward to enter you while he slowly pulls you down to meet him, and your mouth falls open in a long moan. “Fuck, Mirio. We’ll have to wait a couple weeks after he’s born and it’s gonna suck so bad.”

He hasn’t put much thought into this fact and you can practically see the gears in his head turning. “Well then, I guess we’d better make it count while we still have the chance,” he says finally. He’s always so much stronger than you, even when you’re not in such a delicate condition, and easily sets a steady pace moving you up and down his dick. You cling to his shoulders to steady yourself as you ride him, pressing your tongue into hs mouth to devour his sounds. This may be the peak of happiness, with your sweet husband pounding away inside your excited pussy, showering you with compliments about how great you are and how perfect your little family is going to be. “And once he gets a little older, we can start working on his siblings!”

Your hips falter in their rhythm at the suggestion. “S-siblings? Already?”

He grins back at you. “Of course! We need five or six, at least!”

“Five or six…” you repeat, suddenly distracted by the thought of doing this another half-dozen times. You don’t know why you’re surprised, it’d be more of a shock if he didn’t have infinite love to share. The idea doesn’t bother you, and you find yourself returning his smile with a smirk of your own. “You really wanna fill me up that much, Lemillion?”

You’re not expecting his thrusts to speed up so much or for him to pull you down so hard you’re gasping for air. “God, babe. So much. I think about it like, all the time now. You have no idea.” He stops to kiss you again, and your cunt squeezes hard around him. “I can take more time off of work,” Mirio insists mindlessly, getting far too ahead of himself. “I bet I can hold so many babies at once.”

You laugh, he’s so ridiculous sometimes. “Let’s just focus on this one for awhile, okay?” He nods, trailing his lips down your throat to feel how fast your pulse is racing for him. You can feel another orgasm building, and that he isn’t far behind. You were only apart for three days but it seems like far too long. “You’re really, really the best.”

He cups your sweaty face in one hand, the look in his eyes so soft and loving it takes your breath away. There aren’t enough words to describe how much you love him right now, and clearly it’s the same for him. Wordlessly he releases you and drags his hand down your body, stopping to tweak your nipples and making you cry out. His fingers drop to rub firmly against your clit, and your back goes rigid. “Miri-ohh. Just like that, I’m gonna...there, fuck.” You clamp down hard on his cock with a loud moan and he holds you tight, supporting your overworked body while you come. “Here,” your voice is ragged. “Your turn, I know you’re dying to come inside me.”

“You’re amazing, honey.” That last compliment is all he gets out before his pace goes sloppy and you feel him flooding your pussy with a low groan. “You’re so amazing.” 

You cling to him while he gradually wears himself out and stay wrapped up in his arms for the next few minutes. Eventually, there’s a firm kick in your belly that informs you that someone noticed all your movement and he’s not happy about it. Both of you laugh as you separate; you flop down on the bed while Mirio cleans you up and finds you a comfy, oversized shirt and fresh panties to wear. It’s still fairly early, and you won’t be tired enough to sleep for a few hours.

“Now that was a welcome home gift. You should just wear that around the house until you have the baby, it looks really great on you.”

You ruffle his messy hair. “I don’t think it would survive the entire month around you,” you tease. You stretch your arms above your head and feel a grumble in your stomach. “So, the surprise wasn’t steak for dinner tonight?”

He’s in too good of a mood to even think of denying you. “It is now!” He’s already fumbling for his phone to look up menus. “Whatever you wanna eat, just say the word!”

Sometimes you wonder how you ever got so lucky.

[spencer-reid-in-a-pool]

Room For Dessert

anon requested- Can you do a smut where rossi has a dinner party but also has his Niece staying with him because her apartment is being fumigated. Her and Spencer hit it off and go at it.

anon requested- smut 54: you better be quiet or everyone is going to know what a naughty little slut you are. and 59: such a needy little thing, aren't you? with Spencer

Contains: fingering (female receiving), hand job (male receiving), mention of pregnancy/breeding kink, name calling, slight degradation, unprotected sex, swearing, sexual acts in a public setting

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had never met my uncle David's co-workers before. He had always talked about introducing us, but it just never seemed to be the right time. It seems that today though, the world decided it was the right time.

He was having a dinner party tonight and my apartment needed to be fumigated. What luck!

I figured I would be staying with him for a couple days, so I packed my things after work yesterday. Now it was Saturday, the day of the party, and time to head over.

I had to admit I was nervous. A dinner party with people I didn't know? Talk about awkward. But I decided to make the most of it.

Once I was at his house, he took me to a spare room that would be mine for the next few days and showed me where everything was. Not that I would remember since we're in a mansion.

A few hours passed and it was time for people to start arriving. As I was getting my party clothes on, I could hear voices downstairs. Guess I should hurry.

Once I was done with my hair, makeup, and clothes, I made my way slowly down the stairs. The voices got progressively louder as I got closer.

A few people were scattered around the immediate area. A dark-haired woman stood talking to a blonde woman over near the far side of the room. Uncle David was talking with an Asian man and a dark-skinned woman by the entrance to the kitchen. And lastly, a well-built Hispanic man sat talking to a blonde woman in colorful clothing and a tall, slightly unkempt man.

I wasn't sure where to go first so I just kind of stood on the bottom step without saying anything. Then Uncle David noticed me.

"Ah there she is! We've been waiting for you. Come on and mingle while the food is finishing up."

At his words, the room full of people all turned their heads toward me.

Slightly taken aback by all the eyes on me, I gave a small wave and a smile before making my way down to them.

"It's nice to meet you guys! I'm (Y/N). Uncle David has told me about all of you."

The woman wearing bright colors made her way over to me first, a glass of champagne in hand.

"It's so nice to meet you! Your dress is to die for!"

She then enveloped me in a one arm hug. I hugged her back and accidentally made eye contact with the tall guy in the back. He quickly looked away. What was he staring at me for?

"I'm Penelope by the way!"

She pulled away and smiled at me once more before making room for the next person.

Emily, JJ, Luke, Tara, and Matt all introduced themselves. The last guy must be...

"Dr. Spencer Reid," he said as he stuck his hand out to shake.

Oh. Oh wow.

Now that I got a closer look at him, I could see why his nickname was "Pretty Boy." If we hadn't been in front of so many people, I would've had to jump his bones right then.

I shook his hand shyly.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you. Aren't you a little too attractive to be in the FBI? How does anyone get their work done?"

Spencer cleared his throat and glanced around the room to see people start walking to the kitchen. The food must be almost done.

"Well, why don’t you sit next to me at the dinner table? I’ll make sure to tell you all about my...work,” he murmured as he made no attempts to hide his eyes roaming my body.

Did-did he just...?

Before I could think anything coherent, he began walking away. He was probably just messing with me. I’m just being stupid.

Still, my legs felt a bit weak as I made my way into the kitchen. They were all sitting down and the only empty seat was next to Spencer. As I approached, he jumped up and pulled out the chair.

“Here let me.”

He gave me a bashful look, not at all like the look he gave my body moments ago in the living room. What is this guy’s deal?

I gave him a small smile and took a seat. He pushed me towards the table and sat down next to me.

Uncle David did his toast thing to be thankful for everyone being here, and then we started dishing up our food. There was so much to choose from that my plate became full almost immediately.

“So tell me,” I said to the man next to me, “What’s it like to be the BAU’s resident genius?”

Spencer glanced at me as he gathered food onto his plate.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that an IQ score or any amount of knowledge makes someone a genius. Not that both of those aren’t high for me, but I don’t like to quantify the term genius.”

He paused for a moment before continuing.

“But between you and me, it feels pretty good.”

I giggled and he smiled at me. He has a nice smile.

“Hey I made you laugh and it wasn’t at me. Maybe I’m getting somewhere with women.”

I traced the rim of my champagne glass before looking at him. I know I’d like to go somewhere with him...

“I don’t see how women aren’t all over you, Doctor. I mean. Have you looked in a mirror?”

Spencer chuckled and smiled, almost nervously.

“I’d rather look at you.”

My cheeks got hot and I blinked rapidly. Oh no. This is it. It’s happening.

But I hadn’t forgotten that look he gave me before we sat down. I hadn’t forgotten the way he undressed me with his eyes. If he wanted to mess with me then I would mess with him too.

I leaned over slowly so no one would notice and began talking in a low voice in his ear.

“What parts of me would you like to look at, Doctor?”

Spencer choked on his drink when I finished speaking. I leaned away feeling accomplished and with a painful twitch in my chest from trying not to lose my shit at him sputtering like an idiot.

But it would seem that karma is, in fact, a bitch.

“How about I start with those pretty tits of yours?”

It was my turn to choke on my drink this time. This earned me a few glances from the people across from me at the table.

“You two okay over there?” Emily asked us, having no clue what was really happening on our side of the table.

Spencer gave me a fake confused glance and then met Emily’s eyes.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we be?”

She shrugged and seemed to leave it at that, turning back to her conversation with JJ.

“How about...,” Spencer began next to me in a low voice so that no one would hear, “We have a little fun?”

I raised an eyebrow at him, not really sure what he meant by that.

He widened his eyes and looked me up and down in response as if to say, “You know exactly what I mean.”

I tried not to smile as big as I wanted to, so I settled on a sly grin in his direction to let him know I was game.

His body seemed to relax in relief almost, something I wasn’t expecting. Was he genuinely interested in me or was he just messing with me because I happened to be here?

I tried distracting myself from these thoughts and started actually eating, since we were at a dinner party after all.

A few minutes went by of idle conversation, although I wasn’t really listening. I responded in short sentences and nods in between bites of food, but my mind was elsewhere.

It wasn’t too long though, until my mind went straight to my thigh, where a hand could be felt slowly making its way up.

Trying not to make it obvious, I turned towards Spencer with a shocked look on my face. He wasn’t even looking at me, he was looking ahead and having a full conversation with Matt and Luke. How is he multitasking this well?

His hand- his very large and warm hand- made its way even farther up, snaking towards my center with a painfully slow pace.

I knew what he was planning, and I was ready for it. At least, I think I am.

His finger brushed against the edge of my panties and he paused. When I looked over at him, he had his chin casually resting on his other hand and was looking at me sideways. He raised an eyebrow to ask me if it was okay.

In response, I took his hand that was so close to where I wanted it to be, and brought it down so that he could feel the wet spot forming just from thinking about what he was getting ready to do.

I think this shocked him a little, so he cleared his throat and looked ahead, picking up another conversation with Tara.

He made his way back to where he was and began slipping fingers past the hem of my panties. They were warm and soft, but still, I shivered.

I tried my best to continue on as normal while people talked to me, but as soon as I felt the pad of his pointer finger stroking my folds, I choked on my words.

No one seemed to notice, so I continued on like nothing happened.

He was teasing me now, touching around my entrance but never going in it. How irritating.

I’m sure he sensed my frustration, since he chuckled under his breath and immediately shoved a finger inside me.

I inhaled sharply, not expecting the force or suddenness. This seemed to please him; at least I’m assuming he was pleased based on the grin that graced his features.

He continued working while he talked, never stopping the motions of going in and out of me. He even began rubbing my clit with another finger while he fingered me. He must be really good at piano. And guitar, for that matter.

It was starting to get a little warm, and my body began reacting to the way he was relentlessly rubbing my clit in hurried circles.

“Spencer,” I hissed so that no one else could hear.

“Hmmm?”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I believe I’m trying to make you cum on my fingers.”

My breath hitched in my throat as I felt my core tighten. I looked around to make sure no one had heard us. The coast seemed to be clear.

“You’re gonna pay for this, asshole,” I choked out.

This seemed to only fuel him. His fingers began relentlessly attacking my swollen bundle of nerves and they did not stop. Not even close. He only got faster and faster, and I have no idea how that was even possible to begin with.

I wanted to smack the smirk that appeared when I tightened around his fingers right off his stupid face.

His eyes roamed my sweaty, slightly red face and he slowly pulled his hand from my panties.

Spencer then turned back to his plate and picked up the last bit of his dinner roll that was left. He placed it in his mouth, along with the tips of his fingers that were just in my panties. He pushed the roll farther in his mouth so that his fingers were halfway in. Then he slowly withdrew them, his lips never leaving those damn fingers.

“Mmm Rossi,” Spencer began, turning away from me and to the man he called, “These rolls are really good. Did you make them yourself? I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything like it.”

This time I choked on my own saliva. So of course, I had a coughing fit that drew everyone’s attention to me.

“Oh my gosh, (Y/N) are you okay? Take a sip of water!” Penelope told me in honest concern for my well being.

I finished coughing and took a long gulp from my glass. I only wished it was whiskey instead of water right now.

“I’m okay, really,” I said, holding my hands up in front of me, “Just... swallowed my food too fast.”

This seemed to satisfy everyone so they all turned back to each other, Spencer’s comment about the rolls forgotten.

“That’s what you get for calling me those mean names, princess,” Spencer murmured next to me.

I stayed silent in response. Two could play at this game.

Without hesitation, I placed my hand against his crotch. And it was... something. I’m not sure if he was that hard or just- that big. Either way, my heart skipped a beat. But I didn’t let that stop me.

I slipped my hand beneath the waistband of his pants and made contact with what I was looking for. I felt him twitch under my touch, but his face gave nothing away to the others at the table.

So I started working. Tracing the length of what I could reach, and rubbing along his shaft with precision.

He took in a sharp breath as I made my way closer to the tip, and he quickly cut a glance my way.

I paid him no mind as I continued, making sure to eat off my plate like normal so as not to draw suspicion. Looking around, I could see that most people were finishing up their food, so I didn’t really have a lot of time left. I started going faster, putting more pressure onto his dick as I went. 

When I looked up to check the scene, I saw Spencer gripping his fork with white knuckles. He was holding on for dear life. Good. 

It was then that a few people began to excuse themselves from the table to go mingle some more before dessert. Shit. I had to hurry. 

I kept picking up speed, probably too much to be honest. But it worked. Spencer stiffened under my touch and a warm, wet spot was now forming in his pants, coating my fingers. He cleared his throat to try and drown out the noise he wanted so badly to make instead. 

I took a deep breath, satisfied with my work, and slowly removed my hand from his pants. It was just us, Penelope, and my uncle left at the table. They were in the middle of a conversation anyway. Luck was on my side tonight.

Spencer excused himself in a hurry, and I waited a few minutes before doing the same. I had no idea where he went, so I just had to walk around and find him somehow. We had unfinished business. 

A few minutes went by of me searching the halls, hopefully not drawing attention to myself. And then I found him, leaning against a wall and looking out the window in front of him. 

When I approached him, I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could get any words out, he grabbed my wrist roughly and pulled me into a closet. Spencer shut the door quietly behind us, though I could tell that he wanted to slam it. Uh oh.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed through gritted teeth.

“I was just playing along! Isn’t that what we wanted to do from the beginning?”

Spencer ran a hand through his hair. Oh, how I wanted to do the same thing.

“Obviously. I’ve been wanting to fuck you senseless since I laid eyes on you.”

My heart skipped a beat and the pulse suddenly went down into my core instead.

“Well do it then,” I murmured while gripping onto his forearms. There was enough space in this closet for many different positions. I just wanted to be as close to him as possible.

“I don’t know if you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Spencer groaned while palming my ass roughly.

“Mmm, I don’t care. I’m on the pill, by the way. So I wanna feel you. All of you. Although I have a pretty strong feeling you’d get off on putting a baby in me, Doctor,” I whispered into his ear before pressing my chest against his. I felt his breathing stop for a split second.

“Shut up,” he growled. It seems I pushed a button.

“Make me.”

Without a word and without hesitation, Spencer shoved me against the wall behind me and locked his mouth onto mine.

It was better than I could’ve imagined. And I had imagined it a lot over the course of tonight.

His tongue immediately shoved past the barrier of my lips and teeth, finding shelter in my mouth. The groans that came from him could have undone me right there, so I held onto his shoulders for dear life. His hands found his way to my ass, and he pushed me against his erection. His very large, very intimidating erection. And then all too soon, he pulled away, a string of saliva and swollen lips the only evidence of what had just happened.

“Who said you were allowed to tease me, huh? You've been pushing my buttons all night, and now look at you. A writhing mess underneath me. Such a needy little thing, aren't you?"

I shivered as his words reached my ears. So he had noticed I was already falling apart once again.

“God,” he moaned into my neck as he pushed me against his dick.

I couldn’t help myself- I moaned with him. The friction of him against my pulsing core was almost too much to handle.

“You sound so good,” he growled in my ear.

We stopped suddenly when footsteps could be heard nearby. I glanced at Spencer in a panic and started to move away from him. But before I could, he hastily shoved his hand over my mouth.

"Oh no, we're not stopping. Not when it’s getting this good. So you better be quiet or else everyone will know what a naughty little slut you are. Understand?"

I whimpered against his fingers and nodded at him. He gave me a wicked smile in return.

"Good girl. Now take off your panties and wrap your legs around me so I can feel just how tight your cunt really is. I have a feeling my dick will feel a lot better inside you rather than my fingers.”

With shaking hands, I slid my panties off and kicked them away.

Spencer must have enjoyed what I did because he licked his lips eagerly, never breaking his gaze towards me. Before I made my way back over to him, I couldn’t help but notice how hard he already was. This wouldn’t take long. Less of a chance we would get caught, thankfully. 

He pulled down his pants and boxers roughly, quickly stepping out of them like I had done moments ago. He made no motion to remove the clothes on his top half, solidifying the thought that this would be over quickly. How bittersweet. 

Without another word, I practically jumped into his arms, our mouths meeting immediately and moving against the other ferociously. But all of a sudden, he pulled away, and it pissed me off more than it should have. 

When I saw why he did though, I wasn’t angry anymore. 

He had picked up the belt he had been wearing from the floor, and was holding it in front of me with a dangerous look in his eye. 

“I don’t trust you to be quiet. Open,” Spencer said in a gravelly huff. 

I did as he asked without hesitation, and he roughly shoved the leather belt into my mouth, commanding me to bite down on it. 

Oh shit.

Without missing a beat, he picked me up and laid me down on the floor, extremely gently compared to how he had previously put the belt in my mouth. 

“Good thing you’re already so wet,” Spencer purred, looking down at my exposed core. “Otherwise, this might hurt a little. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Unfortunately, it did still hurt. But God, did it hurt so good. 

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

Tag list

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[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

[kingofdoma]

...

so ep 8 of strange new worlds inspired me to write a ficlet (is that the term? this is my first time doing this)

it’s the first thing i’ve written to completion in ages, so be kind

call it “a final gift” i guess?

yeah.

all below the cut.

"Noonien-Singh to M'Benga! I have a possible infectious fauna in my quarters! Report here immediately!"

The doctor, half in reverie as he was filling out the toughest report he had ever had to complete, snapped out of his staring contest with a console and answered his comm. "La'an? What's going on?"

"I reported back to my quarters after the... incident, and when I returned there, there was a creature in there. I sealed it within before it could escape. I need you here to establish proper quarantine and run a limited baryon sweep if necessary."

"A baryon sweep? I don't know if such procedures are necessary, but... in any event, I'm on my way. M'Benga out." A smile flickered across his face. Could it be...?

When M'Benga arrived at La'an's quarters, he saw her rigid and stern, phaser trained on her quarter's door, as if the "fauna" could leap through the entrance at will, two other security officers flanking her. "Doctor?" she said, barely looking away. "Good. You're here. I need you to-"

"I think I know exactly what I need to do," M'Benga said, cutting her off slightly. "Tell me, have you done a scan of the creature yet?"

"No," she replied, absolutely not showing any embarrassment whatsoever, and don't you dare say otherwise. "That's what I contacted you for. In situations like this, I shoot things, or defer to different pools of knowledge. For this thing's sake, I went with the latter."

"Right. One moment." M'Benga went to the panel next to the door and initiated the in-room sensors. It only took him a few seconds to interpret the scans and start chuckling to himself, then a moment more for it to turn into full-blown laughter.

"Doctor? What... what's going on?" La'an inquired. "What's so funny?"

The doctor ended his laughter with a sigh. "You can dismiss your men. There's no danger here."

The security chief, again, NOT looking embarrassed, can't stress that enough, holstered her phaser and curtly nodded to her officers, who exchanged puzzled looks as they left. La'an leaned in and spoke in low tones. "You're absolutely sure it's not a threat?"

M'Benga smirked, and hit the door control, opening the quarters and allowing the small, brown furred creature out of the room, whereupon it immediately started yipping and putting its forepaws on La'an's leg. M'Benga took the officer's frozen gaze as a sign that she did not know how to respond, and picked up the creature.

"Do they not have dogs where you come from?" asked M'Benga.

"Not like that," La'an replied, secretly thankful to be able to focus on literally anything else. "I'm used to dogs being much bigger and much more aggressive. Besides, even if it appeared to be harmless, there are creatures that can change shape or temperament at a moment's notice. There are chameloid predators from the Imani cluster, not to mention the Alfa-177 canines are bloodthirsty half the time-"

"It's a mutt," he said. "Likely a bichon frise-cocker spaniel mix. That was..." He paused. "Can we take this inside?"

"Please," La'an agreed, and entered her (spartanly adorned) living space, closing the door behind her. "So, fine," she said, sitting across from M'Benga on her bed. "It's a dog. What is it doing here? Does it have to do with our missing time?"

The doctor smiled as he balked. "I'm still writing my report. Basically, we all became characters from a fantasy book. Most people's characters... did not match their usual personality. The captain was a sniveling chamberlain, for instance."

"Really?" La'an smirked. "I'd have loved to have seen that. What was Una, a flighty princess?"

"She was an archer of the forest... YOU were the princess."

"... what?" she replied flatly. "That's... that's ghastly. Horrible low cut dress, I assume? Terrible hair?"

M'Benga cleared his throat. "I... will show you the illustration later. You can judge for yourself. But the important thing is, that princess had a dog. THIS dog. When things returned to normal, I thought this little lady would disappear with the rest of the changes, but it appears... she did not. Which means that this is a gift from my daughter... to you."

"To me? I didn't even know your daughter... wait, your daughter?"

"That will be in my report as well," he replied wistfully. "Rukiya. She had cygnokemia. I was trying to give her more time by putting her pattern in the medical transporter buffer, but... she was running out of time. So the entity that lived inside the nebula literally made her dreams come true. Even to the point of letting her see the stars."

"Wait. You had an unauthorized pattern in the buffer? Presumably since we left drydock? That is a massive breach of protocol! You could face court martial!"

"... it will be in my report," he restated grimly. "I've... come to peace with that. But the important thing, right now, is this." He held up the dog to be eye level with La'an. "This is the princess' beloved companion. She called her Runa. And right now, she's yours. We can drop her off at McNair Starbase when we get there, but... that is up to you."

It finally dawned on La'an that M'Benga was offering the dog to her, and reluctantly took the beast into her hands. It sniffed and flicked out its tongue at her as it wiggled in her grasp. "We... we can decide that when we get to McNair. ... do we have a raw meat tape for the food synthesizer?"

M'Benga grinned again. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, I should get back to incriminating myself. My count is three major offenses so far, but I'm only a third of the way through things. I'm sure it will go up from there."

Slapping his legs, M'Benga stood up, and started for the door, but before he left, he turned and said, "You know, when Rukiya was old enough to know what gifts were, she got myself, my wife, and herself teddy bears, all with different faces and decorations, and told us all to sleep with them every night. I went with it at the time, but I never understood why she did it. But now... I sleep with all three of those bears every night. It helps me... not feel so alone. My daughter's gifts may not have made sense at first, but they were always excellent.

"You may want to cherish this one."

Once she was alone, La'an held the dog a moment longer, then placed it on the ground. Runa immediately ran around for a second, jumped back onto the bed, and snuggled in next to the chief's thigh.

La'an sighed to herself. Reaching for a nearby console as best she could without unseating her new companion, she said with resignation, "Computer... bring up any available files on canine care. Everything you've got. I'm going to need it..."

[cherrycocaineee]

11. Tony Stark - Moving in Together

    Placing the last cardboard box on top of the others, I turned around and grabbed the thick, black sharpie to label it “bathroom necessities.” Huffing quietly to myself, I wiped the sweat off of my brow and went into my now bare kitchen. Pouring myself a glass of tea into the plastic cup that I had bought at the store for this exact day, and leaned against the countertop so I could cool off. I gulped down the entire glass of tea within seconds just as my apartment door opened. Tony Stark, my boyfriend, walked into the building and smiled at me when our eyes met. I smiled back while pouring myself another glass of tea.  “Sweetheart,” he hummed, “you were supposed to wait for me to finish packing.”  Tony leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to my forehead while wrapping his muscular arms around my waist. I giggled, touching my empty hand to his chest, feeling the hard metal that was under his shirt. “I know,” I said, “but I saved the best part for you.”  “Oh, and what’s that?”  “Carrying them to the car.” A deep laugh shook his chest and he pulled away from me. Before the two of us started carrying the boxes out of my old apartment, Tony called some friends to meet him at his place so we could help carry the boxes inside. I’d never met any of Tony’s friends before and the thought of meeting them sent me into a bit of a nervous panic. Trying to keep my growing anxiety to myself, I carried the last box out then closed the door behind me. Tony practically jogged up the steps and grabbed the box out of my hand, nodding his head to the side, gesturing for me to go first. Sighing in relief as I got in the car, I let my head lean against the seat taking in the nice breeze from the air conditioner. Tony slammed the trunk shut and joined me in the car.  “You good?” He questioned, putting his seatbelt on. “I’m fine,” I replied, doing the same, “why do you ask?”  “Normally, you only shake your leg when you’re feeling nervous or thinking. I noticed it while watching you do your homework.”  Tony and I had met two years ago before we started dating a year and a half ago. He had come to my University to give some speech for all of the new freshmen college students and I had bumped into him. However, I never thought I’d be dating him only a year later. And since we were faced with the ultimate age gap, me being only twenty and him being almost forty, I constantly worried about people thinking I was a gold digger. Truth is, Tony offered to help me pay for my schooling and I declined every time.  “I just worried about your friends helping us carry the boxes in,” I admitted, “I’ve never met your friends before. What if they don’t like me? Everyone at school already calls me a gold digger, what if they think the same thing?”  Tony slipped his hand onto my thigh and leaned over so that we were staring at each other. “Serenity,” he whispered, “my friends are going to love you. What’s there not to love: you’re sweet, smart, beautiful, and charming. And I promise, if they don’t like you, then I’ll personally deal with them.”   Still not sure about it, I nodded anyway so the conversation could end. I wanted to try as hard as possible not to think about it. The entire drive to Tony’s house, my new home, I napped after a long, hot day of packing. I didn’t realize we were there until I started hearing the sound of three men speaking, two of which I didn’t recognize. Opening my eyes, I saw two tall, muscular men standing in front of Tony. One of them had a metal arm while the other had his hair styled as if he was going to a fancy dinner. Though I wouldn’t doubt it if he was. Tony reached over to my door and opened it for me, smiling down at my exhausted frame that was still hardly awake. Though having just woken up, I unbuckled myself and climbed out of the passenger’s seat. My boyfriend wrapped his arm around me.  “This is my girlfriend, Serenity Arrow,” he introduced, “Serenity, these are my friends; Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.”  I held out my hand, feeling it shake as I did so, “nice to meet the both of you.”  Steve was the first one to take my hand and shake it, “it’s nice to meet you too, Serenity. Tony talks about you all the time.”  “Practically have to beg the guy to shut up,” Bucky chuckled, shaking my hand next, “but now I can see why he was always bragging.” “Hahaha,” Tony sarcastically laughed, “paws off. We’ve got boxes to take inside.”   Bucky, Steve, Tony, and I started carrying in all of the boxes. There weren't really that many, but they were pretty heavy considering I practically crammed as much of my stuff inside as possible. In the end, I ended up packing twelve boxes and a single bag. I was only able to carry one box in at a time, however, the other three were able to carry in multiple. After setting down the third box I had carried in, I was heading back outside when Tony grabbed my waist just as he was passing me.  “Bucky’s got the last two,” he said, “let’s go inside.” I nodded my head and let him pull me back inside. The nice feel of the air conditioner smashed against my sweaty skin causing me to shiver. Tony said I could take a shower real quick if I wanted, so I grabbed an outfit out of one of the boxes that was labeled “clothes” then headed to the bathroom. The water was nice and relaxing against my knotted muscles. I soaped up my body after washing my hair and started rinsing off when I heard a female voice come out of nowhere.  “Ms. Arrow,” it said, “would you like the floor heated for when you get out?” I covered myself with my arms and pulled the curtain open to see who was there. But there was no one. I blinked a few times, feeling like I was going crazy from the heat. I wasn’t though, because the voice appeared again. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself first. I’m F.R.I.D.A.Y, Tony Stark’s computer program. It’s nice to meet you.” A small sigh left my lips as I relaxed and felt much more safe than I did a second ago. “It’s nice to meet you, F.R.I.D.A.Y,” I muttered, feeling my heart still slam against my chest, “and you don’t have to worry about heating the floor, I’ll be fine. Thank you.” “Of course.”   After my shower, I dried off and threw on my clothes before walking out of the bathroom. Tony was sitting in the living room with Steve and Bucky. They were chatting away while drinking some beer. I figured I’d let them be and just start unpacking some stuff, starting with my clothes. When I went to grab the box filled with them, Tony called my name.  “Ren,” he said, using the nickname he’d given me after the first time we met, “don’t worry about unpacking now, come sit.”  Part of me wanted to decline the offer, not really feeling like socializing. Not because I didn’t like the two people I had just met but because I didn’t want them to learn how old I was or the school I went to. Just didn’t want people questioning me about why I was with Tony. However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that declining the offer to sit and visit may seem like I was too good for them. So I went over there, ignoring the thousands of thoughts and nerves itching at my brain. I plopped down next to Tony and he placed his hand on my thigh which always made me feel better.  “So, Serenity,” Steve said, “tell us about yourself.” “O-oh, uhm, well, what do you want to know?” I asked.  “Tony says you go to college,” he started, “what year are you in?” “I’m a sophomore.”  Bucky had taken a large gulp of his beer before replying, “what are you studying?”  “Medicine. I want to be a surgeon.”  Tony patted my thigh and smiled. When I told him the first time that I was studying to be a doctor, he had joked about coming to see me when he got injured on his missions. It was a nice, little laugh that the two of us shared when we first spoke. “How did you and Tony start dating?” Steve asked, smiling. Now that was a funny story…  “He showed up at my dorm a year after we first met,” I informed, “he was beaten up and bloody from a mission, asking me to patch him up since I was studying to be a doctor.”  I started seeing flashbacks from that day. I could hear the knocking on my thick dorm door, me catching the scream I almost let out in my throat so I didn’t cause a lot of noise. All of the bruises, cuts, and blood that adore his skin as he limped into my room and collapsed on the floor. I stitched up his gashes, patching him up the best I could with whatever knowledge I knew from both my parents, who were both doctors, and my studies. It had been horrifying but at the same time a great learning opportunity. Who would have thought that I’d end up dating him.  “Serenity.”  I blinked a few times before looking at the three of them. Tony’s eyes were filled with worry but I just smiled and waved it off. “Sorry,” I laughed, it came out more dry than I meant, “I was just remembering what had happened that day.”  They looked at me with understanding eyes and I continued telling them about the day we started dating. “Anyway, after patching him up, he offered to take me to dinner since I helped him and it just went from there.” I purposely left out the two of us having sex inside my dorm room after he dropped me off after dinner, but from the smirk on Tony’s face, I figured they’d gotten the hint. Two hours later, Steve and Bucky decided to leave us for the evening. After showing them out, Tony walked over to me and picked me up from the couch, keeping a firm grip on my thighs as I wrapped my legs around his torso. He carried me into the kitchen and set me down on the counter, the coldness from it going through my sweatpants. He placed both arms on either side of me and leaned forward, our lips almost touching. “What are you hungry for?” He questioned. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, “don’t know really. I’m not very hungry.”  “Oh. I won’t accept that for an answer. You need to eat.”  In the end, he decided to order fish tacos from a local place near here. While we waited, Tony and I began unpacking to get a head start on it. While I did my clothing, Tony did my study things. We got through the two boxes just as the doorbell rang, signaling the food was here. Tony climbed off the ground and went over to the door as I finished folding the last of my jeans. When I was done, I went into the kitchen and saw him coming into the kitchen with a paper bag in his hand.  “Foods here,” he hummed.  The two of us sat at the counter and began eating. I wasn’t a large fan of fish in general, but these tacos were great. The taste was fresh and was bursting with zest. After eating, we unpacked a few more boxes and then decided that was enough for the day. The clock said it was almost midnight. I was sitting in the living room on the couch, drinking some tea when Tony came in with a blanket in his arms. I smiled at him as he sat down next to me. He draped the large, fluffy blanket over the both of us, grabbing my tea and set it on the table. Wrapping his arm around me, pulling me into his body, the two of us cuddled together and watched whatever was on television. However, Tony couldn’t seem to keep his eyes on the show and was looking at me the entire time, running his calloused fingers through my light, ashy brown hair that went to my shoulders.  I looked up at him. His deep, brown eyes stared into my own soft, brown eyes. He was utterly handsome. Tony leaned down and pressed his lips against mine. Despite his lips being chapped, they were still warm and welcoming. And they molded themselves to fit my plump, soft lips perfectly. Tony grabbed my waist and pulled me into his lap, humming softly as I rested my wait on him. He traced his hands against my smooth skin as he kissed me patiently, yet hungrily. When we pulled away, I saw the small stain of Doused Rose lipstick. He just chuckled, causing his chest to rumble. His laughter was contagious, making me quietly laugh as well. “Looks like I’ve smeared your lipstick,” his husky voice whispered. “Seems you have,” I whispered back.  His large, rough hands moved from my hips to my squishy thighs and then to ass, gripping it hard.  “I love you, Serenity Arrow,” he said.  “I love you too, Tony Stark,” I replied, sweetly.  Pushing himself off the couch, Tony carried me all the way to our newly shared bedroom. I wrapped my arms around his neck for better support until he dropped me onto the mattress. The satin sheets hugged me as we sunk into the bed. Tony’s fingers grabbed the rim of my sweatpants and he began pulling them down; I bit my bottom lip softly, keeping my eyes on his. My deep red, laced panties started to show.  “How about we put that pretty rose lipstick to good use in our new bed,” he growled.  My only response was a small nod as I allowed Tony to become the dominant one. The role he normally took when we were together, the role that I’ve come to enjoy. Tony smiled down at me one last time before delving into his lust, mixing with my own.

[lunaekalenda]

hi!! can i ask for either an eren or porco x reader fic where their titan form saves you from nearly dying during a battle and they get mad at you afterwards because they’re obviously not gonna be there all the time then when you apologize they end up breaking down because their afraid of losing you and it just ends in fluff 👉🏻👈🏻

OMG OMG wait this is gold!! that was a really good plot!! i had a hard time deciding, but i'm more into porco lately, so this time i'll be using him for my first fic! i hope you like it and sorry for the errors or the things that were different to the original ask :(  (*´-`) this takes place in one of the battles Marley fights against another enemy, but I will not follow the line of the original manga :D (also thanks to @breathes24 for refreshing my memory :D)

𝔰𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲

❁ porco x reader

❁ mention of blood and battle, mention of the extraction of a bullet, bad talking. shingeki s4 spoilers!

The only thing you could hear were shots. You kept running, your feet hurted and the backpack was really heavy. Running in the middle of the battlefield was a suicide mission, you knew it, but you were not going to leave all in Pieck's and Porco's hands. So, trying to avoid the shots, you keep runing. You can see Pieck's bag shooting and Porco running from one machine to another, trying to break them with his hardened claws. You look around, the corpses of your companions scattered across the field, along with some enemies. You try to concentrate in what you’re trying to do. The kids are safe in the trench, and you’re not a soldier of valor, you only have nursing knowledge, useless for the fight.

That’s why the commander has not hesitated to send you as a distraction.

“If you expose yourself as an easy target, they will probably have to divide their attention between them and you. Also, they know there are nine Changing Titans, but they don’t know exactly how many of them we have. They could think you’re one of them. That will make Zeke’s appearance more unexpected for them, you see?”

"Where the hell is Zeke?" you think. He should be here helping, a lot of eldians have died. a scream is heard and you identify it as a Titan's one. Pieck received a shot on her hand. She's losing her strength little by little. Porco keeps fighting, and Pieck’s support soldiers do a great job mastering the cannons, trying to hit the enemies. Reiner is trying to stop their train.

"Just wait a bit, guys. I'm almost there..." you enter the enemy side of the field. Your trench looks empty, because your army blindly believes in titans. But, like humans, their stamina is limited, and transforming takes a great deal of energy.

"There's one of them!!" someone yells in front of you. "She could be the Beast Titan, kill her before she reaches the other two!" all the soldiers can be heard loading their shotguns. 

The first shot impacts on the floor. The second, near you. You just have an option: keep running, faster.

You accelerate the step to the front, where big war machines are searching you. From the trench, a lot of soldiers are trying to kill you, failing due to the poor visibility they have, but it's a matter of time before those who run the tanks finds you.

This is the end.

The shots are every time more precise, but you can’t return and leave them alone, waiting for Zeke to make his appearance.

You have no scape.

You close your eyes, accepting the destiny, while you keep running. You can hear them charging their big machines. They found you.

You’re their target now.

A Titan's scream is heard, right before the order of the enemy captain.

"Fire!"

You open your eyes when a shot impacts on your leg, and you watch how they charge the canons, ready to kill you. Now you have zero scape way, you’re hurt and you can’t move.

Suddenly, the Jaw Titan appears and, opening his mouth, picks you up off the ground, locking you in his hardened jaw. His speed of movement allows him to easily dodge all shots. 

"Thanks, Pock."

A tremor and the sound of lightning tells that Zeke has already arrived to help.

He keeps runing, and then all you can hear are rocks hitting people, trains and houses. Zeke’s titan may be slow for running, but his pitches are deadly. Your leg hurts where the bullet went through, and the pants you’re using are covered with blood. 

“Just leave me here and return. I don’t want them to lose because of me.”

He ignored what you said and kept running, but slowing down. Probably he’s tired, he has been fighting for hours. 

Once you two are far enough from the battlefield, Porco turns right and you recognize the path he has been taking. We’re close to the residence. He opens his mouth and you go down to the floor, but your leg complains of the roughness of the movement. Then, his Titan falls, and he appears behind it. He seems angry.

"What the hell were you doing there?" he says. His Titan is steaming. 

"I wanted to help you, you were doing all the work... The commander told me to help and I thought it was a good idea." Porco looks at you without saying anything for a minute. Then, he sighs and looks at your bleeding leg, before coming towards you. His arm slips under your knees carefully, and the other rests on your back, before he lifts you. “I can walk, you don’t have to...”

“You have a fucking bullet inside, just take help for one damn time.” You decided to shut up and he enters the residence. “I have some medical stuff in my room, I’ll take you there.” He starts to walk up the stairs, heading to his room. There are a few doctors on their daily check of the injured soldiers that live here. He opens his door using his foot, and he enters. His room is clean and clear. Natural light comes in through the window, and a bedside lamp lights up the corner of hi bed. He leaves you in the bed before walking to his personal bathroom, from where he takes a medicine cabinet. Porco drags a chair to place it near the bed, making him able to treat your leg. He hasn’t talk since we arrived here, but he keeps frowning. 

“We didn’t need help” He says after cutting your pants at the height of the wound. Then, Porco opens the medicine cabinet, and takes out thread, needle and some surgical tweezers. The scalpel glows when he pulls it out.

“Maybe this hurts a bit.” He whispers. He prepares also a towel with some water. “Grab that pillow and use it to muffle your screams.” You do what he said, and you put his pillow on your face. It smells like him, and it comforts you a lot. He works fast, moving his fingers with precision, and extracting the bullet without problem. Once he’s finished, he saves everything back in place and offers you a glass of water. You’re dizzy from the pain and you needed to drink, so you thank him and drink.

“Do it slow or you’ll be feeling worst, idiot.” he scolds tou. You drink it slower and you take a breath once you’re finished.

“Thanks” He puts the glass on the table he has as a desk. 

“Well, I...”

“You could have died out there” he says. He’s not looking at you, and runs his hand through his hair. “You were about to die.”

“Thanks for that, you saved me”

“I’m not going to last forever, you know? Someday I’ll die, and I’m not going to be there to save you like all the other times. So start thinking about surviving and stop playing the heroine.”

“Sorry?”

Why was he so pissed off? You didn’t ask for his help.

“I don't have to take care of you every time we go out onto the battlefield”

“Stop doing it, then”

“It's called companionship, but it only works if everyone focuses on surviving and not in saving stupid death-hugging soldiers”

“I never asked you to save me.” The words come out on their own before you could stop them. That was very rude, you’re ungrateful. He looks at you in the eyes, but you can't tell how he feels. 

“Cool, next time I'll take care of my business and let you die, if that’s what you want.”

He’s hurt. You hurt him because you were getting nervous. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean anything that I said. I was getting anxious...”

He sighs. “I also talked badly to you.”

“But you’re right. I can’t survive by myself.” 

“I didn’t mean to say that.” His voice is losing strength, and his gaze is lowered. “It’s just... I thought that today I was losing you, I was not going to be able to arrive on time” his voice breaks while he talks. “I don't know what I would have done if something had happened to you”

You looked at him surprised. “To me? Who cares about me? Maybe it’s because we trained together since kids.” You think for yourself, before speaking.

“Well, I know you care for all of us, but Pock yo...”

“You’re not getting it.” He says. Then he leans over to the bed. “I care for you. I care a lot. I can’t imagine if something bad happens to you. I’m always near in case I have to help you. I can only thing about your wellness.” His brown eyes are fixed on yours. “Please, don’t do that again.” His eyes are getting wet. “Just the idea of losing you terrifies me.” His hand sits on your back, and draws you to him. You’re speechless.

You have always been interested in Porco. When you first met him, you thought he was really handsome, and his personality made you think of him as unattainable. You two have been training together since kids. He was really good in all skills, and you were really bad. He helped you a couple times, but you ended in the nursery school. You started to lose contact, but then he inherited the Jaw Titan and wasn’t sent to Paradis, so you both coincide again. He is a man now, even more attractive than before, but with a somewhat shocking personality. So listen him saying this things makes your heart shudder.

“Pock, I...”

“I like you. Well, I think this is no more just attraction.” he whispers. “I guess I’m in love with you.”

That hit you like a train. His love for you was behind all the times he saved you, the times he helped you and the times he reprimanded you. He was moved by love, genuine concern. 

“Are you crying?” he separates you from his body to look at your face. Tears roll down your cheeks fast. Porco places his hands on both sides of your face, dabbing them dry with his thumbs. Your hands are placed on top of his, and you lean your head towards his touch. 

“I also love you, Pock” he smiles before kissing your forehead. “Since we were kids”

“You know that if you had said it before, I would have corresponded long ago” you laugh quietly, his thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “I can’t promise you a long life together, but if you accept the little that I can offer, I’ll be delighted to be with you.”

His lips place a soft kiss on your hair and you hug him.

“I will be happy to be with you, Pock.”

The room was silent, and you could only listen to his heartbeat, slow, because he has you on his arms, alive. You look at him, his handsome face looking you.

“Does that mean I can ask you to going out later” he laughs.

“I just took out a bullet from your leg, you have to rest.” you smirk.

“I live in the other part of the city. I can’t walk.”

“I’ll call a horse cart for you.”

He was having fun, dodging every possible way to spend time together that night.

“What if my leg hurts? I live alone.” you tried and, for your surprise, he smiled.

“Then I guess you need someone to take care of you tonight...”

His lips covered yours sweetly, and you thought you could get used to it.

To him.

[moral-turpitudes]

Little White Lies:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Unsupportive/Jealous Family Members, Fighting, Swearing, Fluff, etc.

Word Count: 4,266

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader 

Requested: Yes

Requested by: Anon, you can find it here. (this was such a fun request, I hope I did it justice lol)

Summary: From dealing with unsupportive and envious family members, to being caught in a lie, Y/N is forced to face her family and confront her feelings about her boss, all thanks to a wedding invitation.

“What do you mean you’re working as a secretary? I put in a perfectly good recommendation for you last month at the hospital!” Y/N’s father yelled as she made her way into the living room of her parents house. The old walls poorly concealing their loud arguing.

“Did you stop and think about how maybe I don’t want to follow in you and Margaret’s footsteps? I thought you’d at least be happy I’ve found something I like! But no, it’s not good enough for you aye? Nothing I do ever is...” Y/N yelled back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, his eyes boring into hers.

“Let’s face it, you and mum both like Margaret better because she has a “respectable job” as a doctor just like you. You pushed her off to the best schools, and only approve of her boyfriend because he’s a classy businessman.” She said lighting a cigarette.

“See? You’re already picking up bad habits Y/N. We just want the best for you.” Her mother said, plucking the cigarette out of her fingers and throwing it into the fireplace as her father looked to the ground with his arms folded.

“A secretary job is respectable. I keep the company from crashing down half the time.” She said.

“And what company is that? One where they shove you in a dark room to type papers all day?” Her mother scoffed back.

“Shelby Company Limited. It’s quite nice actually.” She said with a smirk.

“Isn’t that where the Peaky Blinders run the streets? I bet you’re dating one of them for christ’s sake!” Her father yelled, turning away from his daughter in disgust.

“What if I am?” She asked, balling her hands into fists at her sides.

“Who is it? I’ll get you transferred out in no time. No daughter of mine is working as a damn secretary in fucking Small Heath.” He said.

“Thomas Shelby.” She said, his name escaping her lips before she could think about what she’d done.

Her father tensed up at his name. His face paling in complexion as he sat down, his wife eyeing him with concern.

“The Thomas Shelby?” He asked, more quietly than before as if he was being watched.

“Mhmm. What is there a problem?” She asked, folding her arms over her chest.

“No...are you sure it’s him? He practically owns half of Birmingham. Although his reputation is not something I’m fond of...I guess if you legally work for him that’s...respectable.” He said, his tone softer and more accepting than earlier. 

“Right, so now that I’m dating an infamous businessman, I’m more respectable as a secretary? Why the sudden change? I’m doing quite well on my own with this job.” She said as she observed his rigid body language. He hesitated to speak, remembering when the two older Shelby’s came in half-alive after being shot up by a rival gang.

“Well, given his reputation and my practice, I may have had a few run-ins with him at the hospital. It’s common knowledge not to get in their way but I did. I made him and his bastard of an older brother stay a week to heal after saving their asses.” He said, an annoyed look on his face.

“He threatened your father Y/N. We couldn’t even tell the coppers. But...please don’t get too proud over your position there darling. Your words could come back to you and he could find someone else by sundown.” Her mother said with a nice tone, trying but failing to take the sting out of her words.

She’d always been jealous it seemed. Seeing her daughters getting to achieve things that she couldn’t. Being led to a life of homemaking and hosting parties for her wealthy doctor of a husband. They never amassed the wealth like the Shelby family had, but they were able to afford a decent sized house in London, if that was any indication of her family’s status.

After a long, tense silence, she decided to leave. Saying a quick and frustrated goodbye to her parents before heading back to Small Heath. Her heart racing at the realization that she just openly told her parents she was dating her boss. It wouldn’t be as much of a problem if it were true, but alas it was nothing but a white lie. She had always been quiet on the subject despite them getting along well. Polly could see a connection, which she’d mentioned to her over tea various times, but she always shrugged it off. And now she knew it was only a matter of time before she had to tell him the truth.

As a few weeks passed, she continued with her clerical duties. Filing papers and reporting things to Thomas as usual. Until she got a call from home once again, requesting her presence immediately.

“Why do you all need me here anyway? I could be working right now.” Y/N said, impatiently tapping her foot on the lavish rug lining the hardwood floors of the living room.

“We wanted to give you this.” Her father said, flicking an envelope at her that she barely had time to catch.

The envelope was a light green color - her older sister Margaret’s favorite - with an intricately written invitation inside.

“Thomas Shelby and Y/N Y/L/N,

We cordially invite you to attend the union of Matthew Reynolds and Margaret Y/L/N. Formal attire will be expected at both the ceremony and reception.”

Her eyes grew wide at the invitation as she realized her parents must’ve told her sister about Thomas. Knowing nothing she did was ever kept private, unfortunately. But in that moment she knew she messed up, thinking about how she’d have to tell them it was all a lie. That she wasn’t dating the infamous gang leader. A feeling of panic and embarrassment washed over her as she realized the gravity of the situation.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Her mother said.

“Y-yeah. Wasn’t expecting Margaret to invite me, let alone um...Thomas to her wedding. Are you all attending?” She asked nervously.

“Well of course! We can’t miss our best daughters wedding day.” Her mother said, not knowing how her words cut into Y/N.

“You’re loved as well. Your mother didn’t mean that. No one would dare disrespect a woman associated with Thomas Shelby. Right dear?” He said, hastily reassuring his daughter and looking at his wife with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh darling I didn’t mean it like that. We love both of you. I’m sorry...I’ll do better I promise.” She said giving her daughter a light hug.

“Please do. I’ll see you at the wedding.” Y/N said harshly, leaving the house in a hurry as she clutched the green envelope in her hand.

A week had passed since she’d set the invitation on her desk at work. The paper easily seen from anyone near her desk as not many envelopes were that color. It cost too much to make them given the financial troubles of the past few years, but of course her sister could afford it.

It was midnight though when Thomas walked by her desk out of habit, the lamp still on while Y/N had left for the night. The faint yellow glow illuminating the envelope as he raised an eyebrow at it. He quickly picked it up, reading the intricate handwriting on the letter inside as he noticed his name next to hers.

The next morning, Y/N walked to her desk to see that the invitation was missing. Her stomach doing flips as she wondered where it had gone.

“Y/N, can I see you in my office?” Thomas said as he leaned against the doorframe, his tailored suit catching her off-guard for a moment as she glanced at the man her heart ached after. Polly giving her a questionable glance and a small, knowing smirk as she walked reluctantly into his office.

He knew. He knew about the letter and she was dumb enough to leave it there last night. Dumb enough to lie to her parents. Dumb enough to harbor any feelings for the man who certainly wouldn’t admit any himself.

“Y/N...” He said, his low voice ripping her from her racing thoughts as she stood by the door.

“Y-yeah sorry. Busy morning. What do you need Tommy?” She asked, nervously fiddling with her hands.

“I need to discuss something with you. Please sit.” He said, walking over to his plethora of whiskey glasses and filling two of them with the brown liquid he loved so much. If anything, he’d probably marry a bottle of whiskey if he could.

“What is it you want to discuss?” Y/N asked, sipping from her glass as it burned its way down her throat.

“I found this on your desk. I know it wasn’t my business to go taking things, but I couldn’t help but notice my name was mentioned with yours...so now...it is my business.” He said, observing how she grew uncomfortable under his gaze, drinking more as she shifted in her seat.

“It’s a long story.” She said blankly while setting the glass down, wanting to flee out the door never to come back.

“And for once I have the time.” He said leaning backing in his chair and lighting one of his many cigarettes.

Y/N sighed and relaxed back into her seat, her heart skipping a beat as she thought of the best way to explain it to him.

“Alright...so my family is a bit backwards as you know. And happen to just adore my older sister Margaret. They funded her schooling, attended her graduations and awards ceremonies, and they uh...like that she’s dating - I mean - engaged to a businessman now. He’s what they consider successful.”

“Successful aye? What...they don’t think some razor-gang from Birmingham is successful?” He asked.

“No.” She answered, looking out the window as she continued.

“Anyway, when I visited them, they started saying things about the company and how my job wasn’t respectable. I tried to shut them down but um, my father accused me of dating one of ya, like it was a disgrace to the family. So I panicked and said that I wasn’t dating just any of them, I was dating you.” She said, looking down at the nearly empty glass in her trembling hands.

“What’d he say to that aye?” He asked, a small smirk playing on his usually stoic face.

“Oh his whole demeanor changed. Looked like he’d seen a ghost. He um...said he knew of you. Said he treated you and Arthur for a week after a bad night on the job.” She said, nervous he’d go after her father.

“Aye I remember him. A bit mouthy that one.” He said.

“You threatened him though. Why?” She asked, her nervousness turning to a bit of anger at the thought of him harming her parents, even if they weren’t the best.

“They wanted to report it to the coppers. And as you know now, we don’t deal too kindly with snitches. So I had to threaten him. To keep the peace.” He said, blowing a cloud of smoke towards her.

“I wouldn’t say peace. Fear would be a better word.” She said, sipping the last of her whiskey.

“It’s worked out for me so far.” He said.

“Yes it has Tommy...but I have one question.” She said.

“Mhmm?”

“Are you wanting to go to this bullshit wedding or not?” She asked bluntly, hoping her interrogation would be over soon.

“That depends. Are you going? You don’t seem too fond of your family.” He said.

“I’m only going out of love.” She said.

“Well in that case, I am too.” He said, jotting down the address to the ceremony on his calendar with a star on the day, his heart racing despite his cold exterior. He’d harbored feelings for her too, and Polly could see it, often questioning him when Y/N would leave for the night, but he always blew her off due to peaky business.

“Wait...you actually want to go to such a horrid thing...with me?” She asked.

“And pass up a date with my favorite secretary? Wouldn’t dream of it.” He said, a small smirk hinting at his lips which seemed almost out-of-place.

“Date? Are you sure this isn’t some small business deal? You aren’t just agreeing for money or to pity me?” She asked.

“No Y/N...I’m agreeing because I like you. Always have...just never had the time to tell you till now. Now go back to your work before Polly gets even more suspicious.” He said, admitting his feelings like it was nothing as she stood there dumbfounded.

“R-right.” She said sheepishly as she made her way back to her desk, a small smile on her face as Polly watched her. Knowing something had finally gone down between them.

A week into their newfound relationship, the day had finally come and Thomas escorted her inside the wedding chapel, her black dress complimenting his suit nicely. Her mother scoffing as she sat near her, wondering why the hell she’d wear a black dress to a wedding.

“You know black is for funerals...didn’t I teach you anything?” She asked quietly to where only Y/N could hear.

“I’m just marking the death of any peace that was left between this family. I know you both will start hounding me with questions in no time now that Margaret’s spoken for.” She said quietly, staring into her mother’s cold eyes. There’s always been a tension between them, but it seemed even a joyous occasion such as this couldn’t cut it.

“You alright love?” He asked, holding her hand in his as she stared blankly at the alter, waiting for the ceremony to start.

“It’s just my mother. She can’t put aside our differences for one fucking day.” She said quietly. Her mother leaning over to insert herself into the conversation.

“It’s nice meeting you Mr. Shelby. You’re more than welcome to sit with us at the reception.” Her mother said as she watched her daughter talk to the infamous blinder.

“Thank you Mrs. Y/L/N, we’d love to. Right Y/N?” He asked, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

“Love is one word for it I suppose.” She said, her jaw tensing as she saw her father approaching their seats.

“Glad to see you again Mr. Shelby, given this time it’s under better circumstances.” He said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Indeed it is Mr. Y/L/N.” He said, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket and sticking it between his lips.

Her father soon resigned himself from the tense situation by sitting near his wife, who was eyeing the dashing blinder who smoked where he pleased.

“Can you believe she’s dating him? They look like they’ve only just started.” She whispered to her husband.

“If I have to accept him for professional reasons, you can accept him for our daughter. Enough with the snide remarks. Our lives might as well be at stake if he were to hear us...his threat still stands.” He said, knowing that his youngest daughter and her mother always had a tense relationship since her birth. It wasn’t particularly successful, only saving them in the knick of time from complications. Little did he know he was more so the heart of the family, albeit a dysfunctional one.

“They’re talking about me I know it.” Y/N said, fidgeting with her hands as they waited for the ceremony to begin. Margaret taking more than her sweet time getting ready.

“Let them talk then. It can only hurt you if you let it.” He said.

“Now, she better be dressed to the nines because this is the longest I’ve ever waited for a wedding ceremony.” He added, seeing a smirk forming on her face.

“Oh just you wait.” She said jokingly. The music catching everyone’s attention as they all looked on, and surely enough she was dressed to the nines, the whole tailoring industry probably coming together to complete the lavish gown.

“What is this the royal fucking wedding?” She asked, hearing him chuckle quietly under his breath.

As Margaret neared the altar with her father handing her off with a kiss on the cheek, she took a look at her fiancé and then turned toward Y/N, giving her a small smirk that made her stomach churn.

“What was that for?” Thomas whispered quietly, noticing the interaction.

“She’s rubbing salt in an old wound. She’s as bad as my mother.” She said, flicking her off silently. Thomas quickly placed his hand over hers to stop her from escalating the already tense situation. Her mother giving her a scolding look that she ignored, her blood boiling with the fact she was flaunting her status in front of her.

It seemed like forever before the vows ended, the tired crowd clapping and dispersing after the couple ran happily out the door of the church and to the nearby reception. With Y/N and Thomas lagging behind, not wanting to enter the horrendous venue.

“We can leave the reception early if you’d like. Maybe go somewhere more entertaining.” He suggested as they watched the couple parade around the room. Her sister quickly bringing her husband over to where they were standing.

“Y/N, love I’m happy you made it! We were scared you weren’t going to show.” She said giving her younger sister a careful hug as not to disturb her dress.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my sister...I can’t exactly avoid you forever.” She said a small smile on her lips.

“You never told me you snagged such a......man. Where did you two meet?” She asked, shaking Thomas’ hand as her husband did the same. Margaret wary of the cold stare he gave her and Matthew.

“At work.” Y/N said shortly, not appreciating her attitude.

“Look at that, my baby sister finally has a job. What is it? A teacher? a factory worker? a nurse perhaps?” Margaret asked.

“A secretary.” Y/N said, staring the bride down the best she could hoping her gaze could silence her before she made a show of it all.

“A secretary? Hmm. Well that’s good I guess. Just be careful though, those secretaries have to sleep their way to the top you know.” She said. Y/N’s face burning as she turned away from Thomas, wanting to run out and never look back.

Thomas cleared his throat and put his hand on the small of her back as she tensed her jaw, reluctantly turning back to her snake of a sister.

“How would you know? Is that how you got to your position?” She snapped back, the anger rising in her chest. She wished she could have captured her sisters expression in a photograph, her words finally cutting into her like she wanted.

“I assure you she isn’t doing anything of the sort. In fact, she’s an integral part of the company already. But if I were you I wouldn’t say too much else.” Thomas said, a dark tone to his voice as he kept a level head between the sibling rivalry that was happening by the second.

“Oh and who are you to threaten me? What’s this company you speak of? My parents never mentioned it.” She said, her husband whispering in her ear that they had to go. The poor man hated the situation just as much as Y/N.

“That was probably to protect you Margaret. You see...you’ve always been a bit reckless with new information. So I doubt you knew what father got himself into.” Y/N said.

“What are you talking about?” She asked, grabbing a glass of expensive champagne as the server walked by.

“He got in my way...and no one gets in Thomas Shelby’s way. It cost me some of my men. So, like I said, if I were you...I wouldn’t say much else.” He threatened again, her fiancé swallowing hard as he led his flustered wife away to mingle with the other guests.

“Why can’t you both get along?” Her father asked, walking over to the pair.

“I’ve done my part with both her and mum. But...I’m not staying where I’m not valued. I love you all but, we have to go. Send Margaret and Matthew our....warmest regards, yeah?” She asked taking Thomas’ hand and leading him out the door. Her father stood there with a tense look on his face, knowing his family had gotten themselves on bad terms with the Shelby’s once again.

With frantic footsteps she walked to the car, tears flooding down her face as she got in herself, not bothering to wait for him to open the door.

“You didn’t have to stick up for me, but thank you.” She said wiping her tears away as he started the car.

“Yeah.” He said, lighting a cigarette before taking off. He wasn’t much for accepting thanks, at least since the war.

“Are they like that all time?” He asked after a long pause.

“Mhmm. Now you see why I don’t see them unless I have to. They just remind me of everything I’m not.” She said, looking out the window at the evening sky.

“That I do. I’ll be sending them something later, don’t worry.” He said.

“What do you mean?” She asked, her stomach dropping as she pictured him killing her family.

“You’re not going to kill them are you?” She asked.

“No...they’re not worth my time. At least not now anyway. And besides...I wouldn’t want to hurt you more than they already have.” He said, blowing a cloud of smoke from his lips.

“Tommy look, I know my father got in your way on a mission and I know he made you stay longer than you wanted to...but you can’t blame him for doing his job. He was trying to help. He may not be the best, although he’s far nicer than my mother and sister, so if anything, please spare him at least. That’s all I ask.” She said.

“Like I said, they’re not worth my time now, love. If they continue bashing you and my family for how we do business I’ll let you know first alright? But I can’t let them off without a warning, so I’ll send them a letter alright?” He said.

“Well it better be good then. That’s the last I want to hear of this feud. I can deliver it to them if it will help...to make a point at least.” She said.

“Take this then, it won’t be good.” He said giving her a handgun from his jacket.

“I’m not shooting my family Tommy!” She said loudly as they approached the Garrison.

“It’s not for them. It’s for you. They’re not the nicest people and I want you safe. Especially since you work for us now. If they hurt one of us they hurt all of us alright? I know that’s not what you want to hear but it’s how this business works. Now...let’s go have some fun aye.” He said, helping her out of the car and into the bar that was teeming with people from the shop.

“Oi! How’d the wedding go? You’re both home early.” Arthur asked, handing them both a glass of whiskey.

“Terrible. Tommy’s writing a letter tomorrow to put them on their toes.” She said.

“Did they say summin’ about ya?” He asked.

“Yes...and about the company.” Thomas added.

“I thought we told him last time that we’d blind him.” Arthur said, an angry look in his eyes.

“Aye we did. But that didn’t account for her mother and sister. They have a way with words don’t they love?” Thomas asked.

“Mhmm. I’m delivering it, maybe then they’ll take what they say more seriously next time.” She said.

“We can only hope.” Thomas said, snaking an arm around her waist as they spent the rest of the night at the Garrison before going to their respected homes, too worried about the mission to do anything else.

The next week, Thomas signed the end of the letter, his hand cramping from the amount of things he’d written. Wanting to make sure his threat came off clear as day.

“Here Tommy, put this in with it.” Y/N said, handing him a lone razor blade, making him raise an eyebrow.

“Just in case they want to make anymore remarks, they can do us a favor and blind themselves. Like you said, they’re not worth your time now.” She said with a small smirk.

He took a sip of his whiskey and pointed to her with a grin, ushering her to come over to him.

“I like how you think.” He said, pulling her close and kissing her lips ever so lightly. The feeling between them almost electric as they departed.

“I’ll go take care of this, you go on with your business.” She said, as he handed her the letter.

“You know how to shoot?” He asked.

“Mhmm. Been practicing with John.” She said with a smirk.

“Alright, love you.” He said, as he caught himself muttering those words out sooner than he wanted to. But the truth was he couldn’t stand to see her go, not without knowing she was safe.

She stood there for a moment, looking at him as a smile spread across her face.

“I love you too.” She said before walking out the door to drive to the dreaded house she grew up in. Hoping this letter would keep them at bay for once in her life. Knowing her only chance at freedom from her family’s binds were through the doors of the shop and in the arms of the man she loved.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx, @lovemissyhoneybee @thomashelbyswhore, @xxbeckybeexx-blog

If you’d like to be added/removed, just send me an ask/message! :)

[hercleverboy]

jealous

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ spencer comes to terms with the fact that the reader will never love him the way he loves her.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ heartbreak, unrequited love.

word count ↠ 2.6k

“But I always thought you’d come back, tell me that all you found was heartbreak and misery.” — Jealous by Labrinth

‘I'm jealous of the rain

That falls upon your skin

It's closer than my hands have been

I'm jealous of the rain’

Spencer loved the rain. 

Well, not exactly. He loved to watch how it fell from the grey, angry clouds above as he sat warm and cosy in his apartment. He loved the rain if he was safe inside. He wouldn’tlike to get caught in a downpour, however. 

He watched contently as the droplets fell against the window, staining the glass and jarring his view of the street below. It made him feel peaceful, and he would argue that there was no better sound to read to than that of the rain. 

His focus dropped from the copy of ‘War and Peace’ in his hands, his mind focused on something else entirely. 

Not so much something but someone. 

Y/N had been Spencer’s closest friend for years at that point, having met him a few months after he’d started working at the BAU. 

They spent pretty much any moment they could together. Spencer took her to museum exhibits and art galleries and she would listen intently as he rambled. He’d always stop mid-sentence and blush, apologising for getting ahead of himself but she’d simply smile and shake her head. 

“You don’t ever have to apologise for sharing your wonderful knowledge with me, Spence. You know I could listen to you all day,” She’d say, “Keep going, please?”

He never could say no to her. 

If there was anyone in the world he felt most comfortable with, it was her. She never ridiculed him or babied him like the team had a habit of doing. If there was a case that ended poorly she never pushed for him to confide in her, giving him the time and space to disclose his feelings when he was ready (something he was incredibly grateful for.)

For a long while, things were strictly platonic for Spencer. One day she was his best friend, the person he felt the most himself around, and the next day it was something more. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment in which his feelings for her changed, or what had caused them too. Since when had her welcoming hugs begun feel so warm? At what point had her giggle caused the butterflies in his stomach that he’d only ever read of in great poetry or love stories?

He tried to push the feelings away, he really did, but ultimately his attempts to avoid his newfound affection for her were fruitless. Nothing could be done, he finally had to face the facts. He was in love with her. In love with every adorable quirk, every smile, and every part of her; even the parts she deemed unworthy and ugly, he loved them all the same. 

He wanted her to be his so badly. 

There was only one slight problem. 

Y/N wasn’t his to have. She had a boyfriend, a long term one at that. She was in a committed relationship with a man that wasn’t Spencer and he’d still allowed himself to fall in love with her. 

Nice one, Spencer. 

*

Spencer looked up at the clouds above him, frowning at the sight of the different shades of grey they were. He looked over at Y/N who walked alongside him. He’d gotten them tickets to a Russian Film festival, and he’d insisted she went with him so he could do a simultaneous whisper translation while they watched. 

“It looks like it’s going to rain.” He broke the comfortable silence between them, his voice wavering slightly. 

She looked up, a grin coming to her lips at the sight. “I hope it does, you know I like the rain.” 

He chuckled lightly at that. “I do too! But who wants to be caught in it and end up soaking wet?” 

She gasped in mock hurt. “I’m sorry Mr. 187, maybe I want to get caught in the rain, like a scene in some cheesy rom-com.”

He shook his head at her, his gaze dropping back down to look at the pavement beneath them.

Then the downpour started, just as Spencer had predicted. The rain was heavy and cold, essentially soaking them in seconds. 

Spencer ducked under nearby shelter, pulling his coat tighter around him. He looked back over at Y/N, surprised to find her stood out in the rain, her arms outstretched and a grin on her lips. 

“Y/N! What are you doing? You’re gonna get cold!” He shouted out, trying to make himself heard over the loud pelts of rain. 

“I’ll be fine!” She called back. 

“You know there’s a widespread myth that you lose the most body heat through your head. Studies have actually concluded that you only lose about ten percent of heat through your head.” Spencer shouted, and she turned to him with a smile, one that dismissed his facts. “You’re not even wearing a jacket, Y/N!”

“You know as well as I do, Doctor, that there’s no direct correlation between the rain and getting sick, so don’t even try that with me.” 

“You’re right, but there’s a very real chance of hypothermia. Actually, last year it was reported that approximately 700 people in the US died of hypothermia-”

“Spence!” She grinned, politely interrupting his statistics. “Come join me! Live a little!” 

He shook his head adamantly. “I’m okay, thank you. But you carry on.” 

He watched on in awe at the sight before him. He pushed all the statistics on the probability of her getting sick to the back of his head, focused on how she looked it that moment. Her body was lit only by pale moonlight and dim streetlamps, but Spencer thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

He should’ve told her, then. Should’ve told her how much he loved her, how he could give her everything she craved, more than her boyfriend ever could. He wondered how he would put into words that he’d find a way to give her the world if she asked for it. 

But he said nothing. 

He could envision himself saying it.

He allowed himself to dream of speaking the words, how her face would light up and he’d finally get to hold her the way he yearned to. He thought of how proud Garcia would be of him since she’d practically been begging him to make a move ever since she learned of the situation. (” It’s not that simple, Garcia. She has a boyfriend!” “That’s a minor detail, Reid!”)

He could picture himself saying the words. He could see how she’d look over at him with those adorably furrowed brows and stunning eyes. The rain would pour over them like in the scene from Pride and Prejudice, as he finally dared to say the words he’d held onto for so very long. 

‘I love you, most ardently.’

His very own Elizabeth Bennet.

But he said nothing.

Instead, when she came back over to him, her figure shivering as the cold finally set in, he simply offered her a cheeky grin. A simple look that said, ‘I told you so’. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders, waving off her protests that he was going to get cold now.

As if that mattered, as long as she was warm.

*

Any attempt to sleep seemed useless. No matter how many poems he read to himself in his mind, sleep simply wasn’t coming. With a frustrated huff he moved to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling defeatedly. Although he wished it wouldn’t, his mind travelled to Y/N. His heart lurched and just the thought of her, accompanied by the newest of the plethora of emotions he was feeling- jealousy. He wondered if her boyfriend knew just how lucky he was to be lying next to her, to have the privilege of holding her close, of telling her he loved her. 

Spencer wasn’t a possessive man, he knew very well that Y/N didn’t belong to him, nor did she belong to anyone. She wasn’t an object to be had, and Spencer would never treat her as such. However, he found himself wishing to a being he wasn’t sure he believed in that she would be his. Perhaps it was selfish and wrong, to hope that she’d turn up heartbroken on his doorstep so that he could pick up the pieces of her broken by another man. It was definitely selfish to wish her so much heartache so that he could ultimately get what he wanted.  

He recognised that she didn’t owe him anything. She didn’t owe him her love in return for his. But that almost made it worse; that this situation was nobody’s fault. It wasn’t Y/N’s fault for not returning his affections, nor was it her boyfriends’. It wasn’t Spencer’s fault either, he knew that deep down. He knew that no matter how many times he wished he’d told her sooner, before another man had swept her away, it wouldn’t have changed her feelings for him. 

It almost brought him to tears. It’d be easier, he thought, easier if she did something that made me hate her. But he didn’t hate her, he didn’t think he ever could. He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone or anything and there no words to describe the burning pain in his chest as the realisation that he was all alone dawned on him. 

Y/N didn’t love him. At least, not in the way he wanted her too. 

He could almost kid himself into thinking that she was going to knock on his door, tell him she’d left her boyfriend and confess her love for him. It was silly, and really doing him more damage than good to indulge in this self-serving fantasy he’d created, but it was the only thing that gave him enough peace to finally fall into slumber. 

*

He nearly said it one day.

It was a Friday evening, and they were sat together at his apartment, having just finished watching a bunch of films. Y/N was mid-tangent about an interesting fan theory she’d read up on, while Spencer sat next to her trying to clear his thoughts. 

His mind was screaming at him, this is it, it said, this is your chance. He knew it was selfish, quite possibly the most selfish thing he’d ever do. Especially when she was with someone else, the man she was building a life with- and Spencer was going to tear it all down with three simple words. 

The most selfish thing he’d ever do. 

And some part of him, some silly, hopelessly romantic part of him told him she wasn’t going to reject him. No, instead, she would admit she loved him too- and everything would be okay. Right? 

“Y/N I-“ He interrupted her, and she looked over surprised as she stopped talking. She took in his tone of voice; how pained it sounded. She watched at how he cringed for interrupting her, his trembling hands coming to clutch fistfuls of his beige coloured cardigan in a nervous attempt to calm himself.

He evidently had something he needed to get off his chest.

“Yeah, Spence?” She prodded when he didn’t speak.

“I- I have to tell you something, something I should’ve told you a long time ago.” He rushed out, his voice shaking. He knew he’d have to force himself to say the words. He told himself to stop thinking so hard and just say them, because he knew all too well that he wouldn’t get the opportunity again. 

“Okay. It’s okay, take your time. It’s just me.”

“I-I” He stuttered, trying to force the three simple words to leave his lips but he couldn’t seem to do it. He desperately wanted to, and it ached because he could feel them on the tip of his tongue.

Then his eyes met hers, and he stopped. His brain seemed to grant him a moment of clarity among the chaos and overwhelming thoughts. He tried to profile her, to use what he knew about human behaviour and how he’d read once that the eyes were the windows to the soul. He recalled how happy she always was when she spoke of her boyfriend, and Spencer couldn’t deny that from what he’d heard, he treated her well. Like she deserved. It shattered his heart all over again, but how could he sit there and tear away the happiness of the woman he loved? He knew what him confessing would do to her. She’d go into overdrive trying to compensate for not feeling the same, overexert herself trying to be the greatest friend she could be — and all the while she’d smile, as though the knowledge that she’d (unintentionally) hurt her best friend wasn’t killing her inside. 

He couldn’t do that to her. 

Not as he stared at her now, her worried eyes on him as she tried to figure out how to help him. 

He couldn’t hurt her like that. 

Spencer would hurt himself a hundred times over if it meant she was unharmed. He supposed that was what the meaning of love really was. Sacrificing yourself for the one you love. 

He gave a sad smile and shook his head. “Um, you know what? It’s nothing.”

Her eyebrows knitted together as she scoffed. “Seriously? You’re gonna leave me hanging like that?” Her tone was amused although she feigned disappointment. 

“Guess so.” He forced a chuckle, and Y/N opened her mouth to speak before the sound of her phone ringing cut through the air. She looked over at it, a small smile reaching her features at the sight of the name that flashed across the screen. 

“Is that your boyfriend calling?” Spencer asked quietly. 

She nodded. “I’ll tell him to call back later.” She moved her hand to click decline but Spencer’s voice stopped her. 

“No. It’s okay. You should answer it now, it might be important.”

She seemed hesitant but nodded nonetheless, moving a few paces away from him before answering and talking softly into the phone. A few minutes later she hung up. 

“Everything okay?” Spencer questioned. 

She hummed. “Of course. He just wanted to know if I wanted to grab dinner with him, but I told him I’ve got plans with you-”

“No- no- you should go. With him.” Spencer breathed out.

“Are you sure? I thought we were gonna order in from that Chinese place you love?”

He gave her a small shrug. “We can take a rain check. You should go, I-I wouldn’t want you to be late for dinner.”

She frowned over at him, pocketing her phone as she moved closer to him. She clasped his shoulders in her hands and pulled her to him in a hug. He tensed at the initial contact, but eventually he relaxed into her hold and wrapped his arms around her. 

“You know you can tell me anything?” She promised, her voice soft, warm. 

“I know.” His voice broke, and his throat burned with the sob he was holding back.

She pulled back, concern on her features as she hesitantly let go of him. She promised she would give him a call later that evening before leaving the apartment.

Spencer stood for a moment; eyes fixated on the door as it closed behind her. 

He wondered how he was ever going to move on from her, from the dreams of a future that was so close but just barely out of reach.

Ultimately, he wasn’t jealous of the man who got to have her. 

He was jealous of the fact that she was happy because he could only wish that he was happy too.

‘It's hard for me to say, I'm jealous of the way

You're happy without me’

permanant taglist; @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose @averyhotchner @cynbx @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @ssa-m-187

[whimsical-musingss]

Calling

Summary: when the group arrives to Alexandria, a lot of things change, especially between you and Daryl. (S5)

Warnings: typical TWD violence/gore, grief and loss. Fighting. Age gap. Fluff. Not my gif.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon X F Reader

The large gate slides shut behind the group, and you immediately feel trapped. When you look at the others, you know that you aren’t the only one who feels this way.

Then Rick is off to speak with Deanna, who you assume is in charge here. You begin to feel more on edge as Rick walks away, and Judith begins to whimper in Carl’s arms.

You sneak a glance at Daryl, who is still holding the opossum by its tail. Your face twists in digust, which he notices, and raises his arm to move the dead animal closer. When you back away you notice the small smirk on his face, but he doesn’t say anything. Neither do you.

The group waits in anticipation for Rick to return, and it doesn’t take long before he does. Aaron points to you, motioning you to step forward. You do.

“Deanna wants to speak with you now,” he says, and you only nod as you begin to walk with him, turning back to the group. Rick only nods, but Daryl looks more agitated.

The walk to Deanna’s house is quick, and when you stand on the porch, you’re amazed how huge the house is. How clean and tidy the lawn is. And when Aaron leads you inside, you could only stare in amazement at the furniture and the rugs. And damn, they’re clean.

“Hello, Y/N,” a woman says, and she’s standing in the middle of the room behind a couch. There’s a camera next to her, facing a chair.

You could only walk slowly to her, feeling extremely out of place. You peek at Deanna, who gives you a warm smile. You don’t return it.

“Please, sit. Do you mind if I film our conversation?” She asks, and you shrug as you sit slowly on the chair. It’s soft, and you run your fingers over the arm.

“Rick told me your name,” Deanna continues. “Are you close with Rick?”

You shrug again, your eyes peeking at the camera and then back down at your lap.

“Tell me, Y/N, did you grow up in Georgia?”

You nod, confused at her questions.

“What did you do before?” She asks again, leaning into the couch, eyes trained on you.

“Um...I am, well, I was a doctor,” you mumble, fingers now picking at the fabric on the chair arm.

“Which field of medicine?”

“Pediatrics.”

“Ah, so, I assume you are Judith’s doctor at the moment?” Deanna smiles.

“If you want to call it that.”

“Did you like your profession?” She tilts her head, analyzing you. You squirm.

Your brow furrows at her question, yet you know your answer. “I loved it,” you whisper, not meeting her eyes. “It was my calling.”

She nods, tapping her finger on her chin, thoughtful. “Did you have a lot of patients?”

You nod, a small smile on your lips.

“Besides pediatrics, do you have knowledge on how to treat adults as well?”

You nod again.

“All right, Y/N. It was very nice to meet you, and I’m sure I can find you a job here. You’ll fit in well here,” Deanna stands, and so do you.

“Thanks,” you mutter, and Aaron is outside when you open the door.

“What does Deanna mean by jobs? What jobs are there?” You ask.

“Did she give you one?” He asks.

“She said that she can find one,” you reply.

“And she will.”

When you return to the group, Rick immediately stands, his brow furrowed. “What did she ask?” Judith squirms in his arms.

“What I did before,” you whisper, looking down at Judith, letting her wrap her tiny fingers around your bigger one.

“Nothin’ else?” You shake your head at his question.

Daryl hovers, listening, the opossum’s tail still in his damn hand. And when it’s his turn, he takes it with him.

“I don’t think that’ll give Deanna a good impression,” you tease him, and he just scoffs.

The group is given two houses, but Rick has everyone stay together in just one, so everyone can sleep in the living room as a pack.

The group tentatively explores each house, however, finding changes of clothes and stocked fridges and cabinets full of food. You almost cry with joy when you turn on the shower, feeling the steam stick to your skin.

“You gon’ shower?” Daryl asks gruffly, and you turn to him, your change of clothes in your arms.

“I think so,” you say, your smile bigger than he’s ever seen it.

“Have fun,” he says, snarky, but he means it. Your smile doesn’t go away once you shut the door.

When the sun sets, everyone gathers in the living room, stomachs full and content for the first time in what feels like forever. You’re sitting near the windowsill, staring out into the darkness while you run a comb over and over through your wet hair.

It’s been forever since you combed it. Or washed it, or yourself. You feel better, refreshed, but still uneasy.

“Ya gotta knot or sumthn’?” Daryl quips next to you, obviously irritated how much you’re combing. “Just nervous,” you mutter, and stop moving the comb. You set it on the windowsill, sighing. He continues to look at you, and he has to admit, you look...nice. In a simple, clean tank top, skinny jeans, and sneakers. He flushes at the realization and looks away.

When there’s a knock at the door, everyone tenses, some standing up. Rick is the one who answers, and it’s Deanna. Everyone relaxes slightly, but Daryl is still tense next to you.

“I’m here for a couple of reasons,” Deanna smiles. “I’m here to check on you all, but also giving Y/N her clothes for her job.”

Your head jerks up at your name being spoken, and so does Daryl’s. Rick turns to you, nodding, so you slowly stand up and walk to the door.

“Hello,” you say, and Deanna nods. “I’m assigning you to be a doctor. Pediatrics as well as to treat wounds. No surgery,” she adds when you frown at the “treat wounds” part.

“Are...are you sure?” You ask, hands limp at your sides.

“You said it was your calling,” Deanna says.

“It’s been a really long time...I don’t think-“

“I think you can do this,” Deanna interrupts. “Make it your calling once again.”

She hands you a white coat and you feel like you’re at your old hospital, getting hired, and taking the same coat. Deanna also gives you a stethoscope, and you unconsciously put it around your neck.

“See?” She grins. “It’s still your calling.”

With that, you thank her numbly and walk back to your spot with Daryl. He’s staring, as always, and you look at him. “What?” You ask, and he smirks at your stethoscope. You scramble to take it off.

“Doctor L/N,” he smirks, and so you kick him with your foot. “Don’t be a prick,” you grin.

“You wanna do it?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, before...I loved it, but now, I know that the work I’ve done amounted to nothing.”

“Don’ say that,” Daryl grumbles. “You worked yer ass off, don’ forget tha’.”

You shrug, turning the coat over in your hands, folding it. Your eyes meet his, a small smile on your lips.

“Thanks, Daryl. You should become the official Alexandrian counselor,” you laugh when he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

The days become blurry. You’ve adjusted to your job, picking up the profession like it’s riding a bike. You mostly saw people injuring themselves for stupid reasons, especially during the apocalypse. You saw some kids, and you notice you are happier, more open, with them. You’ve become some sort of yourself again.

You didn’t see Daryl much. You mostly saw him in the evenings, when he’s sitting on the porch, smoking. You’d always chide him for it, but now it’s become a joke. Especially since you’re back to being a doctor.

It’s mid afternoon, and you stand at the front gates waiting for the group to return in case they need medical assistance. It’s been a couple of minutes, so when you see Daryl in the distance, you raise your hand to wave at him. He nods in return, and you smile when he begins to make his way over.

The gate begins to open, so you turn around to greet Glenn. Your voice dies in your throat when you see him. He’s pissed as hell, yelling about how Aiden could have killed Tara.

You give Tara a questioning look, and she shakes her head. You are about to ask, but Aiden jabs Glenn in the chest, so you decide to step in.

“Enough of this!” You say loudly, putting your hands up and stepping between them. “What the hell happened?”

“It doesn’t concern you, nurse,” Aiden snaps, still glaring at Glenn.

“Aiden almost killed Tara because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing,” Glenn says, and when Aiden tries to lunge at him, you put both of your hands to keep him away.

“Stop! What is wrong with you?” You cry.

Aiden flares down at you now. “Like I said before, nurse, stay out of it.”

“Don’t nurse me, asshole!” You say, disgusted. “I’m trying to stop you from making a big mistake!”

“Ya heard the woman,” Daryl growls, appearing behind Aiden.

“The girl isn’t the boss of me,” Aiden says stubbornly.

“Enough!” You say loudly.

“Listen to Y/N,” says Glenn. “She knows a hell of a lot more than you.”

Aiden’s hands fist your coat, throwing you aside like you weigh nothing. You cry out, landing on your side. You scramble to get up to stop Aiden from attacking Glenn, but Daryl is quicker.

He grabs the back of Aiden’s shirt, ripping him from Glenn. He’s on top of him, slamming his fist over and over on Aiden’s face.

“Daryl!” You gasp, throwing your arms around his torso, trying to pull him off. You didn’t see him, but Rick is suddenly there, and Daryl is off of Aiden.

“Are you okay?” You ask Daryl, making sure to kneel in between him and Aiden. His face is in your hands as you look for any wounds, but there are none. He avoids your eyes as Deanna approaches, saying something, but you ignore her.

“Daryl?” He finally looks at you, eyes soft. “Are you okay?”

He only nods. “Are you?” You nod.

“What about me?!” Yells Aiden, and you scoff. “Kleenex and ice, and staying away from him.” You nod at Daryl. “You know what he can do.”

You turn back to Daryl, grabbing his hands and helping him stand. He lets you, turning away and stalking off before you could say another word.

Deanna’s party was boring. You were asked the same questions. What hospital did you work in? How many patients? You tried to answer through gritted teeth, mentally exhausted from repeating yourself and having to listen to oblivious people. And the dress. Before all of this you would love wearing it, but now, it’s unpractical. And you had to shave for it. And the little heels? God, your feet were aching. You had enough. You said your goodbyes, claiming that you were tired and had an early shift tomorrow.

You walk back to the house, the wind making goosebumps appear across your skin. You lift the dress neckline higher as if can go for the millionth time tonight, not liking how much cleavage was being shown.

You weren’t surprised Daryl didn’t show. Yes, you were hoping he would, but deep down you knew he wasn’t a fan of gatherings. Especially something this idiotic.

You pass Aaron’s house, and the garage door is wide open, spilling light on the driveway and sidewalk.

“Y/N?”

You turn, and Aaron is walking out of the garage. “I thought that was you,” he says, and he points to your shoes. “I heard you coming.”

“Not creepy at all,” you quip. “Can I help you?”

“Just saying hi,” he says, unfazed. “Showing Daryl some bike parts. He’s going to be another recruiter for Alexandria with me.”

“Is that so?” You ask, leaning to look into the garage. And there he was, tinkering with parts and examining them. You walk up to the garage, fixing the neckline again, and Daryl’s head looks up when he hears your shoes.

“Hi,” you say, smiling. His eyes look down at your dress, your shoes, and back at your face. You fix the neckline again, uncomfortable.

“Hey.”

“Got a new bike? That’s great,” you smile at his work.

“Yeah. Where were ya?”

“A dumb...,” you trail off when Aaron looks at you. “A party. At Deanna’s.”

Daryl smirks at you, standing up from his work. “I’ll walk ya,” he mutters. He nods at Aaron, and you shrug. “Okay. You done?” You ask, and he nods.

The walk is short, only three houses down. But your feet hurt, so you walk slowly, and Daryl walks in pace with you.

“Recruiter, huh?” You ask, and he nods, kicking a stray rock. “Lucky. Get to go outside.” He only nods again, glancing at you.

“I don’t want ya talkin’ to Aiden,” he suddenly says, his voice gruff.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you chuckle. “Prick shoved me.”

“If he touches ya, or goes near ya, tell me,” he continues. “I’ll beat his ass again.”

“I’ll help you,” you joke, but he’s not smiling.

“I mean it,” he says, stopping, grabbing your arm, but not hard. Your eyes shoot up at him, surprised. “Nobody touches you like that again.”

“I promise,” you say, and he eases up, letting you go. You grab his hand in response, smiling to yourself as he doesn’t try to pull away.

“Ya mean a lot to me,” he mumbles, and you nod. “You mean everything to me,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

You reach the house, and he goes and sits on the porch, lighting up. You decide to sit next to him, sliding off your shoes and spreading out your legs, sighing in relief.

“Pretty dress,” he mumbles, taking a drag.

“Thanks. I’m never wearing it again,” you chuckle, and he lets out a huff.

You hold out your hand and take the cigarette from his lips and putting it to your own, taking a small drag before giving it back.

“Yer a doctor,” he says, surprised.

“Which is a stressful profession,” you smile, exhaling away from his face.

“You always gimme shit for it,” he says, sulky, and you laugh.

“Gives me a reason to talk to you,” you reply. You move your body so you’re leaning against his chest, in between his legs, and Daryl doesn’t complain. He passes the cigarette back to you, and you take your last drag.

His arm is unconsciously thrown around your waist, and he’s like a big teddy bear, encasing you, protecting you.

“I think it’s clear now,” you say, “that I have feelings for you.”

“Very clear,” he says gruffly, and you can feel the rumble against your back. He puts out the cigarette, his now free hand running down your arm.

That’s all you need. You move your body around so you’re kneeling in front of him, noses almost touching. “You...,” you trail off, and he leans in, connecting your lips with his. It’s a short kiss, but soft.

“That answer yer question?”

“Clearly,” you reply.

[cudan2]

One Last Surgery

Spring Break Shadowing Part 5.1

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,043

Summary: You finally find out the reason for going to the children’s hospital, but you’re more distracted than usual today and Dr. Cullen can tell. 

A/N: Tell me why part 5 of SBS takes up over half of the whole series? I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for 5 months because I keep adding more to it smh. Now it’s too long so I’ve decided to split it up into 3 parts (in addition to parts 6 and 7). I’m making the final edits the rest of this part now - 5.2 should be posted in like two days.

Anyways, this is technically the beginning of  #1 and #2 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital is only across the street from Doctor Cullen’s office, but it seems to take forever to get there. You trail the doctor like a lost puppy through a skyway and a series of corridors before eventually reaching the right building. Different is definitely an understatement.

Gone are the linoleum-tiled floors, the abstract paintings lining the hallways, and the stark white walls. Instead, there are bright colors everywhere you look. Artwork featuring various galaxies and planets scatter throughout the hospital, and giant stars are imprinted along the floors; even the whole atmosphere just feels different.

You don’t get much time to analyze the differences though. Doctor Cullen is wasting no time to reach the destination, and his long legs aren’t making it any easier to keep up.

“Not that I don’t like surprises, but any chance you can tell me what we’re doing in the children’s hospital now?”

“Impatient, are we?” Doctor Cullen chuckles. He stops at an elevator and pushes the up button, only giving into your question once he catches a glimpse of your pout. “Alright, you win. Are you familiar with a cleft palate or cleft lip?”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open with it. You shake your head no and get on the elevator with him. He presses the button for the floor and then leans against the wall, arms outstretched on the handrail, and gives you an explanation. 

“A cleft is a gap or split occurring in the roof of the mouth, upper lip, or both. It is due to improper joining of the tissue during fetal development. There are no definitive known causes as of right now, but it’s believed that the environment and genetics can play a role.

The hospital has its own craniofacial team, but I was asked to join this particular case given its more complicated nature. Hanna became one of the first patients I treated when I came to Columbia,” Doctor Cullen finishes fondly, a smile gracing his lips.

“What makes this case complicated?” you ask.

“Hanna was born with a bilateral complete cleft lip and palate, meaning her lip cleft is two-sided and continues into her nose. It took quite a few surgeries to repair the lip, but now the next step is to repair the palate.”

The elevator reaches the floor and dings. You follow Doctor Cullen out and continue prodding him with more questions, which he is more than eager to answer. It’s incredible how knowledgeable he is. Granted, it is his job to know these things, but you couldn’t begin to imagine yourself being able to even scratch the surface of these topics, not to mention give a mini lecture on it.

You’re soon standing at the door to a patient room while the doctor asks Hanna’s parents if you can observe. They readily agree, and Doctor Cullen motions for you to come in.

Inside the room, you see an infant that can’t be more than a year old – Hanna.  She’s sitting upright on the bed, leaning against who you assume to be her father. You notice two fading scars going up into her nose above her lip. Her mother is waving a stuffed toy around her, but Hanna’s attention is fixated on the blonde doctor.

“Y/N, allow me to introduce you to Hanna’s parents, Anthony and Linh Pham. And this is Doctor Giselle Adamou, who will be working with me on the surgery,” Doctor Cullen gestures to the older doctor in the room.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say politely.

Pre-op goes differently than what you’ve gotten used to observing this week. There is no case presenting given the lack of residents on the case. If anything, this is what you would expect out of a non-teaching hospital.

Doctor Cullen re-explains the procedures to Hanna’s parents, but halfway through, Hanna crawls to the end of the bed where Doctor Cullen is and attempts to stand, arms outstretched as if to say, “Up! Up!” Bewilderment is not a word you would have associated with him, and yet you catch the brief widening of his eyes that betray his usually calm demeanor.

“I think she wants you to hold her,” Linh comments.

“I can see,” Doctor Cullen muses. “Do you mind?”

“She’s all yours.” Linh picks her daughter up from the bed and hands her to the doctor. The sound of Hanna’s elated laughter fills the room, and you can’t stop a small smile from appearing on your own face. A cute baby and a gorgeous doctor? You don’t know who to thank for the sight.

Meanwhile, Hanna starts playing with various pens in Doctor Cullen’s breast pocket while Doctor Adamou continues where her colleague left off. You try to pay attention, you really do. Like Hanna though, your attention lies on someone else, and that someone else happens to be Doctor Cullen.

The more you study him, the more the minute features you never noticed about him before seem to pop out to you. Under the bright fluorescent lighting of the hospital, the dark purple circles under his eyes are more apparent than ever. How ironic for the preacher of health to lack sleep himself. His eyes, which you normally consider to be a vivid golden, are darker than you initially thought them to be. They are liquid pools of dark amber, speckled with dustings of gold and flecks of black. There isn’t a single blemish on his face that you can see either, further confirming your belief that this man is truly the most attractive person you have ever met. Either that or he must have one hell of a skincare routine.

It’s unnerving how young his appearance is. Skincare and diet can only do so much for a person, right? Doctor Cullen has to be at least 35 at the minimum, yet he could easily pass off as someone from your own school.

“Any last minute questions?” you hear Doctor Adamou ask and snap back into reality. By missing nearly everything the older doctor talked about, you already know you’ll be so screwed if and when Doctor Cullen decides to interrogate you on this case.

Neither parent has anything left to say, so Doctor Cullen gives a reluctant Hanna back to her mother. She lets out a cry and his expression softens.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll miss you too, but I need to get ready for your big surgery, okay? I promise you’ll see me again in a few hours.” His soothing voice does wonders for her. In an instant, Hanna quiets down and her frown is replaced with giggles and smiles again. She waves the two of you off, and you both take your leave with Doctor Adamou trailing behind you. You’re not even halfway out the door yet when Doctor Cullen starts testing your knowledge again.

“Y/N, what procedure will we be doing to repair Hanna’s cleft?” 

You do not have this one in the bag whatsoever. You wrack your brain for information that could help you, but Doctor Adamou interjects before you get a chance to say anything.

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re treating students like interns already, Carlisle?”

“I am merely advancing the education of next generation’s doctors,” he responds.

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “Don’t scare off Y/N though, or we won’t have any doctors left in the next generation.” She turns to you after picking up files from a nearby counter and says, “You come running to me if he pushes you too hard, alright?”

You grin. “For sure.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing you both in the OR,” she says before heading off.

You like Doctor Adamou. Each surgeon you’ve met here so far has had such different personalities, yet each also has the charisma and confidence to take control of a room and command respect. You, on the other hand, could barely get your own friends to listen to your own words. How are you ever going to get on the level of all the amazing doctors around you?

“She saved you there,” Doctor Cullen comments, leafing through Hanna’s charts as he walks you into an empty elevator to the operating floor. Oops, it’s just your luck that he noticed your lack of attention during the pre-op. “It’s unlike you to be distracted. Penny for your thoughts?”

The elevator doors shut, and he looks up from the chart, his eyes falling onto yours. He has that twinkle in his eyes again – the one that brings warmth to your cheeks and could make anyone weak in their knees. You know it’s silly, but a single look from him could make you spill any of your deepest and darkest secrets, yet a part of you also knows that he would keep it. You’re not naïve – you know it’s dangerous to put so much faith into a man you only met this week – but there’s something about him that told your instincts to trust him from the very beginning.

Call it intuition, or maybe it’s just plain stupidity, but you sure as hell aren’t going to tell him about how you got distracted because of his pretty face.

You hesitate for a moment and let out a sigh. “How do you do it?” He quirks a brow, momentarily perplexed, and you attempt to find the right words. “How do you make all of this look so easy? How do you know what the right thing to say is? Or trust that what you’re doing is even right? How did you know if this was all meant for you? This is really dumb, but it seems like everyone here was born for this job, and then there’s... me.”

There’s a slight sense of dread starting to form in your stomach. You’re unsure if what you asked even made any sort of sense and wonder if you gave too much away. Giving any reason to second guess your abilities is like digging your own grave when it comes to this career. Expressing uncertainty is one of the biggest taboos of the cutthroat world that is pre-med because schools would not accept students that aren’t absolutely, totally, and completely sure about this path.

You’ve wanted this for so long, yet there’s still a part of you that doubts if you would be enough.

Rather than going straight to gowning and scrubbing in for the surgery, Doctor Cullen grabs your hand and leads you down to an abandoned hallway, only letting go once the two of you are hidden in an alcove away from any prying ears or eyes.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for surgery?”

“We have a few minutes to spare. Y/N, please know that I understand how you feel,” he says softly. “There was a time when I questioned my own abilities as well… whether my perseverance could overcome adversity. It took quite some time to reach where I am today.  However, without enduring those trials and tribulations, I would not be here. With time comes experience, and it is that experience that allows me to perform my job the best I can.”

His voice reminds you of a gentle breeze, rustling the leaves of a tree on a cool summer night when he continues speaking in hushed tones. It brings a blanket of reassurance, a sense that things would eventually be alright.

“I have said this before, but I see enormous potential in you. You still have a great deal of time to grow and develop your skills. It’s easy to get caught up in comparing yourself with others, especially given today’s societal standards, but I believe you are much more capable than you may think you are. Everyone’s journey is different and yours may not necessarily be as linear as you would prefer. In due time though, I have faith that you will succeed.”

What he says is exactly what you needed to hear.

The swell of tears pricks at your eyes and start blurring your vision, but you blink them away quickly, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around the doctor. 

“Thank you, Doctor Cullen.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“You’re very welcome. Now, I believe there’s a little girl waiting on us.” 

XXX

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@jelly-fishy-babie @notahappytree @anxiousgoldengirl