#and he will be both agent of chaos and the most responsible in the room

[lots-of-little-pink-clouds]

Late night thoughts about my son Beauregard Sawyer

[chithereader]

jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder. 

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face. 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

“You don’t think you’re my girl?” 

[goofygubegubler]

𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬

You’re trapped with the one person who always gets under your skin. And this time, there’s no escape—just options.

wc: 4.8k |F!Reader (Intern) x Spencer Reid (BAU) | cw: enemies-to-lovers, mutual pining, locked-room tension, flirty office chaos, bratty reader x repressed Spencer, slow-burn heat, heavy innuendo, power play lite, Gen Z banter, Hotch is so done.

A/n: This is a pick-your-ending fic — at a certain point, you’ll choose between smut or fluff, each in its own post with separate warnings and word counts. If you’re into this format, let me know! It just fits certain stories, y’know? Love and chaos—MWAH 💋

The BAU was supposed to be a serious, elite unit. You had envisioned it as a whirlwind of case files, high-stakes chases, and brooding men in bulletproof vests. What you hadn’t expected was for it to be filled with this many attractive people—or for the most infuriating one to be Spencer freaking Reid.

He was unbearable. All logic and statistics and that smug little way he corrected people, like a walking, talking Wikipedia page you wanted to shove into a filing cabinet. And, of course, he always had to insert himself at the worst possible moments.

Like now.

You were halfway up the stairs to Hotch’s office, arms full of paperwork, when Spencer materialized beside you, keeping pace effortlessly.

"You look focused," he mused, sipping from his stupid World’s Best Genius mug. The Caltech logo gleamed mockingly under the fluorescent lights.

You ignored him.

"Or frustrated," he added, tilting his head like he was observing something under a microscope. "Maybe both."

Your grip on the files tightened. "Do you ever shut up?"

"I do. Statistically speaking, though, you tend to provoke responses, so the probability of silence is low."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turned to glare at him, and exhaled sharply. "Do you hear yourself when you talk?"

Spencer blinked. "Yes. That’s how hearing works."

Your nails dug into the folder. "I hate you."

"That seems like a misdirected use of emotional energy," he replied smoothly.

You inhaled sharply, clenching your jaw so tightly it could crack. Ah, yes, self-control. A beautiful, fleeting thing. Before you could hurl something at him—your files, your shoe, your entire existence—you flipped your hair with deliberate defiance and kept walking, your heels clicking a little louder than necessary against the steps.

Truth be told, you weren’t just frustrated—you were livid. Not just because of the mountain of paperwork threatening to bury you alive, though that was bad enough. Deadlines loomed, your patience was nonexistent, and apparently, the BAU believed in torturing interns via bureaucracy. But no, the universe wasn’t content with that level of suffering. No, you had to be ovulating, too.

And your body? Oh, your body had decided to make that fact impossible to ignore. Every brush of fabric, every deep inhale around a particularly nice-smelling coworker—hell, even the way Derek Morgan smiled at people was suddenly a personal attack. And then, as if the gods of humiliation weren’t done with you, there was Spencer Reid.

Unbearably smug. Infuriatingly brilliant. And, much to your horror, the hottest of them all. It was an objective fact, but one you would sooner choke on a case file than admit.

You stomped into Hotch’s office like a woman on a mission, dropping the stack of paperwork onto his desk with a satisfying thud.

Hotch barely glanced up. "Not so easy."

You groaned. "Hotch, please."

"All intern paperwork has to be proofread and signed by a superior agent," he said, sliding the files right back toward you without even looking.

You narrowed your eyes. "You didn't even check."

Hotch finally glanced up, unimpressed. "You think I don't know when something’s unfinished? The weight is off. The stack isn’t dense enough. And if that weren’t enough, you wouldn’t have dropped it like it burned you."

You inhaled sharply, then exhaled through your nose like a bull about to charge. "I know, but every time I try, they’re too busy, and besides, Hotch, you know me—"

"Reid’s not busy," Hotch cut in. "He does paperwork the fastest. Morgan even pays him to do his, not that I officially acknowledge that particular rule-breaking."

Your soul left your body. "You cannot be serious."

"It wasn’t a question." His expression remained unreadable, but you swore there was amusement in his eyes. "Reid is your assigned agent from now on."

Your hands are clenched at your sides. "Hotch, you don’t understand. That’s cruel. That’s a human rights violation. That’s—"

"Efficient," he interrupted smoothly. "And unavoidable. Unless, of course, you’d rather I reassign you to Rossi. He loves a good mentoring opportunity, and I hear he enjoys dictation."

Your mouth snapped shut. That was how he won. Every. Single. Time. He had a way of shutting you up with a perfectly placed, completely infuriating threat that left you with no choice but to storm out with whatever dignity you had left. You inhaled, exhaled, and bit back the thousand things you wanted to say.

But, of course, Hotch wasn’t done. He leaned back slightly, fixing you with that assessing stare that made your spine straighten. "And," he added, "we talked about the skirts."

You smirked, tilting your head, letting your inner party girl out for just a second. "Yeah, yeah, you’re required to say that, but let’s be real—HR only cares if it’s disruptive, and last I checked, no one’s tripped and fallen into a scandal because of my legs."

Hotch’s lips pressed into a flat line, his patience visibly thinning. "I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that."

You grinned, victorious. "Good choice, bossman."

His stare didn’t waver. "Leave."

And because you valued your job (and, fine, maybe because getting the last word on Aaron Hotchner was a dangerous game), you spun on your heel and strutted out, thoroughly pleased with yourself.

God, if you didn’t have a massive, wildly inappropriate crush on Spencer, you’d bounce on Hotch in a heartbeat. Even if he was divorced. Even if he had a kid. Even if he was old enough to be your father. Domineering, dangerously competent men were simply your type, and unfortunately, you were surrounded by them.

As you made your way back to your desk, you let yourself fantasize—just a little. Maybe, in another life, you could have both. A little Eiffel Tower moment, if you will—

"Hey, you in?"

Penelope’s voice pulled you from your wildly inappropriate thoughts. You blinked, turning to her just as she plopped down in the chair beside you. "In?"

"For going out tonight. Drinks, dancing, chaos—our usual."

You hesitated, your attention snagged by movement across the bullpen. Hotch stood by Spencer’s desk, speaking in that low, measured tone of his. Spencer, ever the picture of unbothered intellect, nodded along, his fingers idly drumming against a case file. Hotch’s brow furrowed, and something about the intensity of his gaze made your stomach twist.

"Okay, now I know you’re distracted." Penelope snapped her fingers in front of your face, making you jolt. "What’s got you zoning out like a lovesick teenager?"

You tore your gaze away and cleared your throat. "Hotch just told me I have to start running my paperwork through Spencer."

Penelope’s eyes widened. "Oof. Condolences. What did you do to deserve that?"

"Apparently, Hotch thinks I’m not cutting the ropes as a newbie," you deadpanned. "But he likes me otherwise, y’know."

Penelope snorted. "Oh, sweetheart. That is the most delusional thing I’ve ever heard—and I’ve been in a fandom war."

Before you could respond, movement caught your eye. Hotch and Spencer were walking toward you, Hotch balancing a precarious stack of files in his arms. You barely had time to brace yourself before he stopped beside Penelope, giving her a pointed look.

"Garcia. Back to work."

Penelope pouted dramatically. "Ugh, you are such a buzzkill, you know that?"

"And yet, here I am, still insisting," Hotch replied dryly. He barely glanced at her. "Garcia. Work."

Penelope gasped, clutching her chest like he’d personally wounded her. "Rude. And here I was, ready to offer my radiant presence for a night of fun. But nooo, crushed by the oppressive fist of bureaucracy once again." With a theatrical sigh, she stood, smoothing out her skirt. "Fine, fine, I’m going. But if my sparkle dims, Hotchner, just know it’s on your conscience."

"And yet, somehow, the world survives," Hotch replied flatly. Then, without another word, he plopped a massive stack of files onto your lap. "You and Reid need to redo this entire stack before you leave."

"Oh, fantastic," you drawled, shifting the weight of the folders in your arms. "Because nothing gets me hotter than redoing paperwork with my favorite human encyclopedia."

"That’s between you and HR," Hotch deadpanned before turning on his heel and walking away.

You scowled after him. "I hate this place."

"And yet, you continue to show up," Spencer mused, already pulling a file from the stack in your hands. "Let’s see how much damage you’ve done this time."

"Oh, bite me," you shot back, dropping the rest of the files onto your desk with a dramatic sigh. "Before you start spewing unsolicited critiques, just know that I put my heart and soul into those."

Spencer flipped through a few pages, his lips twitching. "You used gel pens again."

"So?"

"So, it smudged everywhere."

You rolled your eyes. "Forgive me for wanting my bureaucratic misery to sparkle a little."

"And your phrasing," he continued, ignoring your defense. "This is meant to be objective. What is ‘a concerning amount of eyebrow waggling’ supposed to quantify exactly?"

"It means the guy was sketchy!"

Spencer gave you a long, suffering look. "You are the worst intern in FBI history."

You smirked, tilting your head just enough to be insufferable. "Aw, Doctor, you say that like it’s a bad thing."

Spencer just exhaled through his nose and turned back to the files, flipping a page with unnecessary force. "If we ever have to testify based on your notes, the jury’s going to think we’re making it up."

"Oh, please," you scoffed, leaning back in your chair. "Eyebrow waggling is a known intimidation tactic."

"According to whom?"

"Me. Obviously."

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about the downfall of modern law enforcement before refocusing on the paperwork. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, marking the slow exodus of the office. First, Morgan and Emily strolled out, offering half-hearted goodbyes that suggested they were thrilled not to be stuck with this nightmare. Then JJ, then Rossi—each departure leaving the bullpen quieter, the fluorescent lights humming louder.

By 6:30, even Penelope had fled, but not before dramatically sighing, "Ugh, this is so unfair! We were supposed to have a girls' night. Or at least get you drunk enough to make some questionable decisions!"

"Oh, trust me, I am questioning every decision that led me here," you deadpanned, glaring at the endless stack of papers.

Pen just pouted. "Well, hurry up and get it done so we can still salvage the night! I have snacks, face masks, and enough gossip to fill an entire season of reality TV."

"Maybe if someone would stop talking, we could actually finish this," Spencer cut in, not even looking up from his work.

The clock ticked on, relentless and unsympathetic. 7:15. Then 7:45. Then, somehow, 8:30. The bullpen had long since emptied, the low murmur of voices replaced with nothing but the scratch of pens and the faint hum of fluorescent lights.

And, of course, the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears every time he shifted, every time he exhaled a little too sharply. The air between you crackled with something neither of you would dare acknowledge—something electric, infuriating, and impossible to ignore. Spencer was always irritating, but tonight, the sharp edges of his voice sent heat straight to your spine. His rolled-up sleeves, the furrow in his brow, the way his fingers tapped impatiently against the desk—it was too much. And he had no idea.

You shifted in your chair, pressing your thighs together, as another agonizing minute crawled by. The warmth pooling deep in your stomach was getting harder to ignore, bleeding into every impatient twitch of your fingers, every sharp inhale you tried to steady. It was making you reckless. Every movement he made—every flicker of irritation tightening his jaw, every absent tap of his fingers against the desk—sent another unwanted jolt through your system.

And you were nowhere near done.

You propped your chin in your palm, elbow sinking into the desk, twirling a pen between your fingers in a half-hearted attempt at distraction. But the numbers on the page swam uselessly in and out of focus, blurring into meaningless symbols. How were you supposed to concentrate when the biggest source of your frustration was sitting just feet away—close enough to feel, close enough to rile you up with nothing more than his presence?

Spencer’s voice was sharp, his presence sharper, and despite the fact that you supposedly couldn’t stand him, your body clearly hadn’t gotten the memo. You were existing in a frustrating limbo—exhaustion pressing at your skull, attraction setting fire to your nerves. Your skin felt too hot, too tight, hypersensitive to every minute movement across the desk. You could feel the weight of his eyes even when he wasn’t looking at you. If you weren’t careful, this night was about to get a whole lot longer in more ways than one.

It took exactly one sharp exhale from across the desk for your tenuous grasp on focus to fully snap. Spencer, who had been nothing but an irritatingly efficient machine for the past two hours, finally looked up. And oh, he was irritated. The pen in his hand hit the desk with a clatter, and he leveled you with something caught between exasperation and begrudging patience.

“Are you even paying attention?”

You blinked slowly, head tilting. “Hmm?”

Spencer sighed, dragging a hand through his already slightly tousled hair. “Your lack of attention to detail has ensured that we need the regional case file, not this—a duplicate copy.” He gestured at the offending document like it had personally insulted him. “Which means, thanks to this mistake, we need the actual original file.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching your back slightly just for the principle of it all. His eyes flickered downward before snapping back up, his jaw tightening, but you pretended not to notice.

“And?”

“And,” Spencer said tightly, voice teetering on the edge of patience, “Garcia’s already gone for the night, so we can’t just pull it from the digital archives. That means I have to go to the file room and physically retrieve it.”

You raised an eyebrow, lazily dragging your gaze back to him. "Cool. Have fun."

His expression darkened. "The file room is in the basement."

“Sounds like a you problem.”

His jaw flexed. "The file room is on sublevel two—buried under concrete, terrible ventilation, not a single camera, and if that door shuts behind you? You're stuck until someone remembers to check."

You blinked at him, unimpressed. "So, what I’m hearing is: a perfect setting for a horror movie."

Spencer's lips pressed into a thin line. "It’s a security feature."

"It’s an oversight. The FBI, an organization that prides itself on preparedness, has a room where someone could just get stuck until an unsuspecting soul wanders down there?"

He exhaled, slow and measured. "Yes."

You grinned. "That’s insane."

Spencer, to no one’s surprise, did not grin back. "That’s protocol."

You sighed dramatically, leaning back in your chair, stretching deliberately slow. His gaze flickered downward for the briefest second before he forcibly dragged his eyes back to your face. Oh, he noticed. And that little detail sent something devious curling inside you.

“Well, since you’re the one so concerned with protocol, go get the file."

His stare was unimpressed. "You made the mistake. You go."

You scoffed. "Oh, please. If I hadn’t made a mistake, you’d have found another reason to be insufferable. You were just waiting for an excuse."

Spencer inhaled sharply, like he was holding something back. "That’s not true."

You smirked. "No? Then what was that little lecture just now? Don’t tell me you just enjoy talking down to me. That’s kind of kinky, Doctor."

His fingers flexed against the desk, a telltale sign of irritation but also something else. His voice came out quieter, a touch too taut. “The file name is ACB-714. Basement archives, second cabinet on the left."

You gave him a lazy salute. “Consider it handled."

Truthfully, you needed an excuse to step away. The way he’d spoken to you—sharp, clipped, just on the edge of losing control—had sent your brain spiraling into places you did not need to be right now. It was bad enough working alongside him when your body was already betraying you, but the fact that he sounded that good when he was frustrated was unbelievable. Unnecessary. Unfair.

And the way he looked at you? Like he was barely keeping himself in check? Like he was two seconds from saying something neither of you could take back? That was dangerous.

You pushed back from your desk, the sharp click of your heels against the tile the only indication of certainty when everything inside you was anything but. Maybe the basement’s clinical chill would help, its walls lined with forgotten case files and the ghosts of bureaucratic neglect grounding you back into something solid. Maybe the hum of the fluorescents, cold and impersonal, would smother the slow, insidious heat crawling beneath your skin—the heat fed by too many lingering glances, too many tension-laced arguments that never seemed to resolve.

The door groaned as you stepped inside, its weight swinging shut behind you with an eerie finality, unnoticed in your distraction. The file room stretched ahead, a silent graveyard of paperwork, thick with dust and the acrid bite of industrial-strength cleaner. Overhead, the fluorescents flickered erratically, their jittery glow casting restless shadows against the endless rows of filing cabinets standing like sentinels in the dim light.

Your mission was simple—retrieve one file, ACB-714, and get out. But the second you stepped into the file room, your focus was already shot to hell.

Spencer Reid was ruining your life.

Okay, maybe that was dramatic, but at the very least, he was ruining your concentration. He had rattled off instructions with that sharp, impatient cadence, his fingers pressing into the bridge of his nose like he was physically restraining himself from strangling you. The worst part? It wasn't just the irritation that got to you. It was the way he watched you, the way he always seemed locked in on you, even in exasperation.

You wanted to be annoyed. You wanted to let it roll off your back. But your body betrayed you, heat curling at the base of your spine in a way that was neither productive nor appropriate for a professional setting.

Your fingertips skimmed over the metal cabinet labels, your eyes skimming but not really seeing. Was he always like this? So insufferably exacting? So unwilling to let anything slide? It wasn’t just the way he corrected you—it was how he did it. Precise and controlled, like he knew exactly how to get under your skin and lived for it.

It was honestly impressive.

You blew out a breath, pushing your hair out of your face as you rolled your shoulders back. Focus. Find the file. Get out. But instead, you leaned lazily against a filing cabinet, barely noticing how the movement nudged the doorstop at the threshold.

The sharp click of metal shifting barely registered before it was too late.

Your stomach dropped.

The door.

Oh, you had to be kidding.

Panic didn’t hit immediately. No, it crept in slow, slinking up your spine like a cold hand tracing your vertebrae. You turned on your heel, already knowing what you’d see before you even reached for the handle.

Locked.

Of course it was fucking locked. Because why wouldn’t the government’s precious archive room operate like a goddamn haunted house? You stared at the heavy metal door, willing it to magically swing back open. It didn’t.

Your hand flew to your face, pinching the bridge of your nose as you exhaled. This was just perfect. You had let your brain wander off into Spencer Reid–induced nonsense, and now you were locked in an FBI basement because you couldn’t be bothered to properly secure a doorstop.

And you weren’t just trapped. You were trapped while ovulating, which meant your body was already in a state of desperate, hormone-fueled hysteria. Which meant you had spent the last fifteen minutes alternating between rolling your eyes at Spencer’s condescending attitude and staring at his hands. His long, unnecessarily pretty hands, which had absolutely no business looking that good while shuffling through case files.

Great. Now you were locked in a basement, overthinking, and horny.

You slid down against the filing cabinet with a groan, head thumping back against the metal. How long would it take for someone to notice? Would Penelope come looking for you, or would she just assume you finally gave in and quit? Maybe Spencer would realize something was off. Maybe he’d put the pieces together, retrace your steps, and...

No. No way. If anything, he’d think you were just slacking off. He’d probably roll his eyes, make some condescending remark about how you were the worst intern in FBI history, and move on with his night. Because that’s what he did—he got under your skin, poked and prodded and found every little thing that made you tick.

And the worst part? You let him.

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling, determined to push him out of your head.

Then, just as you started to resign yourself to a long, embarrassing night of solitude, a noise broke through the thick silence.

Footsteps. Slow. Purposeful.

Then—finally—the sound of the door handle turning.

The door swung open, and there he was, framed by the dim hallway light, looking every bit as exasperated as you knew he would. His gaze flicked over you, arms crossed, mouth already pulling into a disapproving frown.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, stepping inside with an exasperated shake of his head. "You, of all people, got yourself locked in a room that explicitly warns you not to let the door close behind you. I even told you."

You scoffed, pushing up from the floor. "Wow, Spence. So good to see you, too. Did you miss me?"

"Not particularly," he deadpanned, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on you for half a second too long. Then, with the same distracted precision he applied to everything, he grabbed the doorstop and wedged it beneath the heavy metal frame.

"There. Now, let's get—"

The sharp, metallic click of the door lock echoed through the room.

Silence.

Spencer froze.

You blinked.

Then, slowly, terribly, you turned to face each other.

"Reid," you started, voice calm in a way that meant you were absolutely about to lose it. "Did you just—"

"No," he said immediately, but his voice had gone slightly higher. "No, I didn't."

Your arms crossed, mirroring his stance. "Then what was that noise, genius?"

Spencer inhaled sharply through his nose, then reached for the handle, twisting it once, twice, then yanking with just enough force to confirm the worst.

Locked.

You stared at him. He stared at you.

"You," you said, pointing an accusatory finger. "Just locked us both in."

He opened his mouth, then shut it, jaw tightening. "Technically—"

"Oh, no. No, technically, Spencer. You just pulled a me."

His eyes narrowed. "Pulled a you? I think not."

"Oh, I think so!" You threw your arms up. "Because last I checked, I was the one who got us into this mess and you were supposed to be the responsible one!"

Spencer let out a long breath, adjusting his stance like he was physically restraining himself from escalating. "Okay, well, panicking isn’t going to fix anything."

"Who’s panicking? I’m not panicking." You were definitely panicking. Not because you were locked in—no, you could handle that. But because it meant you were stuck here. Alone. With Spencer. For God knows how long.

And you were already on edge.

Already warm, restless, caught in some ridiculous hormone-induced haze that had made your brain hyperfocus on things you had no business noticing. Like the way Spencer’s shirt sleeves were pushed up, revealing the lean, tense muscles of his forearms. Or how his hair was just slightly mussed, like he’d been running his hands through it in frustration. Or the way he smelled—like old books and something subtly sharp, like cedarwood and coffee grounds.

God, you needed to get out of here.

"This is your fault," you muttered, pacing a tight circle.

"Oh, so it’s my fault you got distracted and let the door close on you?" His voice had that smug edge again, laced with something else—something almost amused, like he’d warned you this would happen and was now relishing in being right. It made you whirl on him, irritation flaring hot beneath your skin.

"Yes, actually! If you hadn't been hovering over me like some insufferable know-it-all, I wouldn't have lost my train of thought."

Spencer scoffed. "Hovering? I was doing my job. You were the one lost in your own head, probably thinking about something ridiculous like—I don’t know—lip gloss flavors or whatever occupies that overly cluttered brain of yours."

You gasped, shoving at his chest. "Oh, bite me, Doctor Condescension! Not all of us have an eidetic memory to store every single useless fact known to man. Some of us have normal human brains that get distracted when we’re trying to multitask!"

Spencer barely budged from your shove, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smirk. "Right. Multitasking. You mean twirling your pen and zoning out?"

You opened your mouth, ready to snap back, but the reality of the situation hit you again like a truck. The file room. Locked. No way out. You groaned, dragging your hands down your face.

"Okay, genius, how do we get out? Since you're so brilliant and never make mistakes?"

Spencer crossed his arms, the smugness practically radiating off of him. "We wait. Someone will come looking."

You threw up your hands. "Oh, great! Because getting caught in a locked basement with you is exactly how I wanted to end my night."

He rolled his eyes. "You act like this is some unbearable torture."

"It is!" You gestured wildly. "I could be out right now, drinking with Penelope, having a girls' night, doing literally anything else but this! But no, I’m stuck in here with you, arguing over whose fault this is when we both know it’s yours."

Spencer let out a sharp breath, tilting his head. "You’re exhausting."

"You’re infuriating!"

"You’re impossible."

"You—" You jabbed a finger into his chest. "—are the bane of my existence!"

"And yet," he said, voice dropping just enough to send something shivering down your spine, "you can’t seem to stop talking to me."

You faltered for half a second before scoffing. "Oh, please, don’t flatter yourself. If I had any other option, I wouldn’t waste my breath on you."

Spencer stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating in the small, stale room. "Funny. Because despite all your complaining, you never actually walk away."

Your heart slammed against your ribs. This was new. This was dangerous. The air shifted, tension curling like a live wire between you, and you hated that some deep, embarrassing part of you liked it. Too much.

You swallowed, forcing out a breathless laugh. "What, and let you think you’ve won? Not a chance."

Spencer studied you, his gaze flickering down to your lips so fast you might have imagined it. Then, just as quickly, he scoffed, a deliberate shift in his expression that screamed of warning more than dismissal. "See? Impossible. I told you."

Something inside you snapped. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the sheer absurdity of this situation. Maybe it was the fact that you were ovulating, and his stupid smug face was the only thing in your line of sight. But before you could even process the words spilling from your lips, you blurted out, "God, I hate how much I like you."

The silence that followed was deafening. You barely even registered what you’d said at first, not until Spencer’s entire expression shifted—his usual composure cracking just enough to reveal something startled, something unguarded. His lips parted slightly, his breath hitching just enough for you to catch it.

And then, like a freight train hitting you at full speed, the realization crashed down.

You panicked. "I mean—not like like, obviously. Just, you know, tolerate. Barely. In a work acquaintance kind of way. Like an annoying gnat I’ve learned to ignore, except I can’t ignore you because you never shut up, and—"

Spencer surged forward and kissed you.

The force of it backed you against the filing cabinets, steel biting into your spine as his hands found your waist, gripping just hard enough to steal whatever breath you had left. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was months of pent-up frustration, sharp and heated and all-consuming.

You barely had time to process it before you were kissing him back, fingers tangling in his shirt like you needed something to hold onto. Like letting go meant losing whatever the hell this was.

Spencer pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Shut up, for once."

You would’ve argued. You really would have. But then he kissed you again, and suddenly, there was nothing left to say.

PICK YOUR ENDING

➤ [Ending 1 – Smut]

➤ [Ending 2 – Fluff]

[noisynaia]

𝑨 𝑯𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒆

pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader 

word count: 3.0k 

note: Fluff. Drinking. Colleagues to lovers. Mutual pining. Written for the lovely @pedrostories Secret Santa event ♥︎ My gift is for @always-andromeda , I hope you like it! It was so lovely to get to write for this blog again, and so exciting to share my first fic in a year and my first ever Marcus story! Thank you so much for the prompts, I tried to mix them both together, but it ended up dividing a bit from that first plan and turn into something else ♥︎

(This is the first fic I've written in a year and english isn't my native language, so I apoligies for any possible mistakes ♥︎)

The air hangs thick with the scent of pine needles and something suspiciously like cheap eggnog. The office is decked out in holiday cheer. Tinsel glints off the overly-enthusiastic Christmas decorations strung across the office, a jarring contrast to the usually austere environment. Twinkling lights are adorning the walls, and a massive tree stands proudly in the corner, its ornaments shimmering softly under the warm glow. Laughter fills the air as colleagues mingle, while festive music is playing in the background. It is the annual holiday party at the precinct, and the atmosphere is filled with a sense of camaraderie and celebration. 

You are standing near the refreshment table, a glass of spiced wine in your hand, watching the cheerful chaos unfold before you. Your gaze drifts across the room, landing on Marcus, who is in the midst of animatedly chatting with a group of detectives, his smile infectious, and his laughter like music to your ears. You have harbored a crush on him since the day he started at the precinct, and tonight, with him looking so dashing under the twinkling lights, that crush feels more potent than ever. 

Just as you’re lost in your daydream of Marcus’s charming smile, the sound of a familiar voice cuts through the festive din. It’s Harold, the department’s oldest and most verbose agent, and he’s making a beeline for you. “Ah, there you are! I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the new policies coming in next year,” he begins, his voice booming over the festive music. His passion for regulations is palpable, and his eyes light up as he launches into a detailed explanation of compliance protocols, the words spilling out like a torrent as you nod politely.

You try to interject, to steer the conversation towards lighter topics, but Harold is in full flow, oblivious to your subtle attempts at diversion. He recounts every last detail, his hands animatedly gesturing, as you mentally calculate the number of holiday cookies you could have consumed instead of standing here. You definitely need another drink to endure this conversation. Preferably something stronger.

As Harold continues his monologue, you glance over at Marcus again, still engrossed in his chat with the detectives, the laughter radiating from their group like a beacon. A small pang of envy hits you; how easy it seems for him to connect with others, while you’re trapped in this policy discussion. But just then his head turns and your eyes lock across the room.   

Time seems to slow as you feel the warmth of his gaze wash over you, momentarily breaking through the haze of Harold’s relentless chatter. Marcus’s smile broadens, a genuine connection sparking between you like the twinkling lights around the room. He raises his glass in a playful toast, and for a heartbeat, it feels as if the chaotic buzz of the party fades away, leaving only the two of you in that shared moment. 

You lift your own glass in response, the spiced wine glinting in the soft light as you return his toast. The world around you blurs as you focus solely on Marcus, your heart racing with excitement and a hint of nervousness. His gaze is warm and inviting, making you feel as though you’re the only one in the room. 

You smile back at him, but not as broad as his. He seems to notice, raising a brow in a silent question. Just then, Harold’s voice breaks through the enchantment, his monologue picking up speed as he transitions to the next policy. You catch snippets about “streamlining processes” and “regulatory compliance,” but your thoughts are elsewhere. You can’t help but steal another glance at Marcus, who is still looking your way, seemingly unbothered by the raucous laughter surrounding him. 

You let out a little sigh, which Harold doesn’t seem to even register, as you try to focus enough on the conversation to hum along at the right times and ad and “oh, really,” at the appropriate time. But you can’t help but look over in the direction of Marcus again. You heal how your heart softly flutters in your chest as you watch him make his way through the crowd in your direction. 

“Hey there!” Marcus calls out, his voice cutting through the festive noise with a warmth that sends a thrill through you. He stops just in front of you, his gaze shifting from you to Harold and then back to you. a gentle smile lingering on his face.

“Hey,” you say back, your voice a mix of surprise and excitement, momentarily forgetting all about Harold’s policy monologue. You’re suddenly aware of how the spiced wine feels warm in your hand, and how the alcohol is warming you up from the inside. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Marcus asks, his tone light and polite as he glances at Harold, who immediately seems to deflate under the charming weight of Marcus’s presence.

“Oh, not at all!” Harold replies. “Just discussing the new compliance protocols for next year. Absolutely riveting stuff, I assure you.” 

“Oh, I can imagine. You must tell me about them after the holidays,” Marcus says, his smile is easy, and the way he leans casually against the table makes your heart skip a beat as he turns to you again. “I’ve been meaning to talk with you all night. I need to ask you about something for the report on the Sollery case.”

You can’t help but smile. There is no Sollery case, but you’re not about to correct him. Instead you play along, immensely grateful for Marcus’ graceful way of saving you from Harold’s relentless monologue. “Of course,” you reply, your heart racing as you revel in the attention. The warmth of the spiced wine seems to spread throughout your body, mingling with the butterflies flitting around in your stomach.

You say a polite goodbye to Harold before he can dive back into another detailed explanation of compliance, the relief washing over you as you follow Marcus to a quieter corner in the other end of the room. The festive music swells around you, but it feels like a distant hum compared to the electricity crackling between you and Marcus.

“So, what do you need to know about the ‘Sollery case’?” you ask, a teasing lilt to your voice, eager to maintain the playful banter. 

He chuckles softly, his brown eyes shining as he looks at you, a slight flush is dusting his cheeks, from the alcohol you assume. He looks adorable. 

“You looked like you needed a rescue,” he replies, his voice low and conspiratorial, “and I just couldn’t let you endure another second of Harold’s riveting lecture on compliance protocols. I mean, I love the guy, but sometimes it feels like listening to paint dry.”

You let out a genuine laugh, the sound buoyed by the atmosphere around you. “You have no idea how grateful I am. I was convinced I’d have to start counting the decorations on the tree just to stay awake.”

Marcus grins, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Well, I’m glad I could save you. I can’t let our brightest agent fall asleep at the Christmas party. That would be a tragedy.” 

He nudges you playfully with his elbow, and you feel your heart race at the light touch.

“And uhm, speaking of saving,” he continues, his expression turning slightly more serious but still warm, the flush on his cheeks  darkening just the slightest. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over to my place after this? I have a bottle of whiskey that I think we could both use after the year we’ve had.”

Your breath catches for a moment, the invitation hanging in the air between you like the lighted ornaments strung above your heads. “Whiskey?” you ask, feigning nonchalance while your heart races with excitement. “What kind?”

“Only the best,” he replies, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “I promise it’s not eggnog.”

You laugh, feeling the tension ease slightly. There’s something about the way he looks at you, something that makes you feel seen in a way that you haven’t before. “Well, I do like whiskey,” you say, your voice teasing. 

“Great,” he says, his smile broadening, and you can’t help but feel a swell of happiness at his invitation. This is more than just a drink; it feels like a chance to finally connect with him outside of work, away from the watchful eyes of colleagues.

You take a sip of your spiced wine, trying to calm the excitement bubbling within you. You stay at the party for a bit, chatting and laughing with your colleagues together with Marcus, the warmth of his presence enveloping you like a cozy blanket. After about an hour Marcus leans in a little. “Ready to get out of here?” 

You nod eagerly, a smile spreading across your face at the thought of leaving the crowded FBI office behind. “Absolutely,” you reply, your voice light with anticipation. The idea of spending time alone with Marcus makes your heart flutter, and you feel a rush of excitement as you both make your way towards the exit.

The cold december air hits you as you step outside, a stark contrast to the warmth of the office, but it’s refreshing. Marcus walks beside you, his presence comforting as you both navigate the snow-dusted sidewalk. The streetlights shimmer against the night sky. You make light conversation as you walk towards the metro station. 

The city is alive with holiday lights, casting a warm glow over the streets. You can’t help but steal glances at Marcus as you walk next to him, the way he moves with a casual confidence, his laughter still echoing in your ears. The anticipation of what the night holds has your heart racing, a mix of nerves and excitement simmering just beneath the surface.

As you approach the metro station, the atmosphere shifts slightly. The previous bustle of the office party has now faded  completely into the background of your mind, and the intimate setting with just you and Marcus now feels charged with a new energy. You both descend the steps to the platform, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the concrete walls.

“So,” Marcus begins, his tone light, “how are you spending your holiday season this year?”

You chuckle, leaning against the cool metal railing. “Alone,” you admit with a playful shrug, trying to keep the mood light. “Just me, some takeout, and a few too many holiday movies. It’s gonna be casual.”

Marcus raises an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief mixed with amusement playing on his lips. “Alone? What about family or friends?”

“I mean, I have family, but they’re several states away, and I’d rather not deal with the holiday chaos,” you reply, a hint of defensiveness slipping into your tone. “Plus, my couch and a good movie sound pretty appealing right now.”

“Fair enough,” he says, his expression softening. “I’m spending Christmas alone too this year—just me and a stack of books I’ve been meaning to tackle.” He chuckles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I guess we’re both in the same boat, huh?”

“You’re not going back to Texas over the break?”

“Nah, I decided to stay here this year. I love my family, and it would be nice to see them, but a lot happened back home before I transferred. Kind of left there heartbroken and I’m not sure I’m ready to go back just yet, even though I’m mostly over it,” he replies, glancing at you with a slightly embarrassed smile.

You nod in understanding, the weight of his words resonating with you. You open your mouth, you want to say something, even though you’re not even sure about what to say, but then the train arrives with a rush of wind and a clatter of metal on metal. You both step back, momentarily distracted by its arrival. As it slows to a halt, the doors slide open.

Marcus gestures for you to enter first, and you can’t help but notice the way he stands just a little closer than necessary, the warmth of his body radiating towards you. You step into the metro car and find a place to settle in, the metallic seats cool against your skin. Marcus sits beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours, sending a thrill of excitement through you.

As the train starts moving, the rhythmic clattering of the tracks fills the silence, and you glance sideways at Marcus. He’s looking out the window, the lights reflecting in his eyes, and for a moment, you just take him in. There’s something undeniably comforting about being with him, an ease that feels almost electric.

“Is it your first time spending Christmas alone?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence, your voice soft. “It’s my first time, my first time spending the whole holiday alone…  I’m starting to worry it might be a bit lonely.”

He turns his gaze back to you, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it is my first time, but it’s just a few days, right? I think it might be good though, to have some time to regroup. Plus,” he adds with a smirk, “I can’t wait to binge-watch whatever I want, I haven’t had time to watch a show in ages.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up easily. “True! That’s a definite perk.”

“And, you know, if I’m lucky, I might even get to finish that book series I’ve been meaning to read,” he says, an excited, almost boyish, glint in his eyes.

“What series?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“It’s a fantasy series,” he replies, his enthusiasm infectious. “It’s about dragons and magic and all that good stuff. I know it sounds really nerdy, but it’s amazing!”

You can’t help but let out a little chuckle, hiding your mouth behind your glove covered hand. He really doesn’t have any idea about how adorable he is, and it warms your heart. “Of course, you’re a fantasy nerd,” you giggle, shaking your head gently.  

 Marcus feigns offense, his eyes widening in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that fantasy is a very legitimate genre! It’s all about world-building, character development, and epic battles. Plus, who wouldn’t want to ride a dragon?” He leans in closer, a playful glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but lean in too, drawn by his enthusiasm.

“Okay, okay, you make a compelling argument,” you concede, laughter still dancing in your voice.

“Seriously, you should give it a try. I think you will like it actually.”

“I might just take you up on that,” you say, your heart racing with the idea of sharing something with him. “Maybe I’ll start it over the holidays,” you reply, smiling at him. “I could use some good escapism.”

He smiLes at you, but you don’t get to talk more about it. The train begins to slow as it approaches your stop, and Marcus shifts slightly, his arm brushing against yours again. You feel a warmth spreading through you, a sense of closeness that makes your heart flutter.

As the doors slide open, you both step out into the crisp night air. The walk to his place is short but filled with light-hearted banter and laughter.

Finally, you reach his townhouse. Unlocking the door, Marcus leads you inside, turning on the light of the hallway as he closes the door behind you. He takes your coat hanging it on the coat hanger while you take off your boots before showing you to the living room. The cozy setting, filled with soft light and comfy looking furniture, feels welcoming and familiar.

Marcus moves to the kitchen, and you take a moment to look around. The walls are lined with shelves filled with books, and a few framed pictures catch your eye—some of him with friends, others of family, and one of him as a kid with a goofy grin on his face.

“Make yourself at home,” he calls out from the other room, you can hear the clink of glasses.

You settle onto the plush couch, feeling a wave of contentment wash over you as you sink into the cushions. The warmth of the room envelops you, and you can’t help but smile softly as you take it all in. 

Moments later, he reappears with two glasses in hand, a bottle of whiskey perched under his arm. “I hope you like it neat,” he says, pouring a generous amount into each glass and handing one to you. “Cheers to a surprisingly delightful holiday evening.”

You clink your glass against his, the sound ringing with a sense of promise. “Cheers,” you echo, taking a sip. The rich, smooth flavor warms you from the inside out, and you savor the moment. “Thank you for having me, and thank you for saving me from Harold earlier.” 

Marcus chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. “Anytime. I’d take a night with you over compliance protocols any day,” he replies, leaning back against the couch, his glass resting comfortably in his hand.

“Ditto,” you smile in response. You watch him, the way his eyes light up when he talks, how he seems to genuinely enjoy your company. The atmosphere is relaxed, filled with the soft hum of distant holiday music coming from his speakers. The tension you felt earlier at the party has melted away, replaced by a sense of ease that envelops you both.

“You know…” Marcus’ expression changes as he leans forward to put his glass down on the coffee table. “I was thinking… Since you are spending the holiday alone, and I’m spending it alone, and you said you were scared that it might get lonely…” He takes a deep breath before continuing and you feel your heart fluttering in your chest as you realize where this is going. “Maybe... we could make it a little less lonely together?” His voice is soft yet hopeful, and you can see the sincerity in his brown eyes.

Your heart skips a beat at the suggestion. “That sounds nice.”

“It does?” 

“Yeah, it really does,” you respond, your voice steady despite the fluttering excitement beneath the surface. “I’d love to spend the holiday with you. It sounds… perfect, actually.”

A smile spreads across Marcus’s face, a mix of relief and joy that makes your heart swell. “Yeah, really perfect...”

Unbeknownst to the two of you, this would be the first of many, many holidays spent together.

[shadyfestivalperfection]

AVENGERS: THE CREATOR

Summery: What if there was a seventh avenger? It’s no ordinary person but the creator of the infinity stones. Y/n is the universes most powerful being who created those stones to protect the universe and the multiverse. She is then recruited to join the Avengers initiative. Does she accept or reject the offer? What happens when her past enemy appears and destroy what she has created?

Characters: Avengers x f! Reader

Note: This is my very first time writing a fanfic and there maybe many mistakes. Please try to understand. This story maybe very different from the MCU movies. I have made lots of changes. Have a happy time reading!

Click here to view the master list

Chapter 1: The Loki Problem

(Authors pov)

[ This takes place before the battle of New York in 2012]

The mission began with the Tesseract—a mysterious, otherworldly artifact capable of bending the very fabric of space and time. Its radiant surface pulsed with an energy that defied explanation, its power both captivating and terrifying. Nick Fury, director of SHIELD, stood in the dimly lit control room, eyes fixed on the device. Around him, a team of scientists worked feverishly, trying to unlock the Tesseract’s secrets, but the air was thick with the knowledge that they were treading in dangerous waters.

Fury knew it. There was something unsettling about the Tesseract, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He could feel the weight of responsibility pressing on him, the constant nagging sense that they were playing with fire. But before they could make any real progress, chaos struck.

The air seemed to ripple, and before anyone could react, Loki—the Asgardian god of mischief, exiled and vengeful—appeared in a flash of light. His arrival was swift, like a storm breaking over the ocean, and his presence brought with it a wave of destruction. A mere flick of his hand was all it took to bend the wills of SHIELD agents to his command. Fury watched in grim silence as the god’s plan began to take shape. The Tesseract, now in Loki’s grasp, was the key to opening a portal—a gateway through which Loki intended to bring an alien army to Earth.

The world was on the edge of disaster. Fury knew that if Loki succeeded, Earth would face an invasion unlike anything it had ever known. And with SHIELD caught off guard, there was only one way to prevent total annihilation: the Avengers Initiative.

Fury’s mind raced, calculating, preparing. The stakes were higher than ever, and he needed to act fast. The mission was clear—gather the scattered heroes of Earth and form a team strong enough to stand against Loki and his forces. It wasn’t going to be easy. These weren’t people who played well with others, each driven by their own motivations, their own egos, their own methods of doing things. Fury’s job wasn’t just to assemble them; it was to make them work together. To forge something greater than the sum of its parts.

Tony Stark—Iron Man—was the first person Fury reached out to. Sitting in his sleek Malibu mansion, surrounded by technology and luxury, Stark was completely oblivious to the storm brewing in the world outside. His phone rang, and as usual, he answered with the kind of casual irreverence that made it clear he thought he was untouchable.

“Yeah, I’m just, uh, kind of doing something. You know, building the future here. What’s up?” Tony’s voice came through, a mix of boredom and arrogance.

Fury’s response was unwavering, the weight of urgency in every word. “We have a situation. You need to come in.”

Stark, never one to take orders, scoffed. “I don’t think I’m the right guy for this. I’m, uh, kind of busy saving the world on my own time.”

But Fury wasn’t asking. He was telling.

“I’m not asking you, Stark. I’m telling you.” The words were final, and before Stark could say another word, the call ended.

Tony stared at the phone, his fingers lingering on the screen. A mix of reluctance and curiosity flashed across his face. For all his bravado, he knew Fury wasn’t calling him for nothing. The world had just become a lot more complicated.

Fury didn’t have time to waste. There were other calls to make, other heroes to convince. He needed them all—heroes who might never see eye-to-eye, who might not even like each other. But they were the only chance Earth had. The only chance he had. Fury didn’t expect them to be friends. He didn’t need them to be friends. He needed them to be a team—the team. The Avengers.

In his mind, he could already feel the pressure mounting, the complexity of the task weighing on him. One shot, he thought. One shot to pull this together, and I can’t afford to miss it.

He knew these people. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, their flaws. They weren’t easy to convince, but he didn’t doubt they’d get the job done. Not in the way he wanted, perhaps, but they always did. They always found a way.

“I’ve got a lot of things to do,” Fury muttered to himself, his gaze hardening. “I need to bring them together. Right now, the planet’s about to burn, and I need these people to step up and save it. I’m not asking them to be friends, but they need to be something more than just individuals. They need to be a team. They need to be the team. The Avengers.”

The mission was urgent. The clock was ticking, and Fury knew he had no room for failure. He didn’t have time for grudges, for egos, for personal baggage. All that mattered now was stopping Loki, closing the portal, and saving the world. If he could do that, maybe—just maybe—there would be time for the rest of it later.

“I know these people,” Fury thought, glancing out at the chaotic scene unfolding before him. “They’ll get it done. Maybe not the way I want them to, but they’ll do it. They always do.”

The mission was in motion. The team would assemble. And Fury, for all his doubts and the odds stacked against him, couldn’t afford to let it fail. Not this time.

The atmosphere in the SHIELD helicarrier’s conference room was thick with tension, each of the Avengers seated around the table in wary silence. Nick Fury stood at the head, his expression sharp and focused, his eyes scanning the room as he prepared to address the team. The mismatched group of heroes—a billionaire genius, a super soldier, a god, a spy, and an archer—was an odd collection, each with their own baggage, their own egos, and none particularly interested in working together. But Fury didn’t have the luxury of time.

He set the tone with a simple, no-nonsense statement.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do. Loki’s got the Tesseract, and he’s opening a portal to bring an army to Earth. We’ve got to stop him.”

Tony Stark, lounging back in his chair with his arms casually folded, didn’t seem too concerned. His tone was more playful than urgent, the weight of the situation lost on him as he looked out the window at his hovering Iron Man suit.

“I’m bringing the party to you,” he quipped, his smile wide and full of his usual arrogance.

Steve Rogers, who had been standing off to one side, watched with a furrowed brow. The tension between him and Stark was palpable, the two of them from different worlds, with different ways of handling things. Steve crossed his arms, stepping forward as he spoke, his voice calm but firm.

“We need a plan.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, then smiled in that infuriatingly cocky way of his.

“I’ve got a plan. You’re gonna fight the alien army, right? All we need is the suit and a few good shots.”

Thor, standing tall with his Asgardian presence filling the room, looked down at Stark with a scowl. His voice boomed as he responded.

“You will not be the one to defeat Loki. He is a god.”

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Thor’s words hanging in the air. Fury’s gaze hardened. He could feel the tension between them, but now wasn’t the time for egos to clash.

“I’ve seen what Loki can do,” Fury said, his voice unwavering. “The guy’s a handful. But we need to work together if we’re going to stop him. He’s not just a threat to New York—he’s a threat to the whole world.”

Steve, ever the soldier, nodded, stepping forward with a sense of purpose.

“Loki’s got the Tesseract, and he’s got an army. We need to take it from him.”

Fury looked at them all, his expression a mixture of frustration and determination. They didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, but he would make them see it. He had to.

“I’m putting together a team,” Fury said, his voice steady and authoritative. “A team that can stand up to Loki’s invasion. We’re going to take him down.”

Tony, never one to shy away from a quip, smirked and leaned back further in his chair.

“What about me? I can do it all on my own.”

Fury’s gaze was direct, his patience thinning. He wasn’t here for jokes. They had no time for Stark’s usual bravado.

“You’re not doing it alone. We’re going to do this together.”

The room shifted as Fury’s words sunk in. The weight of the mission was settling in, and though none of them seemed eager to admit it, they all knew that working together was their only shot at success. The heroes—each with their own methods, their own motivations, and their own histories—would have to figure out how to come together as one.

-to be continued

[demifiendrsa]

Season 2 of Netflix's The Sandman will adapt "Seasons of the Mist" and "Brief Lives" storylines from Neil Gaiman's graphic novel. Additionally, more season 2 cast members have been announced:

Ruairi O’Connor (The Morning Show, The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It) is Orpheus, a poet, musician, oracle, and the only child of Dream and the muse, Calliope (last seen in The Sandman, Episode 11). Orpheus is an idealistic, romantic, young man — and very much his father’s son — until tragedy strikes and reveals to him the true nature of love.

Freddie Fox (The Great, Slow Horses, The Gentlemen) is Loki, the god of chaos. Loki is a charming, seductive shape-shifter. The smartest and most dangerous person in any room, Loki is utterly irresistible and never to be trusted.

Clive Russell (The Cursed, Sherlock Holmes, Game of Thrones) plays Odin, the father of Thor, and blood-brother of Loki. He is a longtime ally of Dream’s, but finds himself driven to desperate extremes in his efforts to stave off Ragnarök. 

Laurence O’Fuarain (The Witcher: Blood Origin, The Gentlemen) is Thor, the storm god. With his hammer Mjollnir, Thor is brusque, rude, and driven entirely by his appetites for food and drink, battle, and sex.

Ann Skelly (The Nevers, Death and Nightingales, Red Rock) is Nuala, and Douglas Booth (Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, The Dirt) is Cluracan, royal emissaries from the court of Faerie. Nuala and Cluracan are siblings who are opposites in every way. Nuala is responsible, empathetic, and principled. Cluracan is an impulsive rogue who lives for pleasure. They disagree about everything, except their devotion to each other.

Jack Gleeson (Game of Thrones, Sex Education) plays Puck, a malevolent hobgoblin who serves as the royal jester to King Auberon of Faerie. Puck is fascinated by mortals and enjoys nothing more than making sport of them for his own amusement. He’s also the inspiration for Shakespeare’s Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Indya Moore (Queen & Slim, Pose, Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom) plays Wanda, a professional driver and security agent for an exclusive travel firm. Wanda proves herself to be an indispensable guide on an Endless road trip to the waking world.

Steve Coogan (Alan Partridge, The Trip) is the voice of Barnabas, the canine companion of the Endless’s Prodigal brother. Barnabas is loyal and loving, but an outspoken cynic. Meaning, he’s both man’s best friend and man’s sharpest critic.

[v-era-18]

Red Licorice

Chapter Four: Apparition

‘Billy never held me like that before, and he most definitely never looked at me the way he looked at her in that very moment,’ - Sidney Prescott

It was like that night before, only this time two more victims emerged, alive but their spirits crushed. The Prescott home was flooded with FBI agents whereas the police station was in chaos, mass reporters at every corner trying to get a glimpse of the new victims-the two girls that survived. It was funny, seeing the flashing lights outside with the shouts of questions and reporters spreading false information.

(Y/n) sat in the chair, slacked and unresponsive across from the two officers in the room, officers David Montana and Casandra Williams. The brown skinned woman pushed a cup of hot chocolate her way with a soft smile, she was being patient with the girl seeing as though it was a traumatizing situation. She stayed next to her side and escorted her personally to the police station making sure she was comfortable. The girl had lost both of her parents, her best friend and now was attacked by a possible serial killer, she needed a break.

Willams took in a deep breath before speaking, “(Y/n)- sweetheart- we need you to tell us what happened,” she crouched down beside her giving her hand a soft squeeze. It felt motherly and for a moment the girl's shoulders relaxed.

Silence.

“Did he-did the killer say something about Casey?”

No response.

“Come on (Y/n), we can't help you if you don't say anything,” It was officer Montana this time, an impatient expression on his face. The officer was the second one to read Casey’s diary, he had every right to believe that the girl was a suspect in this case. There were moments of doubt though, (Y/n) was a good girl- he could see it. Was being outed the tip of the iceberg or jealousy?

The afro haired girl looked through the window to Sidney who was currently talking to Tatum. They watched her eyes water slightly before sniffling once more, “It's all my fault..,”

Cassandra paused, “What? What's your fault sweetheart?”

“I split off from Sidney thinking I could outsmart him- I was wrong,” Fat tears rolled down her eyes as she tried to bring the blanket over her soldiers further, not wanting to see an ounce of her skin. “His-his hands…..the knife-”

The woman held the teens hands, noticing her breathing staring to labor, “Take your time. I know this must be hard for you,” Cassandra whispered, she scanned over the girls face and her shaking form before asking, “Did- did he possibly sexually-”

“No. That's the thing-he only injured my leg before leaving me on the sink- I- I don't understand why he didn't kill me.” It was a partial lie, the male did inappropriately touch her, but now that she thought about it the only threatening part about it was him cutting her leg and taking her underwear. She did stab him in the back-literally, it makes sense with him wanting payback.

A deep chuckle cut through the room shocking Willams, “David-are you fucking serious - ?”

“Cut the crap,” The male's voice was stern, walking over before slamming a stack of files on the desk, “No killer would just leave a witness alive. Meaning you must've known them or worked with them.”

(Y/n) shook in her seat, utter disbelief taking over her features, “What? No! He literally-”

“Casey would be rolling around in her grave if she heard the lies you were speaking,” A glare was thrown her way, “If she had one, we’re still examining her body. And the embalming process nearly seems impossible to do.”

The afro haired girl shook her head in disbelief , thinking she should've kept quiet after all, “I know it doesn't make sense! But I'm telling you, he honestly cut me before leaving the bathroom!”

Williams cocked her head in confusion, “What? The killer was with you in the bathroom? Billy Loomis came through Sidney's bedroom window, sweetheart, that doesn't make sense.”

“That's because it couldn't have been Billy-,”

“What's your relationship with Loomis,” Montana cut in.

The girl paused for a moment thinking carefully before speaking, “We’ve been friends since middle school, we don't hang out as often due to our own lives, but he's a good boyfriend to Sid I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Well,” She looked back through the window at Sidney, “Casey did tell me about him possibly cheating on Sid with another girl-didn't tell me who though. I thought it was a rumor.” It was true, although while analyzing Sidney and Billy’s relationship it did seem like it was missing something not to mention they haven't been dating for too long either. Billy started dating Sidney late July and took her out on small dates and even brought her with (Y/n) Stu and Casey. The only downside was that she was a fifth wheel noticing the couples holding each other's hands and whispering with one another. She left early much to the boy's dismay.

David sat down at the desk, placing an arm down with his cheek resting on his fist, “What about a romantic relationship?”

“Ro-romantic?” (Y/n) puzzled, “Me and Billy never dated.”

“Don't have to. You see men-especially boys- have a certain way of operating to get a woman's attention. They can even go to extreme messures-such as dating a friend or fucking a few girls in order to get it. To get you jealous-to get in your head.”

Her breath caught in her throat at what he was trying to get at, “Your wrong-Billy doesn't see me that way. I'm not special, Sidneys a whole package-just like Casey and Tatum-'' The afro heard stopped, a choked out sob, cutting through, “I’m not what he's looking for-”

“But you want him to-”

“No! I know what you're doing! But I honestly don't think Billy would kill Casey! I mean what reason would he have? My best friend barley hung out with him,”

The officers looked at eachother, a silent conversation going on. (Y/n) didn't like it, not one bit. Casey never hung out with Billy, as she always said he was weird-after his mother his attitude turned sour and the only ones who had patience to tolerate it was Stu and (Y/n). He wasn't a bad guy, just had a lot of baggage to deal with.

Montana finally looked back at her, “(Y/n) be honest with us. Did you love Casey?”

“More than the whole world. She-,” The girl's lips wobbled while speaking, “She was that beacon of light I needed each day. A big sister-a other half if you could tell.”

There was a pause.

“I don't mean as a friend or sister (Y/n),”

The girl cocked her head to the side, her face read confusion and sorrow. The two officers in the room only felt worse from the information they had collected.

“What-?”

“ARE YOU FUCKERS SERIOUS?!”

The officers heard the eruption of shouts and slams of desks heading in their direction. Williams immediately got in front of (Y/n) as the girl got up to see what's going on. Through the window she could see a red faced Billy struggling against the officers, throwing punches left and right as his father shouted for him to stop immediately.

But the Loomis boy was relentless, throwing another left hook at another officer after a taser was deployed. He screamed in pain, face twinsting in agony-eyes filled with fury at the situation; the male pulled out the protruding strings a trail of blood seeping his shirt. Shoving another officer out the way Billy made way towards the office, screaming his whole soul with the name that plagued his mind each night; (Y/n) (L/n)

“Billy, you stop this instant!” His father was chasing after him as the other officers tried to recover heading towards the room the girl was in.

Sidney and Tatum watched the scuffle with wide eyes. Upon them arriving at the station Billy practically begged his girlfriend to see him-to talk to him, pushing against officers in order to get to her. However, the boy was going the extra mile for someone he wasn’t even dating- someone he barely talked to or acknowledged. Punching, moving desks and screaming manically in order to get to their best friend.

The best friend who seemed to have all his flaming attention at the moment.

Billy stood in the doorway furious, his eyes filled with malice and rage before locking gaze with (Y/n). He scanned her form looking over her tear streaked face, to the way she covered herself completely with the blanket as she tried to make herself unnoticeable. She watched as the boy's face softened, stepping up to her, he reached out only for the female officer to step in between them.

He simply ignored her and focused on (Y/n), “Are you okay? Did he hurt you-?”

“Mr. Loomis, it is highly suggested you get away from the victim at this time.”

Billy cocked his head in annoyance, “She's my best friend, I'm not leaving till I make sure she's okay. Especially since you are here in this room questioning her over and over when she looks like she's about to have a mental breakdown.” He stepped forward once more, this time a plea leaving his lips, “Please let me see her, there's literally eyes everywhere, I wont do anything.”

The woman paused for a moment before responding, “If it's okay with Mrs (L/n), you're allowed to talk to her. But with me in the room-or nothing at all.”

Billy nodded, taking what he could get. He turned to the girl expectantly, awaiting her answer. It was a long shot, afterall the girl was traumatized from the recent events inside the house. She was supposed to emerge unscathed-shit-they didn't even know that she was even at the house. Sideny was supposed to be alone tonight-not drag their final girl into this shit.

The afro haired girl stared at him for a long moment before shuffling her feet, “It's fine. Billy didn't do anything wrong to me.” It was barely audible by the boy and the officer heard just fine.

Loomis was by her side in a flash, grabbing her face in both hands trying to gain his bearings-the taser and scuffle was starting to take a bit of a toll on his body. The way he was looking at her spoke volumes to the many people in the office-David including who had a smug look on his face before heading out to grab his partner some ice for his black eye.

The boy knows how to throw a punch.

“You okay precious? I just now heard you were in the house, I swear if I had known-,” Billy cut off noticing the fat welt of tears starting up again, his heart nearly breaking seeing how scared she was from tonight. Mentally cursing Stu for his error, the boy quickly pulled her into his arms. Sobs racked through the girl's body seconds at a time, it felt so long since (Y/n) had cried against him like this.

The last time Billy could remember a similar moment was when they were in eighth grade. The girl was wearing a sweater with beat up ripped overalls, her knee and chin were bleeding. Stu was walking beside her with a black eye, he knew immediately the culprit had been dealt with. But that didn’t make them any less angry with that fact (Y/n) got hurt, mentally and physically.

“I-I’m I’m sorry-,”

“Don’t apologize to me, precious, take all the time you need,” Yeah. Billy was gonna let Stu have it when he got out of here, “I need you to remember to control your breathing. You can do that for me right?”

She nodded into his chest, trying to even out her breaths from what Stu had taught her when they were younger. Billy's hands rubbed up and down her back affectionately, whispering encouraging words in her ears as she continued to let tears fall. Once her shakes and breaths were steady, she proceeded to look up at her distant friend. The boy's eyes were scanning her face, using his hands to gently wipe away all the rest of the tears from her face. His hands were soft, no calluses or rough patches-much different from the man who rubbed up and down her thigh.

(Y/n) took a gulp of air, “It wasn't you.”

A pause.

“What?” Billy asked.

“It wasn't you,” The girl replied shakily, “H-his hands had calluses. Your hands are smooth with no bumps, just slightly dry. I managed to stab him in the shoulder-b-but you're not bleeding anywhere.”

Officer Williams eyes widened a bit before grabbing a notepad writing the confession down. Billy noticed this a bit unnerved but remained focused on the girl in front of him, gazing down at the bandaged cut on her leg. It was obvious the cut was deep, Stu wasn't forgiving about getting stabbed in the shoulder no matter how much he loved her. It honestly was conflicting with the position they were in, especially since they thought she would be home safe from the mess.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. FUCK!

Billy just pulled the girl back in his arms, his heart beating faster as the guilt started sinking in. Never did he ever want the girl in his mess. it wasn't her fault of what that bitch did to his family-to his life. (Y/n) was the light in his life, even if he didn't show it in the best ways. He never engaged in a normal relationship due to the fact it would mess up the plan with Sidney. The girl wasn't the type to go out with her friends' ex's-so was the afro haired in his arms. Either way, the beginning of the relationship would be a cluster of a mess for what he wanted to accomplish.

“Do you know where you left the knife sweetheart?”

The girl directed her attention to the officer, grabbing Billy’s hand for encouragement, “He took it. He made sure to grab it out of the bathtub before leaving.”

Billy acknowledged that Stu wasn’t a complete dumbass, he knew that the knife was evidence due to the blood from the stab in his shoulder. Slow props to him. Still pissed at the fact (Y/n) got hurt. But this was Stu he was talking about, even though he was the more patient one out of the two of them-he had his limits. The girl pushed him over the edge with her actions.

“Do you remember anything else-“

“Are you trying to cause her to panic more?” Billy snapped.

Officer Williams backed up slightly at the boy's tone, she did realize her error a bit. The girl did just go through a lot tonight, and was a lot more traumatized than Prescott. But it was her job to get as most information out of the victim as she can.

“I apologize, but sometimes it’s best to question the victims while their memory is still fresh with the situation rather than questioning later,”

“She needs support right now-not an interrogation,” Billy tutted simply, “Have you called her aunt?” It was plaguing the back of his mind where her aunt was at his current moment. Gia was protective, she barely let Stu and Billy hang around (Y/n) alone without adult supervision. It wasn’t till they turned seventeen that she was allowed more outside the house.

The prison is home to what (Y/n) called it.

“Miss (L/n) is unfortunately at home waiting for her niece's arrival. We thought it'd be safer if she stayed at home due to the mass crowd of reporters outside.” The officer replied patiently.

“Take her home then!” Billy turned back to (Y/n), searching her face filled with discomfort, “Do you want to go home precious?”

The girl paused for a moment just staring at her friend's face, she pursued her lips together before nodding. She needed the comfort of her room.

Sheriff Burke and Dewy watched the two teens talk through the window, before glancing back towards Sidney and Tatum who seemed stunned and lost for words. The Prescott girl couldn't take her eyes off her boyfriend who fought uniforms in order to get to her best friend. He was still embracing her, whispering things in her ear; things he should've been doing for her - his girlfriend. Not (Y/n).

“Do we have anything else to report?” The Sheriff questioned out of earshot.

Dewey shook his head solemnly, “That ghost mask is sold both at Krogers and Walmart. Neither or keep purchase records.” Which would only make their case harder with finding suspects.

“What about the cellular phone bill?”

“They’re pulling Loomis’ account. But it'll be morning before we see something,” Riley looked back towards the window, Billy was still holding the afro haired girl together. They were standing now and both speaking to officer Williams, but he did catch the frustration and worry written on the boy's face. “You think he did it? (Y/n) said it was impossible due to the killer being with her most of the time he was there. It contradicts Sidney's story with how Loomis entered through the window with murderous intent.”

The Sheriff let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Twenty years ago I would've said not a chance. But kids these days….damn if I know,”

Silence filled the space once the other office door opened leading out (Y/n), Billy, and Officer Willaims in toe. Two uniforms came forward to take the boy away, he simply gave his best friend's hand a reassuring squeeze before allowing them to take him. He didn't bother to look his girlfriend's way either which set her nerves on edge.

Tatum strolled up to Dewey with Sidney not too far behind, “Hey..Dewey. Can we go now?”

“Hold up a sec,” Dewey replied softly. He didn't want to give his sister any special treatment but with the way things are right now, letting up on the teens wouldn’t hurt.

Sheriff Burke sent a questioning look to the Deputy, “She's staying with you?” He gestured to Sidney.

“We haven't located her dad yet,” He replied.

Tatum saw Sidney shuffle her feet in the corner of her eye, “God dammit Dewey!”

Dewey turned to his sister with a red face, “What did mama tell you? When I wear this badge you treat me like a man of the law!”

“I'm sorry, Deputy Dewey-boy but we're ready to leave,” Tatum shot her gaze to (Y/n) who was cowering against the wall, “We all are.” Her brother followed her gaze and immediately understood what she was trying to say.

He let out a sad sigh before turning to the afro haired girl, “(Y/n), ready to go home sweetheart?”

The girl nodded back in response, Officer Willaims gave the girl her card just in case she remembers anything else about tonight. In turn she sent a grateful smile even if it was strained, before following Dewey and the girls to the other exit.

“Are you okay?” Sidney whispers softly.

The girl turned her head to her and shook her head, “No, but I’m trying my best. I just need-I just need some time,”

They finally reached the side door of the police station. Upon opening the door the deputy tried to shield the girls from the impending flashing lights and reporters crowding around the front entrance.

Dewey turned to the three of them, “I'll get the car. You three wait here,” the male took off into the parking lot. It was a good thing the parking lot wasn't too crowded since the reporters and cameraman were mainly focused on the main entrance at the moment. Leaving the girls alone to gain their bearings-or so they thought.

The infamous reporter Gale Weathers and her cameraman made an appearance out of the darkness. The illuminated light caused (Y/n) to squint grabbing onto Sidney's sweater to save face, the sight looked pitiful.

“Hello Sidney,” The woman smiled in greeting, causing the Prescott girl to downturn her lips considerably. She then turned to the afro haired girl, scanning her bloodshot eyes to the exposed bandaged thigh peeking from the slit of the blanket draped over her shoulders, “That looks like a nasty scare you got there (Y/n). Are you alright?”

The two girls said nothing in response, simply staring; one cold, one filled with anxiety. Just like Sid, (Y/n) had her run in with Weathers before, only the interview was when the girl was in her tweens. The hot news around that time was her parents' case being closed due to the lack of evidence from that night of the murder. Aunt Gia had found out the reporter had bought the girl a case of horror movies in exchange for a brief talk about her parents. (Y/n) being a naive girl didn't understand at the time that not all adults had good intentions the hard way; Gia had threatened to sue Gale if she released her book to the public on her parents murder.

Something Sidney's father should have done.

“What happened tonight?” Gale tried once more, pointing the microphone in the girl's direction.

The action caused Tatum to step in between the girls and the reporter, a harsh glare taking on her features. “They're not answering any questions. Just leave us alone okay?”

“It's okay, Tatum,” Sidney stepped forward, a coy smirk on her lips, “She's just doing her job. Right Gale?”

“Yes, that's right,” The woman agreed, her smile faltering a bit not expecting the girl's tone to turn a bit hostile towards her.

Dewey pulls up with the squad car just in time as the mass of reporters start to roll in near the alley seeing the commotion. It would be a bit attention grabbing seeing a police car rolling up on the side of the police station; especially if it meant the killer would be taken away or escorted away from the public eye.

“How's the book?” The girl sneered, she was trying to keep calm, but the way her body shook and her face growing warm it was obvious that she was struggling. (Y/n) had scooted closer to the other two girls as more reporters swarmed in

“It’ll be out later this year,”

“I'll make sure to look for it.”

“And I'll make sure to burn them.” (Y/n) muttered loud enough for them to hear.

Gale turned to (Y/n), “And I'll make sure to send a special copy for your case as well (Y/n). Although it won't be published there are copies that have been printed-”

The reporter didn't get a chance to finish her sentence before Sidney reeled back her arm before smashing it unexpectedly in Gale's face. A shock of gasps and shouts rang out around them from the hit the Prescott girl had landed. The woman fell on the pavement along with Kenny the cameraman, she was clutching her eye breathing deeply-glaring at the group of girls in front of her.

(Y/n) peered over Sidney's shoulder, a faint smile on her lips that matched the girl's satisfied look, “Damn Sid. Nice Hit!”

☿

Sidney sat on the bed staring at the floral wallpaper of the guest room at the Reily home. Tatum was currently in the bathroom finishing up with her face mask, she offered to do hers but it was the least of her worries. Afterall, who could bare to get glammed up after nearly dying from a serial killer.

Her thoughts traveled back to one of her best friends; (Y/n) (L/n). Sideny had met her during their English class in the tenth grade; she could still remember the girl's horrific story she told the class for her project. She earned a one hundred of course whereas Sidney earned a simple eighty-seven for creativity and effort about mermaids.

Prescott had asked the girl for advice to do better for the next project, and the rest was history. Sure there were moments of disagreements ,but they were always light hearted. They never actually held anything against one another like Ttaum and Casey did, sometimes they would have fun on their own and it would be the best time without the other two. It was also the year she met Billy by association; at the time she wasn't interested in the trouble maker. Her dad would've never approved of someone who stayed in detention, and here she was dating him.

If you would even call it that.

After tonight she felt like she was intruding on what was already there between Billy and (Y/n). and she didn't blame her friend on it either, only on Billy since he was the one who pursued her in the first place. Why would he ask her to be his girlfriend if he already had feelings for (Y/n)?

A rebound? Moving on? Rejection? Whatever it was, it left her mind in a tizzy, and her heart aching with rewinding the image of the embrace they both shared in the office.

“God, I loved It!” Tatum emerged from the hallway, jumping and landing back first on the second twin bed with a laugh, “‘I'll send you a copy’ Bam! Bitch went down. ‘Ill send you a copy’ Bam! Sid-SuperBitch!”

Dewey stepped into the doorway with a bag of ice in hand, “Thought you might want some ice for that right hook.” Sidney took the ice in thanks, placing it along her throbbing knuckles, “I'll be right next door. Try and get some sleep.”

As if getting sleep was going to be the easiest thing tonight.

“Any word on my dad?” Sidney asked him.

“Not yet, but we're looking, “The male stepped out of the room, “If you need anything…”

“Yeah yeah yeah…” Tatum waved him off, adding the flick of the wrist for emphasis. Her brother only smiled in response, closing the bedroom door to give the girls their privacy.

“Just another sleepover at the Rileys,” Sidney muttered laying down on her back.

Tatum smiled, “Just like old times, aint it?”

Sidney's face turned grim before rolling on her side away from Tatum, “No, nothings like it used to be.” She didn't want to bring the mood down, but her words held their weight. Nothing was going to be the same after tonight. And no amount of face masks gossip or snickering was going to change that.

Sidney and (Y/n) almost died tonight.

And she still couldn't wrap her head around the fact the masked man was in the bathroom with (Y/n) while Billy had entered her bedroom window. She felt horrible for accusing her own boyfriend after her friend's testimony came to light, but the way her gut was screaming something was wrong-the convenience,the timing was just off and alarming. The worst part was he wouldn't even look at her-he gave all his attention to (y/n) and completely did a one eighty in comparison to the way he was begging for his life earlier to talk to her.

A telephone rings off into the distance causing the girl to grip the pillow tighter.

“Do you really think Billy did it?” Tatum said gently, “It contradicts the scar on (Y/n)’s leg and her interaction with that freak of a killer.”

“He was there, Tatum,” Sidney muttered, “Something seemed so off about the convenience of it all! The killer corners (Y/n) in the bathroom just as my boyfriend conveniently comes in through the window trying to rescue me?” The girl sat up in the bed, brows creased together, “Somethings wrong here.”

Tatum hummed thinking things over, “I knew the guy was too perfect when (Y/n) introduced him to us. He was destined to have a flaw,” the blonde locked eyes with her friend hesitantly, “Are we not going to talk about what we saw happening between them?”

Sidney’s stomach lurched as the image swarmed her mind for a second, “About what? About a friend comforting the other?”

The girl thought if she denied what she saw a little longer she would be able to deny the reality of their situation; that her supposed boyfriend who she's been sneaking behind her dads back was truly in love with her best friend instead of her.

‘Billy never held me like that before, and he most definitely never looked at me the way he looked at her in that very moment.’

She was the other woman. (Y/n) was the endgame-the wife-the girl who should've been sitting at the table during dinner. Not her.

It should hurt more than it did, but why didn't it? Why wasn't she crying?

“Sid,” Tatum whispered softly, “You know what Billy did in order to get to her. Hell, he didn't throw left and right hooks in order to get to you-that one step was enough-”

“Do we have to talk about this right now?”

“No,” Her friend shook her head, “But it will have to be discussed eventually. You and (Y/n) are both good girls, talking it out will probably be a breeze if it's just the two of you.”

Tatum obviously learned her lesson from that night when they were thrown out of the (L/n) residence by Casey. She needed to learn not every girl was out to get her or challenge her the way she thought they did, in school it was a survivors instinct. Not to mention her insecurities while tripping over herself to get Stus attention since eighth grade. So when she figured it was (Y/n)’s fault that the male gaze was traveling elsewhere she let her mind get the best of her.

It was one of the nights she still regrets till this day. She doesn't deserve to be called her friend. Not as much as Casey did.

Sideny nodded with a sigh, “You right for once-,”

“For once-?!”

“I need to talk to (Y/n) about Billy, alone,” The girl finished softly, “I can only hope the truth comes out, and if it's true that they both have feelings for eachother then well-”

A knock on the door interrupts the girl's sentence, Mrs Riley opens the door with a smile, her graying hair framed her face nicely while her eyes held warmth gazing at the two girls. “Telephone, dear”

“Who is it?” Asked Tatum.

“It's for Sid,” The mother responded softly.

This caught the girls attention, a glimmer of hope shone in Sidney's eyes. “My dad?”

Mrs Riley paused and shook her head sadly, Tatum frowned in response, “Take a message,”

Sidney shook her head getting up from the bed, “It's alright. I'll get it,” The girl had another strong hope that it was from (Y/n) needing a bit of reassurance from tonight. They barely exchanged words in the car on the way to her home, the girl would shiver and sniff occasionally, breaking her heart. She blamed herself-she was the one who invited her to her home with no adult supervision.

While Sidney takes off down the hall Mrs Riley looks at her daughter jerking her head in the girl's direction, “How is she?” she whispered.

Tatum shrugged a frown playing on her lips. In an event like this all they could do was be observant and offer support, there will never be a guide or possible instruction to help someone who was almost murdered.

Sideny grabbed the phone from the table at the end of the hall, “Hello?”

“Hello Sidney.”

The girl froze the voice over the phone slithering through her-invading her. Her mouth hung open as her entire body weakened, the image of the ghostfaced killer flashed through her mind along with the crippled state of her friend with a large bandage wrapped around her thigh.

“Nooooo..” She cries out gaining the attention of the two other women in the house. Tatum sprinted down the hall to her best friend's side, watching the girl's shoulders bounce up and down in fear with her face contorted in mental anguish.

“Poor Billy-Boyfriend. An innocent guy doesn't stand a chance with you.” The male taunted over the phone, “At least he had my (Y/n) there to testify his innocence.”

“Leave Me Alone!” Sideny shouted her words together, she was in such hysterics she did not process the last part in his statement about her friend.

“Looks like you fingered the wrong guy….again,”

“Who are you? What the fuck do you want?”

“Hang up Sid,” Tatum hissed, she grabbed her friend's shoulder trying to ease the girl off the phone. If it was the killer then she shouldn't be talking to them as long as she was.

“Don’t worry. You'll find out soon enough. I promise,” The killer snickered into the phone, “I do hope (Y/n) won't be around you next time. My precious has already lost someone dear to her, losing you would be the tip of the iceberg.” The way the male spoke over the phone about her friend sent shivers down her spine; it was nauseating thinking about how the girl was left alone in the bathroom with this creep for god knows how long.

The girl let out a sob, “She’s traumatized, you fucker! You killed someone that was practically her sister, now you're claiming she's dear to you?” Sidney looked around at the windows trying to see in the dark of night to see if thers any glimpse of a white mask, “You better leave her the fuck alone, you hear me? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Mrs Riley ran to the bedroom door practically begging for her son's attention-banging against the door, “Dewey! Dewey!”

“This is gonna be fun, Sidney,” The killer growled, “It'll be just like old times.”

The line goes dead, leaving Sidney frozen with the phone in hand. Tatum stood off to the side stunned with the revelation, chills going down her spine from the voice she overheard. This was the voice of the man that attacked her best friends? The one that killed Casey?

The silence was cut through with Dewey barrelling out of his room with a gun in hand, he didn't even have time to put pants on, his pizza print underwear on full display, “What? What? What's happening?”

“Really Dewey?” Momma Riley shook her head, gently grabbing the phone from Sidney’s hands-she had a strong grip but with some gentle encouragement they let go. The girl had her lips parted slightly, tears blooming up to her eyes till they loosely spilled over.

Why? Why was she targeted? Who did she piss off so much to be on someone's hit list?

“Let's get you to bed dear,” The older woman whispered before turning back to her son, “Dewey, get your men on the phone and tell them what just happened! They need to be working faster.”

Dewey nodded, he picked the phone up examining it a bit, almost expecting the killer to call again before placing it back down. It was true they did need to hurry. But how much time did they truly have left?

☿

Stu winched as he reached the outside window of the (L/n) residence, inside he could hear the faint cries of the afro haired girl causing his stomach to do flips. He thought back to his actions in the Prescott house and Billy’s harsh tone over the phone; the Loomis boy had practically hissed at him to fix his mistake. Don’t get him wrong, a part of himself feels as though the cut on the thigh was an even edge to the stab to his shoulder. It was hard explaining to the nurses in the hospital on how it happened, not the smartest idea but he couldn't afford to bleed out. Especially since Billy was arrested he couldn't help patch him up.

He could still see the absolute terror on her face along with black nightie loose on her figure. When he and Billy had watched the girl from the trees and side of the house it was practically difficult to sneak around with their boners practically wanting to jump out of their pants. Hence why he took the initiative of seduction a bit in the bathroom, the way (Y/n) looked back up at him-helpless-tears pooling her brown eyes begging for mercy.

Stu wanted to see that expression again on her face.

It was twisted, he knew-to get aroused at the sight-but damn did she look so good. It felt as though they were in a horror porno of some kind. The helpless final girl reaches her limit, unable to run from her doom, the killer giving the ultimatum of sex in exchange for her life. It was a hopeless dream, but he wanted it to be a reality. Billy would hopefully entertain the idea one day once they were all on the same page.

Snapping off the girls window lock was easy, it was a good thing he and Billy practiced for their kills earlier or else it was going to be loud. He made sure to open the window slowly, paying attention to the bed on the other side of the room in the far left corner. From what the male noticed it hasn't changed that much in comparison to when they were kids. The pictures were the same-some added still in the proper place on the mirror, her shoes lined up near her closet mostly consisting of sneakers, and lonely Mr. Creep was on the floor. His left foot was still missing but was sewed together to prevent further ‘stuffing blood’ to spill out.

Stu still had the bunny’s foot in his room in a box of memories underneath his bed. It was an accident that happened, he simply went too far with his teasing and it resulted in a tug of war ripping the fragile stuffed animal apart. He visionised the girl's anguished face from that day; Her mother had gifted her that bear when she was four, and Stu had ripped off its lucky left foot.

Gia had deescalated the situation quickly and said that it might be a stroke of luck instead. ‘All rabbits have a lucky left foot,’ This caused his best friend to think things over; after a bunch of apologies and a long hug she asked him to keep it, saying that she wanted her ‘Stu Stu’ to have the best luck he could ever have throughout High School.

But how much luck did that foot give him really? Luck of blood on his hands? Obsession? A dark desire for all things twisted and morally gray?

Either way, it wasn't like God could talk to him personally and give him an ultimatum to stop. If a voice did speak to him he might listen-maybe his sins would be forgiven. But would the people who made him this way get punished?

He should have never gone to that stupid party.

The boy eased over to the bed, his footsteps were light, no cracks or groans gave way underneath the old carpets floor. Upon getting closer to the girl he took notice of how she was curled up all the way underneath the blankets- a self defense mechanism. ‘If I can't see the monster, they can't see me,”. She was too easy to read, and Stu missed reading her like this.

It only made him want to protect her from the world himself.

Stu started to pull the covers gently only for the girl to shoot up arm reeling back to land a hit. The male was much faster-he grabbed the incoming fist along with her other arm, “Easy, Final girl,” His voice hushed, “It's only me. It's me, Stu Stu. I'm here, he's not going to hurt you. I’m Here.”

It took a long moment before the girl's face went from fear and dejection-to relaxed and tearful. He loosened the grip on her arms and brought her to a gentle embrace instead, rubbing up and down the girl's back as sobs racked through her body. Stu continued to rock her back and forth settling her down, her words of panic and grief were muffled and watery. It only made his heart contort more. This wasn't part of the plan. Shit, this isn't even his plan originally to begin with; it was Billy’s.

When did this all start? Why and when did everything get so fucked up?

[aliciameade]

Darkness at Dawn - Ch. 2

Title: Darkness at Dawn Author: aliciameade Rating: M/E Pairing: Stephanie Smothers/Emily Nelson Summary: Even Bonnie & Clyde met their fate eventually.

Set five years after "Baby."

Also on AO3

Stephanie has been to the Santorini police station in the past of her own volition to call upon their services for a minor inconvenience that Emily had, at that time, insisted she could handle herself. Stephanie won the debate, arguing that Emily punching the man who sideswiped Stephanie’s parked Vespa, breaking one of its mirrors, would bring unwanted attention from law enforcement.

She recognizes the female officer at the desk where she’s being booked. She’s handcuffed, hands behind her, Detective Summerville’s hand on her left arm as if she might flee, and one of the INTERPOL agents is waiting to her right. The officer speaks to her in Greek, a curious and judgmental eyebrow raised. Alyson and Dillon Reid are about to be the talk of the town.  

“Mrs. Reid, this is a surprise. Dillon was brought in yesterday. What in the world have you two gotten into?”

Stephanie knows Summerville can’t understand the language. She has no idea if the INTERPOL agent can. He had an accent when he spoke English in her home, one she can’t recall now to identify it.

She opts for a sheepish smile in response and answers the basic questions asked of her:  to confirm her height, weight, birthdate, name. Her answers are half true, half false. In this country, she is Alyson Reid. Stephanie Smothers is a missing woman. She hears Summerville grunt when she gives her false name, but it’s who she is here.

She’s fingerprinted and now remembers when she took Miles to the police station in Warfield when he was two, after the car accident, for them both to be fingerprinted so that in the event of a tragedy, their fingerprints would be in the system.

Stephanie Smothers will be found as soon as the computer finishes searching AFIS. She was always so prepared. 

She’s made to strip and is thoroughly searched and left to put on an orange jumpsuit two sizes too big with flip-flops that she’s expected to wear with socks. They take her watch, necklace, and earrings. They take her wedding ring.

A dozen other women are waiting in a line in a hallway when she’s deposited by a local police officer at the end of it. None of them are Emily, but Emily didn’t spend the night in the hospital. Emily has a head start.

They’re shuffled down one hallway and into another and she’s surprised by the destination. She had envisioned sharing a singular barred cell with another woman.

Instead, it’s a huge room divided into four Plexiglas holding cells, at least ten women in each. Nothing more than a built-in bench that wraps around the cell, a toilet-sink combination, and a single bed that she can immediately tell is always owned by whomever the most powerful person is.

Emily is not in her holding cell—she knew she wouldn’t be—and as soon as she’s uncuffed and pushed into it, she rushes to the far end of the pod to peer across the expanses. Emily shouldn’t be difficult to spot here; she never has been. Tall, blonde. 

She finally spots her in the cell directly across from her own. She’s sitting on its bed reading a book. Her hair’s been split into two braids sitting over her shoulders. Where did she get a book?

Stephanie smiles. It shouldn’t be attractive. She shouldn’t be thinking about such things right now, in jail for murder and a litany of other crimes. But her wife has been in jail for one day and she’s already the boss of her group and it is incredibly sexy.

She doesn’t bother knocking on the glass. It’s nothing but a cacophony of loud talking and yelling in her cell and she can see just as much chaos in Emily’s. She opts to wait. She’s in Emily’s line of sight if only she would look up from her book.

It doesn’t take long. Emily’s cell receives newcomers as well and she looks up, first at the door and the detainees, immediately saying something that Stephanie wishes she could hear. She’s about to return to her book when her eyes cross the room and find Stephanie.

Stephanie’s hand presses against the glass reflexively as if she can somehow reach Emily through it. Tears hit her cheeks and she opens her mouth to speak but doesn’t. She sees Emily rush to the glass; she’s saying something but Stephanie knows it’s not for her. It’s pointed, and she can imagine what she’s saying.

“Don’t fucking think about it,” in Greek. She’s heard Emily say it a hundred times, usually to men on the street, drunk American tourists.

Emily’s cot remains untouched as she presses her hand to the glass in her own pod. “I’m sorry,” she mouths. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Stephanie mouths in response.

She watches Emily tap her finger against her temple. Think. Be smart. She moves her finger in front of her lips. Shh. She taps her nonexistent wristwatch. Be patient.

Stephanie nods, wishing she knew what Emily possibly knew that she didn’t, to feel that all they need to do is be patient. She watches Emily retreat to her throne and returns to her own little piece of hell, searching for a place on the floor that is both away from the women who look like they’re considering strangling her and somewhat clean to wait until they decide to let her out to call her lawyer.

It’s a long week.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Stephanie finally gets in touch with her attorney, she learns that he is already at JFK Airport waiting to board his flight to Athens.

Emily’s attorney had contacted him already, so she was spared explaining the situation. She’s encouraged to be patient, that he will do everything he could to get her released on bond, and that she and Emily are scheduled to be transferred to the prison on the mainland, but getting a bond hearing will take time. That their case is complicated. That he’ll visit her in prison as soon as he can get through the excess bureaucracy that comes with her particular case compounded by the disorganization and corruption within the prison system there.

She already knows what the argument against releasing Emily and her on bond will be. They’ve changed their identities and fled internationally once; they have the know-how to do it again. She’s not hopeful.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thiva Prison is a serious adjustment from the local jail in Santorini. The sights, sounds, and worst of all, smells overwhelm Stephanie’s senses. She has five cellmates, all of whom make clear they do not appreciate her presence and appreciate less her affinity for keeping her bunk tidy. For some reason, they find it irritating despite their bunks being relatively neat. They have no uniforms, and she sorts through the assortment of random clothing she’s been given; she assumes it’s been donated or salvaged. Most of it is too big.

She hasn’t seen her wife since their lengthy transport from their island home, separated at intake when they arrived at the prison. She assumes Emily’s been assigned to another section of the facility and spends her time observing the other inmates when they’re allowed out of their cells, but she never wanders farther than she’s required to go. She’s also watched a lot of prison reality shows and knows to take note of their cliques, their habits, who’s the alpha, and who the troublemakers are. She’s no fool; she’s an easy target in a place like this. Petite, pretty. Not a hardened criminal as many of the other women appear to be.

If only they knew she was there under suspicion of killing a woman by strangling her with a rope cinched around her neck in a meticulously premeditated murder before becoming an international fugitive.

She’s stir-crazy after a month and follows the line of her fellow inmates out of the prison and outside to the rec yard. She hasn’t had fresh air or sunlight since she set foot on the mainland and as soon as they’re in the yard, she heads for a makeshift walking track. There is no actual walking track; it’s just a dirt path worn into the field of weeds that circles much of the yard. There’s a fence at least 15 feet high surrounding the yard topped with razor wire, and beyond that, an even taller wall. There are watchtowers in every corner and a large one in the very center of the space. She can see the prison guards pacing them, sizable weapons in hand.

She works hard to keep her head down and not make eye contact with anyone. She has no friends here, no one to protect her, no one to help her, and she doesn’t yet know how an obvious American, even if she’s fluent in Greek, is going to escape becoming a target. The only thing that saves her from panicking is knowing that her boys are safe, even if Sean is likely doing everything he can to undo her adoption of Nicky and the guardianship she and Emily assigned to their neighbor Helen as a part of their emergency contingency plan. She wishes she could at least talk to him, to try to explain some of what was happening. He had adjusted so well to their new life and he and his brother had become close after a few rocky months of adolescent angst. 

And Miles, her darling Smooch... If Sean, or Detective Summerville, decide to rip apart everything she and Emily built in their new lives, if they manage to have the guardianship overturned…tears prick her eyes at the thought of Miles becoming a ward of the state.

“Yo!”

She manages to turn just in time for a basketball to miss her head and smack her shoulder. It falls to her feet and rolls a few meters to settle in a clump of weeds.

“Hey, throw it back before I come over there and beat the shit out of you.”

Stephanie’s heart is racing as she picks up the ball, first out of fear that she’s managed to disturb a group’s game, and then because it’s Emily’s smooth voice threatening her in Greek from across the yard.

She doesn’t react as she retrieves the ball and tosses it back to the basketball court, which is little more than a slab of cracked concrete and a single hoop. She meets Emily’s eyes and struggles to keep it together. She wants to run to her, to kiss her, or to cry, or both or all, but Emily’s cool stance, arms crossed, is enough of a message. They don’t know each other here.

“What block you in?”

“Uh, C-block.”

“If you come near our court again, I’ll find you there.” She mimics slicing her own throat, and while it’s barely noticeable, Stephanie catches it. She winks.

Stephanie puts her head down and hurries away, publicly threatened by a prison yard bully, privately elated that they finally found each other.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

[hoult-nicholas]

"Worth all this" - Bucky Barnes x f! Reader (Angel Salvadore) / requested by anonymous

This takes place after Cap: Winter Soldier and before Civil War, I know her character doesn't live but she's still alive in this.

Word count: 2.1k

You arrived at the SHIELD base in the midst of chaos, as you saw countless agents running in different paths, in addition to the high security that inspected the place. Of course Bucky Barnes would be responsible for installing his own Armageddon on HYDRA's biggest rival company. When you got the call from Steve Rogers, you didn't expect to hear about the Winter Soldier again, or at least, not in that way.

Captain America was waiting near the entrance next to Sam Wilson, who kept an unfriendly expression, considering that what he had in mind was not exactly trying to save Barnes, but killing him to avoid another massacre.

When you got closer, Rogers handed you a comm to keep in touch, and Wilson introduced himself as you have never met them before. Until then, you only knew about the Avengers from the TV and from all the conversations you heard. You greeted them both as the base crumbled around the three of you.

“So, what's the plan?”, you asked, your wings were ready for the battle that would begin in search of Bucky, who was out there nowhere to be found. Steve sighed, a shadow of regret flitting through his eyes as he spoke about the man who used to be his best friend during the 2940s, and before the super serum.

"Bucky wants to destroy SHIELD, he's in contact with HYDRA", he replied with disgust. You already knew about the feud between the two, you knew that during the last decades, the soldier has been in charge of working in the organization's operations. Especially because, not much more than three years ago, you faced him during an assassination attempt before definitively joining Magneto.

“Do you have a plan?” When you questioned the two men, they were getting themselves ready. Wilson explained he planned to keep the agents busy and away from Barnes, who was on one of SHIELD's ten floors.

“To capture him and maybe keep him in cryo. The only way to stop him, for now, is to freeze him," Rogers sounded bitter. It wasn't exactly what he wanted to do with his former friend, but his brainwashing made it impossible for anyone to get that close. And you knew that.

As you walked through the aisles, you started focusing on a plan that wouldn't involve killing him or even getting yourself killed, which was most likely to happen. You spent almost over fifteen minutes looking for Barnes, when Wilson warned you and Steve that the soldier was in one of the rooms, getting some drive and documents for HYDRA.

Watching all around yourself as you had the impression of seeing his shadow through a door and lowered your pace, you decide to slowly walk as you reached a door on the other side of the aisle. You got a pocket knife out of your combat boot and traced his metal arm.

If you could hit one of the engines, it would slow him down a little. Your tattoo from your back turned into wings, giving you more time to figure out how you could stab his arm in silence. The Winter Soldier, on the other hand, would notice any noise from a certain distance, so that would make him become way more alert than the usual, but you didn't know until you aimed the knife and shot it against him.

The robotic arm calmly reached the object and, in a sharply sudden movement, he threw the knife back. You looked to your left side, the sharp device taped to the wall still quivering. Barnes kept you a machiavellian glare, and ran when he saw the elevator open.

"Shit", you thought, wings nimble in an attempt not to let him get away. Inside the cubicle, you grabbed him around the neck with your legs and pinned him hard against the wall, throwing punches at his face and, unsuccessfully, at his shoulders. He was rock hard, and his left arm kept an almost crushing pressure on your leg. He didn't want to kill you, you could tell, at least from the way he held you.

Until that moment, that was what you tried to rely on, but he threw you against the elevator's wall and pressed his metallic hand against your neck. Bucky still had the same murderous look, the blue eyes sporting a paler, less vivid color. As you panted trying to get all the air you could into your lungs, you tried to hold it together on him, both hands wrapped on his collar to keep it from being choked. You had, you know, a greater weapon than any other object. Acid saliva would be a great ally, but you didn't want to use it to solve the problem.

"Bucky, it's me. Angel, remember?", you asked in a sincere tone of voice, keeping your eyes on him. For a second, his eyes flickered, his pupils dilated and on the back of his mind he could tell he saw you before. The soldier didn't show any emotion when you explained who you were.

"I don't know who you are", he replied in a thin voice, his left arm removing the space in your glottis, making you feel suffocated.

"Oh, but you'll remember", you used the moment to your advantage and dispersed him hitting your knee into his stomach, pressing the button for the elevator door to open. Barnes hesitated for a few seconds, but he pulled himself together as soon as he saw you, while you were running to take him to where Sam would be waiting for him.

"Angel, do not engage," Steve snapped into his earpiece, but you were too busy getting out to avoid being forced to death by the Winter Soldier.

"Too late, Captain. Do any of you know the code with the letters? I'll speak in different words with a letter between them. He's got a ultrasonic ear", you asked. The way you had of communicating with the two of them without Bucky knowing what it was about was strange, but it might work.

"What?" Cap didn't seem to understand, but Wilson got the message.

“Oh, she's going somewhere,” he said. "What's the plan?".

"I'm trying to get you to the helicenter," you explained, as you took a deep breath. "He's very difficult to engage, but I'll try to do it my way".

"If it's necessary, use that acidic saliva on his face at least once", the Falcon said it in a playful way and you laughed. Rogers was worried about his friend's attitude, but he found out it was only a joke to try to break the tension.

"Okay, I'll use myself as bait. Try to track me down."

Sam managed to use one of his mini drones to reach you, since you were five floors above them and the helicenter was two floors away from you.

You used your wings to keep yourself in the air as you were throwing several kicks and punches, while he tried to get rid of the attacks. Barnes was never able to control the brainwashing, and as much as he was trapped inside himself with no way to get rid of the Winter Soldier, he had no other option. What he could do, though, was hold himself out and control his mind to not kill you.

While shooting kicks and punches at him, you brought him to the nearest floor, guiding Steve and Sam, who have already followed the way to find you. Bucky used all his strength and the suspension down with the metal arm, knocking you to the ground.

"For God's sake, Bucky, it's me! It's me, Salvadore," you mentioned when you noticed him keeping the pressure around your neck tighter. The man's grimace frightened you, and you thought about giving up and abandoning him to run away. But if he ran away, countless people could die and you would be the one to blame. He stood millimeters away from your face, one hand still around your neck, while the other one he used to search in his holster for his own weapon.

"I. Don't. Know. Who. You. Are", he repeated the words, as he slammed your body against the ground.

"So I'll help you", you were thinking for a few seconds, but used his distraction to your advantage, while you tangled your legs around his robust body, forcefully taking the gun from his hand. Already loaded, you fired the gun beside Barnes' ear, who recoiled just enough for you to collide with the man's head, shoving the gun on him. You got rid of his weight as he fell beside you unconscious, and you saw Rogers and Sam running towards you.

"We heard a gunshot, is everything ok?", Cap asked as soon as he crouched down, in a protective tone, checking on you. Sam studied the unconscious Barnes and celebrated.

"It was either that, or my acidic saliva," you playfully explained.

Bucky woke up feeling a huge weight on his head, his ear was ringing, and one of his arms was trapped in a vibranium cuff. He looked around, the room quite distinctive compared to a standard hospital room. SHIELD had their eyes on him, but at that moment, the three of you were alone with him with the help of Sharon Carter. The soldier let out a grunt in response to the throbbing pain in his head. He looked to the left side and saw you sitting in an uncomfortable chair, while looking at the full moon through the window.

He sighed, he was tired and he knew he remembered her from the first moment she appeared. On the other side of the room, Steve and Sam approached him, both with their arms crossed.

"Bucky?", the blonde asked, he nodded with his head down. Steve stared at Sam, both looking at each other, and Salvadore got to her feet, getting closer to the bed.

"You wore newspapers in your shoes," he replied, amused but still bitter. Rogers knew that no one would know as much about him as his former friend.

"Good to see you again, Bucky", you looked at him and received a pleading look. Your faces spoke to each other. "Do you remember me now?"

"I remember everyone," the tone that came out of his mouth couldn't almost be heard. His face was still staring at the floor. "All the ones I killed and the ones I almost killed."

He glanced at Steve and Sam, the last time they saw each other was at the assassination attempt with the Hellicarriers in Washington. At the time, Barnes brought Cap back from the water, where they both nearly drowned.

Both Steve and Wilson noticed you would like to talk to the soldier in front of you and left the two of you alone in the room. You dragged a chair next to him and sat down.

"Next time you don't cooperate, I'll do as Sam said", your hand reached the shoulder of his bionic arm, where you deposited a suggestive slap, he laughed softly.

Barnes looked up and stared at you, blue eyes sparkling, flickering. You noticed how different he is when he's brainwashed. His pupils, hiding the ocean behind all of that darkness he had. When he's James Bucky Barnes, you're able to see through them, as clear as water.

"Thanks for saving me. I don't know if I'm worth all this," he said. You understand that living inside a head like his leads to endless questions about life, getting second chances, receiving your redemption.

You bit your inner lower lip and placed your hand on the man's chin, lifting his neck in a demonstration that he cannot lower his head and bow down for HYDRA to control him.

"That's not you, Bucky. You're here and now we're going to help you get out of this whole thing."

"All they have to do is say the damn words, I have no control over that", the taste in his mouth was bitter, and so was the tone in his voice.

"You'll be fine," you assured. With his free hand, he took yours. "I'll let you rest".

On an impulse, as you made your way to place a kiss on his forehead, he pulled your neck up and laced your lips with his in a lingering, wet kiss.

The air in the room seemed to have dissipated and it seemed increasingly difficult to breathe during those few seconds. With his forehead against yours and his hand tangled in your hair, Barnes let out between his lips on yours: "I can't thank you enough."

You knew you did the right thing when you decided to agree to help Steve and Sam capture Barnes. You knew that there was an exchange of energy before that had been there for a long time, bound to happen at any moment.

The first time around, things didn't work out the way they should have, but you knew the man behind the Winter Soldier, you knew that behind that stout body, that metallic arm with the imprint of his long past, he was worth all that.

[moonlitfirefly]

July 14, 1862 today is the birthday of the famous Austrian artist Gustav Klimt🎉🎨 Klimt's love for cats is legendary. 😻 One of the most beautiful portraits of Klimt shows the painter with a cat in his arms. A large number of cats were left to roam freely around the rooms of both his studios. Klimt was well aware that the cats caused chaos with his many sketches, and sometimes damaged them. This did not bother him in the slightest. 🐾 🖼

Arthur Roessler, an influential art writer and critic, gives a striking account of the cats' feral activity in Klimt's studio. He also talks about Klimt's relaxed response to this behavior: "Once, as I sat with Klimt and rummaged around in a heap of papers, surrounded by eight or ten meowing, purring cats, play fighting with each other, so much so that the rustling study sheets just went flying, I asked him, puzzled, why he tolerated such antics spoiling hundreds of the most beautiful drawings. With a smile, Klimt replied: 'No, my friend, even if they crumple and tear one or the other pieces of paper, it doesn't matter; they only pee on the others, and, you know, it makes the best fixing agent!'"😹

Photo by Moriz Nähr, c. 1910, recently colorized by painters-in-color on Tumblr

[january31st]

...Who have you become? (Pt2)

Cruella (2021) x reader

A/N: Angst, it’s all angst, and I would love to leave this on a bitter terrible ending because i’m an agent of chaos, but i won’t be doing that to you yet <3 as for the request…. I may or may not have gone completely off the tracks, the story just brought me here.

i haven't really had the patience to proofread this (it would take even longer to post, so there's that) forgive me for repeating some stuff or just inconsistencies.

In my head the inside of Hell Hall has mixed together with the rooms from The Favourite, it’s giving royaltycore yall.

On a more personal note, I did test positive for Covid, that is also why I was able to upload at all. My symptoms aren’t bad at all, I’ve had worse colds, thank goodness, guess I just have a couple of days to clear my mind a bit, since I can’t really study with this sick brain.

Warnings: Homophobia! Sexism. Alcohol and drug abuse.

|| Masterlist || In coming and going (Part 1) || Wattpad Link || AO3 Link ||

~5800 words

Someone else. That was who you’d become. Both of you. Though you didn’t really know her part of things until the day you met, yet again. And it was another one of those days, impossible to forget. But this wasn’t like the first reencounter, it had a bitter taste to it.

You knew who she was, there was no mistaking it, you knew her hair colour from childhood and no one else would dare to make a brand quite the way she did. You had read a couple magazines while you were away, sitting in your apartment in Paris, your cup of tea cold and forgotten as your mascara ran down your face. She made it, she had her brand and you knew this was only the beginning.

Cruella. You wondered why she went for that name her mum used to say to her, the one part of her she had to avoid. It was just impossible to imagine that she could have changed who she was, though it didn’t surprise you to imagine that life had its ways of damaging even the kindest of people. That’s why it was so shocking to come face to face with her, to have her treat you this way at first.

And it was fair that she didn’t recognize you, but it didn’t hurt any less. Almost a decade had passed. Your hair was now dyed too, the stark opposite of its natural colour. Your clothes were that of a grown up for the times, a high-society lady, just like the ones you’d talk shit about. You were forced to change who you were completely, even the way you walked and the way you talked, all of your liveliness was gone, replaced by a cold demeanour, a lack of response to show you didn’t care. That was who you had to become to survive.

Christian Dior. A name that made people think about fashion, about perfumes, about high society and expensive things. To you that name had meant so much more. He was not only your boss, but he saved you.

You took it very seriously when you had to leave, you couldn’t bear to put them in danger, they were the people you would always love the most. So you ran away, pretty far away for a kid. You found yourself crossing the way to Europe, not even knowing when you were in what country, just roaming around clueless, lost and afraid. The perfect recipe for disaster.

In Germany there was a bar that made you think of your Estella, the black and white decorations, the red details and the general punk aesthetic. In your state, that was the only place where you felt remotely safe.

Not that a bar is a particularly safe place at all, let alone for a teenager. But you begged to work there, barely even knowing how to speak the language, and they took pity on you.

At first it was just that, a job, a place to stay. But eventually all the alcohol around you made you cave in, and since you didn’t know any better, and no one cared to help you, it became your companion. That was when things started getting blurry. Drunk nights, drunk days, and eventually they fired you. You couldn’t stand being sober. It made you think about her, about the way you left, about the way she felt.

And with it being the transition between 60s and 70s, the drugs on the streets were all but normal, the easiest thing to find and use, no one would bat an eye, and no one cared that you were always angry and that all you felt was guilt. You stayed on the move, travelling from high to high, trying everything and anything, just as long as she was out of your mind. The Netherlands, Luxemburg, Belgium, Switzerland, you’d been as far as Hungary.

An overdose was never a worry for you. You didn’t really care anymore. And with the tolerance you’d built you started believing that it was just something that would never happen to you.

Until you found yourself in northern France, in some exclusive bar that you somehow got yourself into, having a fashion argument with some pompous asshole about how the A line conveyed an objective message, as did any fashion choice. You had gotten so mad that you had to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and take an excessive dose of something that you couldn’t even recall the name of. That, along with the fact that you were already high off your mind before, resulted in that big overdose you had to know was coming. To your luck, there was someone in that bar that had kept his eye on you, his attention caught by your loud arguing. That was your soon to be boss.

He went into the men’s washroom just as you were coming out, his attention landing on you again as you hit the floor, unconscious already.

And from then on he took care of you, he was moved by the air of tragedy that clung around you, he became determined to “fix” you. A year or so had passed and you were completely clean, working for him. At first it was hard, you didn’t agree with any of what he thought, his mindset felt all backwards, but soon you learned to pretend to agree with him, you learned to keep your mouth shut, because your opinions only mattered when it came to fabrics and colours.

You owed him your life, it was all you could do to shut the fuck up and be grateful, he kept telling you. He had put up with your outbursts, making you believe they were childish, telling you that when you grew up you’d learn to behave. And you sure did. Not because it was true, but because that was how he manipulated you to act. To be the face of what he believed in, to be the example of his brand, a perfectly beautiful and composed lady, the image of true femininity according to him. You had to comply, because that was the only way you’d survive, that was what you believed.

And you did put up with it, until he struck you on your last nerve. From the second you saw her in that magazine you wanted to fly back and congratulate her, run away from him and stay close to her, tell her everything you had to say, and then, only then would everything be alright. But when he made that supid comment, you just waited until the end of the day to pack your things and buy the tickets.

“Lesbians are the very thing corrupting our society. If it weren’t for those brutes then our women would remember that they belong at home, serving their husbands gracefully. But now that the lesbians are out there, they keep convincing girls that being masculine and working men’s jobs is an appropriate goal.” Was what he said, the words flowing from him with that coolness of someone who just thinks they’re right all the time. This along with the comments on Cruella’s brand, it infuriated you. You knew he was scared of her, you knew she would continue to overshadow him, because that was who she was, that was your girl. Along with the magazines saying that was her plan, to run Dior out of business. And in knowing him, you also knew he was planning something to sabotage her instead, make a scandal. You’d overheard him more than once, but though he had no idea that you knew her, he knew her style was your favourite, he knew that was who you were when he “saved” you, so he didn’t trust you to know his plans.

And so at last you left, you flew back to her. Drunk on the idea that not even time could change what you had.

It was so dumb of you, proving yet again how naive you could be, that you didn’t expect her to welcome you with anything but open arms. So when you asked to see her, and when she treated you with nothing but disdain, your soul was ripped to pieces yet again.

“You must be mistaken, this is no longer the Baroness's kingdom. This is no place for you, precious. If you think you’re getting a job with me you should return to wherever you’re from.”

It was too late to prepare, but you should have expected it. You looked different, you dressed in the staple Dior style, hell, even your accent had changed, sounded like you weren’t from one country in specific, just a vague foreignness. It took you a little too long to react to her, you froze for a second too long, looking at the sketches she had up on a wall. Her perfume was making you dizzy, it was still her, but now instead of the fruit notes, it was just intoxicatingly sweet. You could smell her before you got in the room and long after you left.

“Darling.” she said, a fake niceness wrapping around her words, and you turned to her again, to those eyes you had missed more than you could have imagined to be possible.

“Please leave, I’m sure you remember the wa-”

“It’s me.” You meant to exclaim, but instead of confident, the statement came out sounding something like disappointment. Because yes, it was you, but right then it wasn’t her you.

She looked at you with a face you’d never seen on her, she looked confused but also annoyed at you, silently asking for you to be quick with your explanation.

“I’m… “ Your chest tightened, remembering your actual name, you had to change it, to leave the past behind, it was coming to you all at once. But yet again, she misread your uneasiness.

“Well Darling if you can’t even remember your name what do you suppose I must do with you?” she said, with that fake tone again, and that was enough to make the feelings spill out of you.

“Estella! What the fuck, it’s me, Y/N! I literally just got out of a goddamn plane and ran here to talk to you and you treat me like this?” you almost screamed, and her acting all went away, her expression changing completely, but you were already too angry to shut up. “I’ve been working for fucking Dior, he’s been making me nuts for years, and- and now that you have a brand! And you’re- well, of course you’re doing great- he’s plotting against you, I just know it. I had to come and warn you.” The fight came all out of you along with the last sentence, your face was stained with tears and you felt so, so tired. You leaned against a table and covered your face with your hands.

For a while that was all there was, your faint sniffles echoing around the tall room. She didn’t seem to move or say anything.

“You’re clearly very tired from your flight.” she said at last, almost mechanically “I’ll get someone to take you home. We’ll catch up later, I have loads of work”

Home? Did she say? What was home? You’d wanted nothing but to step on that warehouse again, feel that familiar smell and trace your fingers along the sketches she had up on the walls. But you knew better, you’d been paying close attention to any magazine that mentioned her name, and you knew that the building, your home, had burned to the ground.

Home. You clung to that word like it was the last bit of oxygen left in the universe. Where could that be? Did it even matter? Not really, you just knew home would be wherever she was, whether it was sweet and tender or just bitter and cold.

You didn’t even bother to check into a hotel, because all you cared about was seeing her. There was no second plan, nothing else you could do in case she had shut you off, but luckily she didn’t, not entirely at least.

After a while of her staring at her corkboard, there was a knock on the door and Cruella, with her back toward you and the source of the noise, answered “That’s your ride, Darling”

You grabbed the small travel handbag you’d brought, and impulsively lingered your gaze on her, waiting for her to turn around, tell you goodbye, but there was nothing. She was probably too caught up in your sudden appearance, but this harshness was new to you. So there you stood, rooted to the ground, petrified until a familiar voice broke your trance.

“Oi lady, I don’t got all day” he said when Wink started barking happily at your feet.

“Horace!” you exclaimed, and the shock of seeing him was too much to contain, your smile grew along with his hesitation.

But before he could guess that it was you, or you introduced yourself, Cruella, still supposedly focused on her work, said “Well our precious Y/N must be so tired from her flight, we should get her home right away.”

“Blimey!” he said when he understood what she said “Ah dear! I would have never thought it was you” he croaked as he met your hug halfway.

“I know, can you believe this? It’s because I lost the angle. But you haven’t changed a thing, just as charming as always” you answered before the both of you said your “see ya” to Cruella and left.

“I can’t wait to see the face on old Jasper! He’ll never see it coming” he said, grabbing your suitcase for you.

☽◯☾

You hadn’t even been paying attention to the road, with all the questions the both of you had, but soon enough you realised that the wheels were on gravel now, and you looked up to see the gateway and it’s big letters.

It all hit you at once, the things you’d read about the baroness, and the night of the charity ball. It all seemed confusing to you in the papers, a girl was pushed off a cliff, and in some papers her name was listed as Estella, the baroness's daughter. You thought maybe they’d confused Cruella’s real name, since she did her big entrance and claimed to have been trusted with the inheritance, because you didn’t know that Estella was a name she was hiding from people.

But as quick as your thoughts came in, they were washed away when you saw Jasper at the door, waiting for Horace.

“Okay don’t tell him a thing, let’s see if he notices” he told you before the car stopped. He went to the back to grab your things as you walked toward Jasper. You didn’t miss the way he studied you, probably intrigued that Cruella would have even agreed to talk to someone who dressed the way you did now.

“We don’t usually have guests stay over here, the boss must really-” you tripped on your feet and grabbed his already extended hand, cutting him off.

“Oh I’m sorry, it has been a lot of travelling.” you said, hiding your smirk as best as you could.

“No worries, of course, you must be tired Mrs…?”

“Ah Jasper, grab these while I put the car away” Horace interrupted as he shoved your bags into his hands, giving you the perfect opportunity to avoid telling him your name yet.

“Oh yes, so tired, I would just ask you to show me the corners of the house, just in case.” you said with an imposing manner.

“Well, of course.”

And following your request, he made a quick tour of the place, the main rooms that you could need to get into, all of them with high ceilings and windows that covered the walls, filling them with the gleam of golden-hour, which bounced off the metal decorations and rich woods.

At last he opened a door and gave you the key “This will be your room” he said, eyeing you curiously.

You looked around: the room was just perfect for you. On one side there was an enormous four poster bed and two open doors: one to a walk-in closet, and another to a spacious bathroom. On the other was a sort of “working space”, with a large table surrounded by walls that were covered in books, a small library just for you. In the middle was a living space, with a comfortable looking set of armchairs and sofa around a glass coffee table, each of them topped with cushions and a blanket in each. On the table was a tea tray ready to be consumed. Jasper left your things on the sofa.

As you took the room in awe he seemed just as impressed as you “Yeah, this room hasn't had anyone in it since Cruella’s gotten the place and changed things her way. I mean, I didn’t even think she would ever let anyone stay here, it’s very... “

“Personal” you said, still looking at the room.

“...Yeah. And her room is next door, there’s a passageway in between the books, I should just tell you.”

Before you knew what to answer, Horace came up behind the both of you. “Ah, M’lady, hope this old shoebox of a place suits ya needs!”

“It sure does my fair Gentleman” You answered, barely containing your laughter.

Jasper furrowed his brows further, the engines clearly turning hard in his head as he stared in between you. After a moment he started to turn around and said “I’ll leave you to rest, dinner should be around eight.” But before he could leave you asked him “Haven’t you forgotten anything?”

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around very slowly. When he saw that you were holding his wrist watch in your hand, and had a mischievous smile on your face, a light seemed to turn on in his head.

“Is… is it really you?” he asked, and your only answer was a tight hug.

“I hadn’t done that in a long, long while, glad it still works, even on the person who taught me how to do it.” you said, and when both of you let go, he said “I must admit, it was very smooth, I didn’t notice it was gone at all.”

He put his hands on your shoulders, as if studying you, while a thousand questions stumbled from him. As summarised as you could, you told him why and how you got away, letting the details of the past years to be told over dinner, the three of you talking well into the night and well after the food was gone.

You wanted to wait for her to come back so all of you could talk, but they told you that she didn’t usually dine at home, was always too busy at work, putting fashion ahead of her basic needs, just like she always had.

However late or early it was, you were at last in your room, sitting on an armchair you’d pulled next to the window, letting yourself be bathed in moonlight while reading a random book, hoping it would make you fall asleep. You’d forgotten to bring pyjamas, so Jasper lended you one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts, and at last, you did indeed feel at home, the lace and silk nightgowns forgotten in Paris, and your old self showing it’s colours for the first time in too long.

After a while the lines started blurring together, as you pulled the blanket taught around you, when there was a low squeak. The big, heavy door to the room had opened just a fraction, letting a white bit of curls peek in, and you squinted at them.

“Oh, you’re still up.” she half whispered.

“I suppose, not technically up, up” you answered, your voice scratchy from disuse. You tossed the blanket aside and stretched a bit.

When you opened your eyes you noticed that she was staring. “What?”

“Maybe you haven’t changed that much after all.” to which you answered with a giggle.

She stepped closer and paused again, looking at you as if trying to write down the differences, a warm silence settled around you.

Then in a swift motion, her hands grabbed your neck and her lips encapsulated yours, and all you could do was kiss her back. She let go to look at you, evaluate your expression, but you grabbed her lapels and pulled her back in, making her stumble and grab for the armchair, sitting on one of the arms, still above you.

“Oh I’ve missed yo-” you tried to say, but she just told you to shut up and went back to what she was doing, effectively silencing you.

Without breaking apart, you took off her jacket and started undoing her shirt when she stopped you.

“Let’s get somewhere comfier” she rasped, guiding you with your hands laced together. When you got to the edge of the bed, she pushed you into it, not skipping a beat before getting on top of you.

☽◯☾

A week and a half passed like this, Cruella staying at work for most of the day, your time consisting of wandering around Hell Hall or the occasional visit to House of De Vil, where you looked at people’s work or just sat in silence in Cruella’s office. She didn’t have much time to talk to you, always busy it seemed, but you had a feeling that that wasn’t all of it. The only thing she would say was something along the lines of how great destiny was to have put you in her path again, and whenever you tried to tell her about these years, about why you ran away and why you stayed away, she would cut you off and take the conversation elsewhere, or end it completely.

But there was always something off in her tone, and at night she would hold you so tight you thought you’d melt into her, and she would touch you with such fierceness, writing her own name all over you, just to make it clear how much she wanted you. No one could as much as look at you wrong, she would get jealous, possessive, like you were hers and hers only.

But eventually this got tiring for you, because you never had secrets between you, and now there was a very clear concrete wall, low enough that you could touch her, but not so you could really see much of her.

Now it was the two of you having dinner alone, the boys had eaten already. She looked calm enough, and her plate was nearly empty, so you tried to talk to her.

“Hey” you said, touching your hand to hers, to which she only answered with a look.

“We haven’t really talked much”

“What do you mean? We talk loads, what else would we talk about?” she said, playing dumb so you might drop it.

“Well, the first thing I talked about with the boys was why I left, and you don’t seem very interested in that”

“Why should I be? You’re here now, why dwell on the past?” she said while swirling her blood red wine in her cup.

“Because, you seem mad. I’ve spent all these years thinking how hurt and betrayed the three of you must have felt, how mad you must have been.”

“Oh, well I…” and she took a sip of her wine, looking into the bottom of the cup as if making sure that the notes she tasted were right.

“If you’ll just listen to me then I know you’ll understand that I had to do it”

“Had to? Oh Darling I know you didn’t have to, and I don’t care to know your excuses for running away from me.”

“I didn’t run away from y-” you said while she got up from the table.

“That is enough Y/N. I’m off to sleep now.”

“It’s barely 9 PM!”

“Work awaits.”

“Yeah right, and it didn’t await you for these past days?” you said, crossing your arms.

“Don’t act like this Y/N, it doesn’t suit you.”

You also got up and followed after her, into a corridor that led to the stairs and into your rooms.

“Look I know I hurt you guys and I don’t want you to have the wrong idea of things, can we just talk for a second?”

“About how you ran away from me and came back now that it was convenient for you?” she said, opening the door to her room. You took a step back. Noticing how she’d affected you, she took advantage of it and went on, still walking deeper into her room so that you had to follow her in to still hear her.

“Tell me, does your dear Christian not spoil you enough that you had to run to me? Because you just know that I'm better than him.” with the last sentence she turned to you, her long red nail pointing ahead of her. By now a strong itch was building in your throat, you blinked again and again to try to clear your vision.

“So you came back to leech off me.”

“Estell- “

“It’s not! Estella! You know it!” She screamed, making the tears pour at last.

“You know none of that is true- I haven’t asked a single thing from you.” you said, your voice small.

“Then maybe you’re spying for him! I think I just understood your game, you’re a double agent! You come here and strike right into my heart because you know I love you, you know you’ll be able to manipulate me, and then what, you ruin my brand and run away? Go back home as if nothing ever happened between us? You’re mine Y/N, it doesn't matter what you tell yourself, you can’t run from me again, you can’t betray me!”

“You’re not making any sense.” you said, and she only raised her eyebrows at you.

“I can’t figure out if you want me to leave or if you don’t? But I think that might be exactly what I’ll do. Cruella” you said with a mocking tone ”I’m flying home, I’m done with this.”

“Home?” She laughed, throwing her head back “Where is that? Is it in Paris, is that what you’ve told yourself? That home is the place farthest from me that you could find?”

You huffed heavily “I didn’t want any of this! Do you think I ever, for a second even thought about leaving? You think I wanted to leave? That life was perfect, and I’ve never felt anything that even came close to feeling safe after that, I fucking had to run. But right now I wouldn’t be putting you in danger anymore so I came to you to warn you, and to help you, because lord knows I never wanted to leave.” She only listened to you with her arms crossed, so you went on.

“I wanted nothing more than for things to be the way they were, but that just won’t happen, will it? I might have also changed everything about the way I look, but I haven’t changed who I really am, and I didn’t become the sour angry bitch that you did.” you spat, but she still didn’t snap back.

“I understand that you don’t want to trust me, I get it, but if you don’t even want me to explain things then there’s nothing I can do about us. I’m leaving.” you said, hoping she’d stop you, but you went to your room, grabbed your things and left, in true thief fashion, you knew where the car keys were, and you took one of them. And she didn’t stop you. The whole drive to London was foggy. Either from the cold night outside, or just the tears swimming in your eyes. Why hadn’t she stopped you?

Eventually you got to London, parked the car at the House of De Vil, leaving the keys inside. And if someone stole the damn thing, good for them.

You called a cab, got in, and he dropped you off at the airport. And now here you were, looking up at the next flights, biting your lip as your mind raced nonstop. Where were you even going? Not to Paris, that’s for sure, Dior must have a price on your head. Why the fuck didn’t she stop you!?

And something turned in your stomach as you imagined her face when you walked out of that room. How her lip must have trembled and how hard she must have fought the tears. How she fell to the floor, helpless because you’d left her again, paralysed. And this new façade of hers, you knew how hard she was trying not to break it. But you couldn’t just stand here and let her use you only when she wanted to, her coldness was too much to bear, even though you loved her and you knew she did too. You’d hurt yourself enough for this lifetime.

Knowing her past, of course it pained you to have to leave, just like everyone else did in her life, and unfortunately that included you, all those years ago, twice. And now you sat here contemplating your options, and leaving again was the most likely outcome.

The sun was coming up already, and you’d sloped into a chair, thinking about what to do next, when you heard the clink of a cane coming up to you.

“You’re not leaving me, not again darling.” she said when you looked at her. She was trying to intimidate you, to get you to do what she wanted, but you knew her too well. You were more than happy that she came to stop you, but you couldn’t just let her have her way without fixing things.

“You won’t get me to stay by being a bitch to me. I got the tickets already” you bluffed.

“So you were just going to leave me again? What did I do all those years ago?” she said, her shoulders slumping.

“It was never about you! If you could just listen to what I have to say!”

“Can you please come home with me?”

“I can’t do this if you won’t listen to me. Because you just don’t seem to care about me anymore”

She bit her lip, looking away from you, thinking about what to do.

“I… Of course I care about you” she said, closing her eyes. “You have no idea.”

“But you’ve just been away for so long, and so much has happened, Darling, I’m having a hard time dealing with this. But please don’t leave me again.”

“Then just tell me… all of what’s happened. I saw the news, but I’m sure there’s more to it”

“Let’s go home please” she whispered.

You agreed and followed her out of the airport. Once back at Hell Hall, she took you to a covered patio, with chairs and a table overlooking the cliff. There she told you how things unfolded that year, from working at Liberty to the charity ball when she fell down that very cliff. She told you about her birth certificate and how Katherine wasn’t her real mother. Jasper and Horace had told you parts of it, just not that one last bit, which shocked you beyond belief.

“And that has been me.” she said at last.

“That was a lot. And there would be no one in this world more capable of dealing with it.” you answered, to which she turned her face away to hide the colour in her cheeks.

“Well, you’ve been dying to tell me your part of things. Now’s your time.” she said.

You took a deep breath as you relived that day yet again. Finding yourself feeling the same way you had, looking at the sculptured bushes of her garden but seeing the golden displays of watches instead.

You were supposed to transfer the bag with the goods into the one you held in your other hand, a big one with a closure and that was made of a thick metal on the inside. Whatever was inside it wouldn't trigger any security system.

Except you forgot to do that. Of course. You just walked out, looking very shaken and not at all like someone who didn't just commit a crime. The costumes the four of you had were, as always, exceptional, and made you look far older than you were, but it was also the attitude that was selling your act. Right now you did look your age, given that the one thing on your mind was the way her skin had felt on yours, but not like all the times it did before, because it didn’t make you feel the same.

The alarms went off and instead of keeping a cool, nonchalant air, you decided to run off.

Well, decided isn't really the right word. The case was more of a fight or flight response, where you would choose the latter.

But that also didn’t help you much. You barely turned the street before two policemen caught you and spilled the contents of the bag onto the floor.

They dragged you into the station for an hour and a half of scolding, but, to your surprise they let you go. Not before threatening you of course, of calling your parents, and making a particular remark that chilled you to your bones. If they caught you again with some pesky group, they wouldn’t be so merciful.

They never checked your background, because if they had, you would spend the next months in an institution for troubled children, for running away from the orphanage system. You walked out as shaken as you would ever be in your life, and some part of your brain made the decision that you couldn’t go back to Estella and the boys. You convinced yourself that you did it because you couldn’t risk them getting caught because of you. You sported a target on your back, there was no way you could just walk like that into that warehouse. Bring a ticking bomb right into their lives.

So you ran off. Not to run from your feelings of course. For the following months you couldn’t think about anything else. How confused, how betrayed they must have felt, to not have you come back. Maybe they even thought you just grabbed the riches and left.

“How long did you sit at the meeting spot? When did you realise that I wouldn’t come back? And the next year was hell, because I couldn’t shake the guilt away. I wish I could have at least warned you.”

“I always knew I’d get you back” she answered with a smirk.

Notes!! I do not claim to know anything about Dior's behaviour, I would have put reader working for any designer, I chose him because his signature style fit with what I had in mind for the plot.

|| Masterlist || In coming and going (Part 1) || Wattpad Link || AO3 Link ||

Taglist: @padmeswife @ilovewinter101@cosmicbrownies7

if want to be added to a taglist for future works please let me know!

don't forget to eat today and drink water :)

[finiffy]

When it comes to A Major, I always find Agent Ukulele really interesting. He weirdly has the fullest picture of their life as a mediator. Like he know vague what Francis went through, he obviously remembers the Goc work, and he vaguely see what Clef does day to day.

He butts in Francis's life to keep him safe, he butts into Clef's work when it came to SCP 239 mess and other incidences. However each time he did, he usually doesn't do it for a make chaos and/or be an asshole, he legit believe its needed to keep people safe, mainly Francis and Clef, to hell with himself. Francis and Clef seem to actually listen to Ukulele if he suggests something; agree no, listen yes; so they hold him in some kind of high regard.

He's this mix of a protector and parent despite being well Ukulele embodiment of edgy and Goc propaganda renowned serial harasser and mass murder. I just think that oddly sweet how he technically has good intentions for most of his action and majorly cares for everyone else in the system in his strange ways and morals. If any of this made sense.

He shows up the least but A Major would fall a part if he wasn't around.

~ Mold Anon

You are so right. Ukulele really has the biggest grasp on Francis's and Clef's lives, seeing he was around basically in both "eras". It is really interesting that you pointed out that Ukulele doesn't do the things he does just for fun or whatever, like the man genuinely believe in his actions and reasoning and if his conclusions is that it is dangerous he will try and push to the front to deal with it with some varying degrees of success (*cough* incident 239). The guy is quite a character tho, he is infuriating, edgy with teenage angst all put together with GOC mindset which does earn him a reputation of maybe not the most responsible person in the room but when credit it due he is good at what he does

[comfortbucky]

I asked for the doctor!bucky andd you don't have to write but I forgot to ask... He is like a really busy doctor and it surprises the female reader that he is going to do her stitches... Wanda is his assistant. He has to give you a pain numbing shot in your cut and he comforts you when you scream and writh in pain... Thanks xxx

𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆ ⋆｡˚

pairing: doctor!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of bloody injuries, medical settings, stitches, needles

A/N: omg i’ve never written for doctor!bucky before so i’m excited hehe :) thank u for ur request! // i changed around who was administering the numbing agent and doing the stitches btw i hope u don't mind, just made more sense in my head for bucky to be able to comfort her if his hands are free!

hope u enjoy! <3 sorry if this isn't that good asjdfhaldf

Y/L/N = your last name

also let me just indulge myself and sprinkle some of my own experiences in this bc a couple months ago i literally slammed my head into a wall and cut my eyelid😃nothing bad enough to get stitches but i do have a scar💗

word count: 2k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

“Y/N! Come quick!”

Y/N was digging through her dresser for a sweater when her roommate, Darcy, called out for her. She lifted her head up and spun it without thinking, completely forgetting that her dresser was situated in the corner of her room, slamming her head into the wall.

Her ears started to ring and she bent over in laughter, her natural response to pain, as tears threatened to fall down her face.

“Y/N?” Darcy was met by silence, Y/N struggling to respond, her body overcome with laughter so hard she was inaudible. Concerned that Y/N had knocked herself out cold, Darcy peeked her head around the corner of Y/N’s doorway, to find her hurled over, a hand over her left eye, drops of crimson blood on the ground.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Y/N lifted her head, calming down from her fit of laughter, and nodded.

“Yeah, of course, this would happen to me,” she replied chuckling, taking a tissue from Darcy to put pressure on her cut.

Carefully making her way to a mirror, Y/N grabbed her phone on the way. She stared at her reflection and slowly removed the tissue from her face to examine the extent of her injury. It was steadily bleeding, most likely a bad sign. Y/N placed her tissue back over her cut and reached for her phone and Facetimed her friend Matt, an EMT.

“Hello- What the fuck happened to you?”

“Hi Matt,” she replied, shooting him a grin through the screen. “Slammed my head against the wall, by accident.”

“I would hope so,” he sighed. “Let me guess, you’re wondering whether you should go to the ER or not?”

“You know me so well, Matty.”

“Has it stopped bleeding?” Y/N removed the tissue and felt a warm liquid trail down the side of her face.

“No.”

“Go to the ER, please.” She groaned.

If there was one place in the world she despised, it was a hospital. But Y/N knew she wouldn’t be able to convince either of her friends otherwise, and dragged her feet as she reluctantly followed Darcy to her car.

It was a normal night in the ER, which meant a fury of organized chaos. Bucky found himself needed in 6 places, all at the same time. But this was an environment that he had become accustomed to, almost finding comfort in the madness of it all. Although the ER was bustling with patients, there weren’t any injuries that were very severe, mostly just broken bones and lacerations. Simple enough to the point where Bucky felt like he was operating on autopilot mode. Going through the motions of whatever task he needed to do, but not anything more than that. He felt numb. For the last several years of his life, the hospital was all that he knew. Bucky kept himself busy with work, leaving him with only a small social circle and his cat, Alpine. It was enough for him, but he never really felt complete. Which is why he threw himself into his work, drowning out his inner thoughts about a missing piece he never thought he’d find.

“Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 25.”

Bucky took a quick sip of his coffee and sighed before heading off to see his next patient. Wanda appeared from around the corner and started walking with him.

“This one’s a simple laceration, just might need stitches.” Bucky nodded in response to her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

She was one of the select few who he considered a friend. Which was a little odd considering he was an attending and she was only a resident. But she was a good student, a fast learner, and one of the only residents he was ever willing to work with. He took her under his wing, fostering a friendship by spending time together in his office, reviewing various medical cases and files.

“Alright, you up to do them?”

Wanda came to a halt, Bucky taking a couple steps before looking back at her, tilting his head, waiting for a response.

“Y-Yeah, yes!” She stammered. “T-thank you, Dr. Barnes.” He nodded his head and turned back around to continue walking, Wanda close behind.

Y/N was sat on the edge of the bed, one hand holding a blood-soaked tissue over her left eye. Her leg was bouncing, a nervous tic she had developed from a young age. The adrenaline had worn off, forcing her to feel a throbbing pain, her eyes brimming with tears. She avoided crying in front of people whenever possible, so as soon as Darcy left to grab some coffee and snacks from the cafeteria, she let the floodgates open. The sound of footsteps approaching made her freeze and she used her sleeves to sloppily wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

A firm, but somehow also gentle, voice called out to her before the curtain was pulled open to reveal a tall man with dark brown hair, a stubbly beard, and stunningly blue eyes standing next to a woman with blazing red hair and contrasting green eyes. Y/N’s gaze was immediately fixated on the man’s eyes, unable to look away for a moment, before she realized she was staring. She quickly looked down and cleared her throat.

“Y/N, you can just call me Y/N.”

The man nodded and set down his clipboard at the end of the bed before speaking.

“I’m Dr. Barnes and this is Dr. Maximoff.” The woman gave a slight wave as she began charting on a computer. “Can I take a look at your eye?”

Y/N nodded, feeling her anxiety rise as the doctor pulled some gloves on and approached her.

He pulled over a stool to sit on and carefully removed the tissue that Y/N had been holding in place to assess the injury. While Bucky looked at her cut, he stole a glance to study the rest of her face. He couldn't help but take note of the pained look on her face, her eyes still watery and her button nose red from crying. It was the first time in a long time that he felt a twinge of pain while looking at someone's injury, that he felt practically anything at all during a shift. She felt his warm breaths on her face for a moment before he pulled away and replaced her bloody tissue with some gauze.

“Do you mind if she takes a look as well?” Y/N nodded again. Bucky got up from the stool, allowing Wanda to take his spot and assess her eye.

“So it looks like you just need 2 or 3 stitches, very simple procedure.”

Y/N felt her entire body tense up at Wanda's conclusion. She could barely stand sitting in a hospital bed alone and now she was about to get poked and prodded with needles. Bucky noticed and attempted to ease her worries.

"We'll administer a numbing agent, so you won't feel any pain, just pressure at the site."

She looked up at Bucky, who had a kind, tired expression on his face. It looked like he was having a long night and she didn't want to make his job any more difficult than it probably already was. Y/N gave him a small nod and Wanda started to gather the necessary supplies.

She laid back in bed with Wanda and Bucky sitting next to each other on her left. Her hands were folded on her stomach, eyes shut.

"You're gonna feel a slight pinch, okay?" She nodded and bit her lip to try and distract herself.

Wanda proceeded to administer the numbing shot and Y/N squeezed her hands tight, whimpering in pain. Bucky observed the pained expression on her face and placed a hand on her forearm, reflexively rubbing his thumb in small circles. When Wanda pulled the needle out, Y/N slowly fluttered her eyes open and was greeted by Bucky's warm smile. A blush crept to her cheeks and she turned her attention to the ceiling. Immediately, Bucky realized how unprofessional his action was and removed his hand. He had no idea what had come over him, but he'd never felt so drawn to someone like this before.

"Now I'm going to do the stitches, okay? You should just feel a slight pressure." Just as before, Y/N shut her eyes after Wanda spoke and gripped her hands tight. She felt the pressure that Wanda was talking about and couldn't help but squirm at the feeling. Another wave of anxiety rushed over her and she felt herself start to hyperventilate.

Wanda removed the needle and quickly turned to Bucky, a panicked look on her face. He gave her a reassuring look before speaking softly.

"Y/N? Do you think you could hold still for just a little longer?" She opened her eyes, brimming with tears.

"Sorry, I just, I hate needles." Y/N fiddled with her hands as she kept her gaze up, trying to avoid the tears from escaping. Bucky felt his heart sink in his chest at the sight.

"What do you think would help you relax?"

Thoughts ran through her head as she tried to find a solution to relieve her anxiety. Y/N thought back to when she was young and chuckled, remembering a stuffed whale that she got at an aquarium, that went everywhere with her.

"This is stupid but, when I was a kid, I would carry around this stuffed animal around and it helped to hold it whenever I had to get shots."

Bucky thought for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he was going to regret the words about to leave his mouth.

"You could hold my hand."

Y/N and Wanda both looked at him with surprised expressions, regret instantly hitting him.

"If you're comfortable with it," he quickly clarified. Y/N felt the corner of her mouth curve into a smile as she nodded.

She laid back down and Bucky took her hand in his. The instant transfer of heat soothed Y/N and she shut her eyes to allow Wanda to get to work.

When she felt the pressure on her eye again, her hand automatically gripped Bucky's tighter, and he squeezed it back to help calm her. Y/N focused on the callousness of his hands, how his hand seemed to fit into hers perfectly. Suddenly, she was thinking about his eyes again, those glimmering blue eyes. Blue was always a calming color for her, reminiscent of her trip to the aquarium where she got her beloved stuffed whale. As she felt Bucky's thumb gently rub the top of her hand, she realized that her whale could never provide as much comfort as he did.

Bucky felt a sense of pride as he watched the tension in Y/N's face disappear. Suddenly, he found his eyes wandering, looking at the loose strands of hair on the right side of her face, the rosiness of her cheeks, how she glowed. His heart started to palpate and Bucky realized a flame had kindled inside him. He was feeling again.

"All done!" Wanda chirped, stepping aside to let Bucky check her work. He smiled at her patted her on the back with his free hand.

"You did good." Wanda beamed and thanked him, walking away to complete her charting.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, still feeling the warmth of Bucky's hand in hers. He greeted her with a tender smile and slowly helped her up, placing his other hand on the small of her back.

"See? Wasn't that bad after all," he grinned, releasing her hand. Y/N's smile faltered, missing his touch, and nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Barnes."

"Bucky," he stated. She raised an eyebrow. "Call me Bucky."

The pair stared at each other in silence, enjoying each other's presence before the PA system snapped them both out of their trance.

"Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 16."

Bucky sighed, slowly getting up from his seat.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N."

"You too, Bucky."

He turned around and was about to pull the curtain open when he paused, turning back around to face Y/N, scratching the back of his head. It took one look at her face and Bucky knew he didn't want to let her go just yet.

"Would you like to get coffee sometime?" She beamed up at him and Bucky felt his knees go weak.

"I would like that very much." He chuckled in disbelief and smiled.

Bucky had finally found his missing piece.

[lexxlikes]

Prepare for Trouble!

In Team Rocket's underground main base, the time of day lost all meaning. The artificial light and the constant comings and goings of various people made the time of day only an illusion and of pleasant insignificance. The windowless base stretched far below Celadon City's arcade and housed not only conference rooms and dormitories, but also a canteen, swimming pool and gym. That's exactly where Blake was headed. The twenty-year-old was brand new to the organization and currently had to deal with simple errands and master the operation of the coffee machine. So now he was making his way down the gray, branching hallways, and though he'd already spent a little time here, he kept threatening to get lost. Only small, abstract icons on the walls indicated where something was, and the image of the gym didn't appear until Blake had already given up hope. A glance at his watch revealed that it was approaching midnight, and even if time didn't matter here, he wondered who wanted to get physical now. Or had to.

When he stepped through the door, he was greeted by the typical smell of a gym. The smell of sweat was predominant and they tried to cover it up with disinfectant. Small spray bottles were distributed all over the studio and both mixed to form an unpleasant olfactory combination. The ventilation was running at full speed, but with the frequent use by so many people, even it eventually reached its limits. Acoustically, all that could be heard was the metallic clacking of weights coming from the room's sole user. On the weight bench was a tall man in a tank top and shorts, his face hidden from view. Behind the bench as a spotter stood a Machamp whose entire attention was on his trainer, who was currently pressing 165lbs away from his chest in smooth movements and slowly lowering the barbell again only to perform the movement again. Two of the Pokemon's total of four muscular arms took over the weight at the end of the movement and placed it back into its designated, secure holder as the man stood up. The wet glistening skin and heavy breathing indicated that the person had probably been training here at the studio for a long time. He was about mid-twenties, heavily trained and probably the most unusual thing was his blue hair. Normally Team Rocket agents tried to fly below the radar and not stand out - blue hair was the exact opposite. The initial screening confirmed the suspicion that the man named Lexx was a member of Cliff's team.

After there was an incident with a minor, which probably by accident caused chaos and a lot of damage, the internal structures were rearranged. There was still Giovanni. The one and only. The leader and founder of Team Rockets. But the competences were broadened. Sierra, one of the boss's closest confidants, had a focus on espionage and information gathering. No matter what a Silph Corp. was developing or who was the favorite in the Arena Challenge in Galar, Sierra knew about it. She coordinated the individual actions together with Giovanni. Arlo was responsible for technical development and had introduced the Crypto program some time ago. His focus was on internal digital security and cyber warfare. The last of the three leaders was Cliff. Muscular and intimidating, he was, like everyone on his team, confrontational. Trained thugs, he had his head through the wall. Often not with their own. All members of his departments were battle-hardened and responsible for the rough jobs. Thefts, assaults, or clearing precincts when another team felt they had to go overboard. It was all a job for the muscle-bound.

"What?" the blue-haired man asked the courier, who stood calmly in front of him. Blake handed him a piece of paper and Lexx let his blue eyes dart over the written lines. "Time to go," he declared, addressing his Pokemon, and only then did the newcomer notice. The Machamp was not shrouded in a purple mist, and its eyes were not dull or glowing red. Apparently, the powerhouse Pokemon was with him entirely of its own free will. „Thanks“, Lexx was replying as he rose from the bench, grabbed his towel and headed towards the showers. Blake's gaze still followed this man briefly, and in his mind he asked himself so many questions. No crypto smoke. A thank you. Who was this Lexx?

A short time later, Lexx, dressed in a similar suit to Cliff, entered the small office and his supervisor looked up. Team Rocket had become more bureaucratic over time, so he got his briefing on a Rotom pad. Sierra's agents had been able to learn that a private research vessel was arriving in Vermilion City harbor from Armor Islands the next evening, carrying dyna-mushrooms as cargo. These are to be brought to Pallet Town to Professor Oak for examination. The question of whether dynamaxation is genetically inherited and can be used in breeding was too theoretical and frankly too complicated for Lexx to continue reading this paragraph. He briefly studied the key data and then nodded. A short conversation with the supervisor clarified the last questions and so Lexx had time until the next evening at 9p.m.

Preparations were made quickly, as all members of Team Rocket had to be ready to go immediately. His Team Rocket outfit was in an inconspicuous sports bag, as was his equipment and his three Pokeballs. A larger suitcase he also carried should be able to hold enough Dyna Mushrooms. Dressed in a short sports jacket, he then left the catacombs and entered the Celadon City arcade. As on the lower floors, time was of no consequence. It was unclear whether people were sitting here "again" or "still" trying their luck. Of course, all the machines were rigged. Somehow Team Rocket had to finance itself. Nevertheless, you could hear the one-armed bandits rattling from time to time as a few coins were put back into circulation. When Lexx finally stepped outside the door, it was well past midnight. Much of the city was already asleep and only near the arcade was there still activity. Determined, he walked toward a black van in the parking lot. The drive to Vermilion City shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. He could drive past Saffron City, avoid the downtown traffic, and should be on site by early morning. That would be enough time to check out the location and get ready. After that, he could sleep a little more and should be sufficiently prepared.

With a coffee in hand, the blue-haired man strolled along the Vermilion City pier. The fishing boats from the morning had already been unloaded and Remoraids, Tentacool and Qwilfish were being shifted and further cooled at the dock. There was a bustle of activity and everyone was going about their day's work, so the stranger didn't stand out much. At some point, Lexx carelessly tossed the coffee aside, because with all the smell of fish, it was hard to drink it. The harbor itself was huge, and in addition to the merchant ships from Johto, Unova and Galar, there were also all sorts of private sailing ships. According to the information from Sierra's team, the ship with the Dyna Mushrooms was supposed to arrive at one of the southern piers, and after a few questions to locals, Lexx found said pier. It was quick and easy to get to, easy to see, and there were a few smaller covered areas nearby. These were intended for trading parties in bad weather and could be used by merchants and fishermen alike. From the roofs there was certainly a good view over the area and LightDive could take his observation post there unseen. There were three escape routes for a quick getaway. One led more or less directly into the city, the right one led back to the other piers and way No. 3 led into the forest. Of course, there were a few barriers to overcome. The chances were good and after another hour of observation, the blue-haired man found himself in his small hotel room. It was functional, without much luxury, but a comfortable bed. After making all the necessary preparations, he went to sleep for a few more hours. His advantage over overtired captains.

It was dawn when Lexx got out of his van in his black full-body armor suit and the significant "R" on his chest. He had parked the car in the woods, hoping to escape relatively unnoticed. The other options had too many, potential witnesses and the route through the city held too many unknowns. The blue-haired man once again checked the hold of his equipment. The two belt pouches on the back contained things like a knife, a small breathing apparatus, and a flashlight. His three Pokeballs were secured to his right thigh, and with a simple flick of his wrist, he removed the classic red and white ball and spoke softly to no one in particular, "Your turn, LightDive." A bright light from inside the mirrored ball manifested into a Magneton in no time, and the shrill, metallic sound of the Pokemon announced its joy at being free. The six magnets spun slowly and synchronously on their own axis, and while the three eyes gazed at Lexx, the Steel-Electric Pokemon floated toward its trainer. The Rocket bully, in turn, looked at his Pokemon and then gave clear instructions, "You take up position above the streetlight. Fire a warning shot directly on my signal. After that, fire at your own discretion. Once we have the goods, you secure us and then follow as quickly as possible. Got it?", again that shrill sound followed and LightDive did as he was ordered. The blue eyes briefly followed the trajectory of the steel Pokemon before it disappeared into the darkness of the night. Other bullies were working with Arlo's Crypto program. A mind-altering device that instantly made wild Pokemon docile, regardless of their level. Lexx was against it from the beginning, since the disadvantage of this tool was that a large part of the prisoners only knew the attack Frustration. Natural and understandable, but completely useless in combat. Steelix, Machamp and Magneton accompanied Lexx for a very long time and he was one of the few, successful bullies of Team Rocket. Not least because of his team. Next, he released BulkBrawl from his ball. The Machamp nicknamed BB was just 5'6", but was in no way inferior to his trainer in terms of muscle mass. Its four biceps were covered in thick veins and its broad shoulders made the Pokemon look just as menacing as Lexx. An implied grin accompanied the fist-bump the two exchanged. "As always. Big. Evil. Menacing." A double-biceps pose and a "Macho!" followed, after which the four-armed man took up position behind his trainer. Then there was a wait.

It was late evening, around 10 p.m., when the ship arrived from Galar. It was not a large transport cruiser, it seemed almost like a fishing boat paired with a research vessel. Disembarking after all the ropes were fastened were three people in white coats and the apparent captain. All appeared overtired and were packed with bags, and while the two port employees were still discussing berthing rights, fees and other formalities with the captain, the white coats headed toward the exit that led into the city. The day-bright flash of light that twitched through the night and hit the ground just ahead of the three people immediately made everyone stop moving. "We'll take it from here..." declared Lexx in a threatening, bassy voice as he stepped out of the shadows and was joined by a muscular Machamp who immediately cracked the bones of four fists. "The suitcase with the mushrooms, please, gentlemen," the bully declared curtly, sticking out his hand, "Then we can get this all over with quickly and start the end of the day. A good suggestion, isn't it?" From the reaction of the three people, Lexx could tell a few things. First, that they were scared but not ready for immediate cooperation and second, who owned the mushrooms. The man was estimated to be in his mid-thirties, had a half bald head, was slightly stocky and, according to the blue-haired, pressed his bag conspicuously close to him. "No way!" someone actually dared to say, and the next moment the two dockworkers were on the scene. Brave - Lexx had to admit that to them. A Pelipper and a Poliwrath appeared next to each of the two sailors. Secretly, the bully had hoped for a fight - because he loved it. BulkBrawl intuitively knew what to do and immediately ran at the Poliwrath. The melee attack might be at a disadvantage against an opposing fighting Pokemon, but the muscles and four arms elegantly compensated for that disadvantage. BB's punches were so fast that it seemed as if his arms completely blurred with the darkness around him. The Poliwrath still tried valiantly to fight back, but eventually the storm of fists was too much and after landing a hit, the defense completely collapsed. Lexx's blue eyes fixed on Poliwrath for a moment too long for him to notice the approaching Pelipper in time. After the initial power-boosting Agility, the wings began to glow and the attack Air Slash was imminent. Lexx still tried to dodge it with a jump, but at that moment the water bird Pokemon crashed into a crackling obstacle and fell to the ground unconscious. Magneton's Flame Burst not only defensively caught the impact, but also instantly knocked out the opponent with the electricity it built up. The Steel Pokemon barely noticed the collision itself, and when Lexx was back on his feet, both of his Pokemon positioned themselves next to him. Neither seemed to be really strained by this fight.

"I hate to repeat myself. But I am now taking over the mushrooms. Give them to me and you could move unmolested." Indeed, this brief show of force did not seem to have been enough, for the three explorers still looked frightened, but at the same time defiant. The two sailors attended to their Pokemon, and the captain remained standing quietly with his hands hidden in the pockets of his jacket. Too calm for Lexx's taste.

There was a moment of absolute silence and no one seemed to move. For the bully, this all took too long and he had to leave. He walked threateningly towards the group of three for this reason. "Give it to me," he commanded again, and with his accompaniment of BulkBrawl, it seemed that this threat was finally having an effect. The faces turned pale and the bearer of the goods began to tremble slightly. He started to extend his hand with the bag towards Lexx when the captain's voice rang out. "You don't do that, Eugene!" he thundered authoritatively. "The port police have already been notified and you're outnumbered, Rocket scum. What do you want with the mushrooms anyway?" the old man asked, clearly trying to stall for time.

"Get them," he commanded off his Machamp as he looked at the boatman. „Dynamic Punch," he ordered without really looking, and only the appearance of three bodies signaled to him that BB had taken care of the three people. Lexx had no idea - nor did he care much - if the attack had killed the individuals. He hadn't risen this far within Team Rocket if he had a conscience. The captain's wide eyes, however, allowed conclusions to be drawn.

"I'm not a simple bully who takes kids' pocket money by the wayside, old man," Lexx finished this argument for himself and turned around to the victims. All three were lying on the ground and the wet shiny surface did not allow any conclusions whether it was blood or water. He walked up to the researcher named Eugene and picked up his bag. After a quick look at the contents and confirming that it was the mushrooms, he turned back to the captain.

"Get out of here," he ordered and waited to see how he would react. Of course, he could identify him as a potential witness, but Lexx didn't care. He lived for and with Team Rocket. It wasn't like he could have been arrested while shopping. Speaking of arrests…

Even as the bully's blue eyes glared at the old man, he heard sirens in the distance. The harbor police were there sooner than he thought. The old man had to have a rotom phone. Annoying little beasts. Since escape was too dangerous at this point, he had to somehow take out the lawmen. Then he could make his escape in peace. Maybe it was all very risky, and Lexx was playing the poker too high - but the adrenaline of the fight was still coursing through his blood and probably diminishing objectivity. And who on Cliff's team shied away from a good fight? The boatman took to his heels and disappeared, as did LightDive, retreating back into the shelter of the shadows. BulkBrawl stopped at Lexx and he took his last Pokeball out of its holder.

A short time later, three vehicles turned the corner with squealing tires and the light of the headlights dazzled unpleasantly in the eyes of the bully. Protectively, he put his hand in front of his eyes and he heard rather than saw the police officers get out. "Hands over your head and don't move. Your Pokemon is to return to its ball," came the officers' routine orders.

"Yes... yes... please... it... all... a misunderstanding...", Lexx tried to stammer as intimidated as possible as he raised his arms above his head and with an unnoticeable movement dropped the Pokeball into BB's hand. The Pokemon reacted instantly, catching the ball, whirling around and throwing it far behind its opponents. "Please!!! Don't shoot. He doesn't like... his ball..." It seemed to work and the announcer from a moment ago said, "All right. Two police officers will now come to you and handcuff you. Behave calmly and no tricks." The scraping and squeaking sound of metal on metal in the distance was probably background noise not to be noticed by the policemen at a port with containers, but to Lexx it was the clear sign that his escape plan was in place. As the two cops approached him, guns pointed at him and secured to the car by two other officers, he took a deep breath and tried to harness the adrenaline in his blood. To Lexx, it seemed like everything was happening in slow motion, and while the law enforcement officers were still aiming at him, he shouted loudly, "Protect!" Instantly, in the darkness, Magneton's three eyes glowed and before the bully, hexagons manifested themselves, growing larger, their edges meeting and joining to form an impenetrable shield. At least for a short time - from the beginning of his call, to the annihilation of the police - this should protect him from bullets. As might be expected, the officers fired immediately, but the shield held. "Iron Tail!" roared Lexx again as he took cover behind the shield.

The roar that then filled the port area even made the ground shake slightly. All at once the officers seemed frightened and when they heard the renewed sound of moving metal and in the darkness a black silhouette rising to almost 30 feet high, it was too late. Seconds later, the back of Lexx's Steelix began to glow and the metal-coated skin glowed. The bulky head with the red eyes fixed the policemen calmly until the huge body whirled around its own axis with force and the glowing tail hit the car. The force of the impact coupled with the metallic energy of the attack dealt such a blow to the emergency vehicles that they flew with incomprehensible ease to the wall of the nearest port building. The two officers standing next to the vehicles lay lifeless on the ground, next to the piles of scrap metal from the former cars.

"Get us out of here!", Lexx immediately ordered and Chrome, his Steelix, obeyed. With sinuous movement and an ease one would not have expected from the 30-feet-long and nearly half-ton steel boa, he came at the bully. The two remaining officers could only jump out of the way, looking for help. Without slowing down, the Pokemon continued to move toward the blue-haired man. With a skillful movement, he clung to one of the elongated outgrowths on one side - and BulkBrawl on the other. Barely feeling the weight of the two muscle-bound, Chrome moved on unchanged.

"Flash Cannon as our glorious finale, LightDive!", Lexx gave his last order for the evening. While the other three made a run for it, the Magneton followed briefly, but then paused and the six magnets began to spin on their own axis, accelerating. Through the buildup of momentum and electrical energy, a glaring white sphere formed. The magnets stopped spinning and all at once the concentrated light energy was released in a destructive beam. This hit the boat irreparably and one the leaked tanks of the former police vehicles ignited. Enough distraction for Lexx, Chrome, Bulkbrawl and LightDive.

The fortified wire fence that separated the harbor from the adjacent forest was not really a serious opponent for Steelix. With an unsightly sound, it simply snapped as the broad head made its way through it with all its might. The Pokemon then came to a stop near the car and immediately curled up a bit to regain its balance. Machamp and Lexx now let off and landed back on their feet. LightDive joined the group, hovering for a short time.

"Well done!", Lexx praised his Pokemon and grinned over both cheeks. A successful evening. He got everyone back into their Pokeballs - there was a brand new one for Steelix - and then went into the van. He stowed the mushrooms in the designated box and, after another moment, started the engine. The adrenaline slowly subsided, but the euphoria remained. He had accomplished the mission, clearly demonstrated Team Rocket's point of view, and had a few good fights. A thoroughly satisfying night.

[disgruntledspacedad]

Asks are OPEN

TAGLIST FORM

all fic features character x fem!reader (no y/n) unless otherwise specified.

The Better Love Series

He’s a DEA Agent. You work with Centra Spike. You’re an unstoppable force. He’s an immovable object. A collision between you is inevitable. The fallout will be monumental. Slices of life from your adventures with Peña in Colombia. Javier Peña x fem!reader/OC (Ears). Rated M.

| masterlist |

Catfish Blues 

Catfish Blues 

ficlet/imagine. Bringing Frankie back to you through music

| catfish blues |

Fire in the Sky 

Frankie shows you just how much he cares. Follows Catfish Blues, but can be read as a standalone. fluffy smut.

| fire in the sky |

Rx ‘verse

G.O.M.E.R.

Injured, designated driver Frankie brings his drunk friends to your emergency room. Frankie x physician!reader. fluffy meet-cute

| g.o.m.e.r. |

qhs

Frankie discovers versed. You spill your guts. Follow-up to G.O.M.E.R.

| qhs |

Headcanons

frankie when you have a shit day

frankie supporting your career

watching the super bowl with frankie

frankie when you have a tooth pulled

What We Said Before

Javi gives you a little bit of tough love. Javier Peña x f!grad student reader.

| what we said before |

Exit Wounds

Steve Murphy comes to several realizations all at once. Javier x Steve, buddies or pre-slash, it’s up to you. 

| exit wounds |

Headcanons

javier peña when you have a chronic illness

javier peña is a well-disguised dork

dancing with javi

Scrambled

Dad takes Missy to the county fair. They are both missing Mom. Quick little prequel to The Right Thing, Missy POV.

| scrambled |

The Right Thing

Taking Marcus Moreno captive proves to be a little more that you’d bargained for. post-canon fix-it.

| the right thing |

Headcanons

wedding band

Starcrossed

Armed with nothing more than an old Polaroid and a burning desire for answers, Jack Daniels breaks the laws of time to find out why he’s suddenly been declared unfit for duty

| starcrossed |

A Little Slice of Heaven

You bake Ezra a cake. Pure fluff.

| a little slice of heaven |

Needy

Ezra comes home to you.

| needy |

Morning

Ezra wakes you to watch a sunrise.

| morning |

Headcanons

soft ezra 

ezra when you have a chronic illness

Stay

You wonder where he will go, and if you should follow.

| stay |

Dissonance

The Ghost Din Series

“What’s it like, being dead?”

| dissonance masterlist |

Blood and Water

Before

Once, Din Djarin had a sister. Now, he doesn’t even remember her name.

| before |

Blood and Water

Retha Djarin has spent her entire life trying to make up for the family she lost. She is called the mother of shadows, stealing supplies and tech from the terraforming corporation that dominates Veta IV. But when a routine raid goes wrong, and Retha realizes that she’s in over her head. Way over her head. The planet has been thrown into chaos, Retha is on the run for her life, and oh, great, they’ve sent a kriffing Mandalorian after her. COMING SOON.

| sneak peek |

Thots, Meta, and Headcanons

din needs some closure, dammit | why The Rescue hurts so bad

in defense of din djarin | din’s subdued emotional response in The Tragedy makes a lot of sense to me

what if that transmission was a set up? | 2.8 speculation post that aged like cheese

the din djarin biker au that nobody needs | based on a true story

force bond din | au in which Din and Grogu forge a force bond after Corvus.

the boys finding out about a previous abusive relationship 

the boys from least to most musically gifted 

the boys as drinks

the boys as brotp’s 

the boys’ favorite scents

the boys and game night

the boys and mbti

the boys’ hogwarts houses

Coming Soon

Veracruz x reader one-shot, sneak peek here

[kj-1130]

Nothing For Me

Part 2

Main Masterlist

Part 1|Part 3

2012

     You were turning 11 this year. Natasha, as you learned she went by, was always a phone call away if you ever wanted to talk--since your sperm donor was obviously no help. You had recently had to call her due to your period starting, which you weren’t expecting to happen for at least another 2 to 3 years. Needless to say, it freaked you out and regardless of your smarts, nothing could have prepared you for that. 

     Nat took you shopping for what she called, ‘lady items’; bras, pads, tampons, anything a girl could possibly need. She also taught you how to shave if you ever wanted to. She specified that you should never feel forced to do it because ‘people need to normalize women having body hair. It grows there for a reason.’ And you totally agreed with her on that by the way. 

     There were a few times when she’d let you in on minor S.H.I.E.L.D secrets even though it was quite unnecessary seeing as you could hack your way through it all no problem. That’s how you found out about the Avengers Initiative. You couldn’t agree more with what was said about Tony. 

     Through your hacking and research of the initiative, you ‘met’ Clint. It was through a video call. He had invaded your girl-talk with Natasha. The three of you were practically best buds now. You’d go to Nat for advice or just when you needed a sister to talk to. You’d go to Clint when you just wanted to let loose and talk about absolute nonsense. 

-

     It was another lovely night in Stark Tower for you--please note the sarcasm. You were bored out of your mind. Natasha had been on an undercover mission and Clint was busy at the base; something about the Tesseract. You thought they should’ve just left the thing alone; let fate take its course. Some bad things were going to come with them messing with something they had no knowledge about. They’re joining a game without knowing any rules and are pretty much destined to lose. But, hey. What did you know?

     Pepper and Tony were probably in the common area, sucking each other's faces off. Despite how much you disliked Tony, based on your experiences, you couldn’t deny the fact that they’re pining was absolutely annoying, disgusting, and cute all at the same time. You were just glad it was over honestly.

     Pepper was an okay person to you. There was nothing you found super nice or mean about her that was prominent to you. She’d greet you on the quite rare occasion the two of you would cross paths and would start the casual small talk (“how are you?” “I’m fine, what about you” “Good, thanks for asking.”). She probably thought you were a live-in intern or something like that. With how much she tries to doctor Tony’s life, you’d think she would try to fix whatever nonexistent relationship between the pair of you, but nope. That just added to your intern theory. 

     You were reading a book on quantum physics, when your personal AI, M.I.A(miraculous intelligence assistant)--that you did in fact create yourself--notified you that someone had overridden Stark’s systems and gotten into the elevator. Just because you didn’t leave the room doesn’t mean you weren’t nosy. 

     “Who is it, M?”

     “Agent Phil Coulson, from S.H.I.E.L.D.,” M.I.A. spoke in her smooth voice. “Would you like to listen in on what they are saying?”

     “Is that even a question?”

     Jumping out of your beanbag, you went to the center of your room, where M.I.A had pulled up footage of what was happening in the common room. 

     “Security breach,” Tony turns to Pepper. “That’s on you.”

     “Mr. Stark.” 

     “Phil! Come in,” Pepper greeted. Since when were she and Agent Coulson on a first-name basis. You’d have to look into that. 

     “Phil? Uh, his first name is Agent.”

     “Come on in, we’re celebrating,” the red head invites. This was getting more interesting to you by the second!

     “I can’t stay.”

     “Which is why he can’t stay.”

     Phil ignores Tony and starts to hand him a file.

     “He doesn’t like being handed things,” you muttered. 

     “I don't like being handed things.” Called it.

     “That’s alright, ‘cause I love being handed things, So, let’s trade,” Pepper says. She hands Coulson her glass of champagne, takes the file, hands Tony the file, in return taking his drink.

     “Official consulting hours are between eight and five every other Thursday,” the billionaire said. 

     It was quite obvious Phil was over his jokes and that he was here for a much important matter.

     “Is this about the Avengers? Which I...I know nothing about.”

     Both men ignored Pepper. “The Avengers Initiative was scrapped, I thought. And I didn’t even qualify.” 

    That was a nice day. Finding out what they said about Tony had been nothing less than amusing in your opinion.

     “I didn’t know that either,” the CEO said. She sure does have the best cover-ups, doesn’t she? 

     “Yeah, apparently I’m volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others.”

     “That I did know.”

     This whole thing was odd to you. Why were they trying to put together the Avengers when the whole idea was tossed?

     “M, pull up the most recent S.H.I.E.L.D files on the tesseract and the Avengers Initiative.”

     The AI did as told, and you scrolled through all of them. You saw things on Thor, Clint, Natasha, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, and lastly your sperm donor. Looking at Thor’s file, you found something about his brother Loki. And looking at his name, you saw his connections to the tesseract and everything had clicked. Loki had the thing and was definitely going to do something evil with it. 

-

     Both adults in the house were gone. Such responsible ones they are. Tony left earlier the next day and you honestly couldn’t remember when Pepper left. Now, here you were in your safe haven, trying to figure out what in the world Loki would want with the tesseract. There’s probably no way for you to figure it out since you weren’t where all the info was, actively investigating. But what you didn’t understand is why would they leave you here when such a threat was hanging in the air. 

     You knew Tony didn’t necessarily care for you, but he couldn’t forget about you, right? Natasha wouldn’t forget about you. Clint wouldn’t forget you. Right?

-

     It’s been two days. Two fucking days, and no one had come in or out of this building. 

     You were currently pacing in your room, while your AI--not even a fucking person--was trying to comfort you. 

     “Does no one answer their fucking phone anymore?”

     “I’m pretty sure there is a reasonable explanation as to why no one is answering.”

     Out of nowhere, you heard commotion from outside. Rushing over to the window and moving the curtains, you saw these alien things coming out of the sky. You ran out of your room and made your way to the nearest set of stairs as quickly as you could. 

     “Ah, the little Stark.”

     His voice sent chills up your spine. It was deep and quite terrifying. 

     “Come over, no need to be scared.”

     You followed his orders, having a feeling that if you didn’t things would end up ten times worse for you. He looked at you before basically yeeting you out of the window. It hurt; it felt like every bone in your body screamed for peace and anything in the background just became white noise. 

     You landed on the roof, writhing in pain and groaning. Everything hurt.

     Attempting to get up was hard and painful, but you knew that you had to leave or you’d die. 

     Looking up, you see that doctor. He was mentioned in the files but everything was just so fuzzy, you couldn’t remember properly. Finally being able to get up after numerous attempts, you limp your way down the stairs and out to the streets in the middle of all the chaos. 

     You were so scared. You knew you probably wouldn’t be able to contact Nat or Clint unless you somehow hacked into their coms system. You continued to walk down the streets, hoping to find some type of shelter, but it felt like you were about to collapse at any second. Sitting down in the nearest alley, you looked around. Looking left, there was a face right in front of yours.

     “Fuck! What the hell man?”

     The other person wasn’t fazed. Looking them over, you saw their frizzy, somewhat curly hair pulled back in a low ponytail. Her brown skin was covered in dirt and a little blood. 

     “Hey, you’re (y/n) Stark, right?” She asked a little breathlessly. 

     “I refuse to be acknowledged as such.”

     “I’m Michelle. But don't call me that or I’ll have to hurt you.”

     “Are you really trying to converse with me in the middle of an alien invasion? And acting like we’re both not hurt?”

     Michelle shrugs her shoulders when you both look over due to some yelling that you heard. 

     “MJ! Michelle where are you? Michelle Jones!”

     MJ looks back over and starts to get up but she trips and falls. You decide to help her up and take her over to the people calling her name. You both struggle but eventually get over to the adults with some time. 

     Before you could get away from the Jones family, the mother gripped your shoulder. 

     “C’mon, stay with us. We’ll find somewhere to lay low.“

     You were too tired and in too much pain to argue, so you let Michelle’s mother help you keep your balance while the young girl’s father did the same for her. 

     It was at least a good ten minutes until the four of you found a decent place to take a break. It looked like a gas station, but you really couldn’t tell due to how much damage there was. You and the Jones’ took cover behind a somewhat stable looking wall and tried to stay as quiet as possible. 

     It was quiet besides the distant screams of people and the yells of the aliens. You wondered if Nat and Clint were okay. You wondered if Tony was okay. You wondered if anyone was safe from this. This seemed like something no one could recover from.  

     “What’s your name, sweetheart?” The older woman asked. 

     “(Y/n).”

     “Where are your parents?”

     “My sperm donor is fighting I guess.”

     To say the adults were appalled by your bluntness  was an understatement. You’ve had a potty mouth for quite a while. There was no one to really correct you on what to and not to say--not that you really needed help with that being a genius and all; well a genius with common sense because your father didn’t have any of that. Without anyone to really monitor what you did,  you kind of just roamed free in a sense. 

- 

     The fight had died down eventually. The aliens were still coming, but a substantial amount of them had been killed. How a group of 6 people/gods/supersoldiers/or whatever amazed you. Maybe you could work behind the scenes one day; even though you already do. Just without anyone knowing. 

     Before you knew it, there was a nuke flying across the sky. ‘Leave it to the government to find an excuse to hurt civilians,’ you thought. But before it could hit anything, you saw a red and gold figure carry it to the portal.  

     You knew who it was. He was going to sacrifice himself for the safety of these people. If he didn’t make it, you would miss him even though there wouldn’t be much to miss. When that portal closed, your heart dropped to your stomach. You would never be able to make amends with him. You would never have a single conversation with him. Yeah he was a total douche bag for forgetting all about you, but you had at least expected to be able to see and maybe talk to him. Sort things out. 

     Without thinking, you ran as fast as you could towards where the newly assembled Avengers were; well at least where you last saw them. You ignored the calls of the Jones family, telling you to come back. Their protests telling you not to go so you can stay safe. You ignored the pain. The aching of your ribs. The dull throbbing in your head and on your lips. There was no doubt that your steps were uneven; limping down the street at your speed probably made you look like a crackhead.

     You kept running; not stopping. Not when your breaths got shorter and turned into wheezes. Not when you heard rattling in your chest. Not when you felt like you were going to collapse. Not when your joints popped and begged for rest. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not until you found someone; anyone you knew. 

     You stopped after what felt like hours. It most likely was considering the sun was going down. You heard a little commotion inside a surprisingly intact building which turned out to be a Shawarma. Tony always talked about this place for some reason. 

     When you looked inside, the Avengers were there. At least, you guessed they were still called that. But that didn’t matter. They were relaxing after the battle. They looked quite relaxed considering they had just fought aliens. 

     But that was what kind of hurt. They weren’t worried about you. At all. Of course only 3--well not really 3. Only two really knew you and knew you were in that tower when the attack happened. Sure you weren’t expecting Clint or Nat to be running around the streets of this huge city, but a little effort or at least the thought of it would’ve been nice. You could’ve been dead and they sure as hell didn’t seem super worried about it. Maybe you were overthinking it. Or maybe you were just as forgettable and insignificant as you thought.

-

     You limped away from the establishment, trying to find somewhere to stay seeing as your home--if you could even call it that--was most likely destroyed. And you were in your feelings and nothing was a better cure than isolating yourself even more. You also wanted to see if you could get M.I.A running on a computer or something. Maybe update yourself on what was going on over the world at the moment. Or look up your frizzy-haired friend you met while you were running for your life. 

     You managed to find a computer near a dumpster. You leaned back against the wall and slid down slowly, not wanting to aggravate your injuries too much. You were able to get M.I.A running on the laptop and then looked up any news. The headlines were crazy. All you saw was the fight that just happened and the death count rising and rising…

     You didn’t want to be focused on anything dealing with your father, S.H.I.E.L.D., or any current events, so you decided to give M.I.A. the task of figuring out who Michelle and her family was. It sounded very creepy, but you were her age. What harm could you do with her info. Well you could cause harm to her and her family with any info you found but that was besides the point. The most you were going to do was send them a message or something like that. 

-

     You ended up sleeping in that alley. Deciding that you should head back to your place of residence, you got up and started walking back much to the process of your bones and joints. The tower seemed like it was so far away. Especially with your injuries and supposedly no one around to tend to them.  After what felt like hours, you made it to the entrance of the establishment and, surprise surprise, it’s already being rebuilt. You honestly didn’t know what time it was. You just wanted to get in your bed and sleep forever. 

-

     It had been about a month since the Battle of New York. Your injuries weren’t treated until about a week after the fact. Not because someone noticed you were hurt, but because it was getting hard to breathe and that didn’t seem like a fun way to go to you. 

     You’d been healing nicely so far, but your emotions and mental health were on the opposite side of the spectrum. Every time you close your eyes, you had this dream, vision, whatever it was, that when Loki threw you out the window, there was no balcony or landing area to stop on. You just kept falling, and falling until you hit the ground. Then you woke up.

      You had been isolating yourself as well. There had been plenty of missed calls from the pair, but you just couldn’t find the energy to move and pick up the phone. They were probably just doing it out of obligation anyway. 

       Seeing everyone, especially Nat and Clint, just made you rethink anything you’ve ever done. Were you too clingy when it came to Natasha? Did she really like you or did she just feel bad? You were probably just overreacting, but you can’t help but think these thoughts. 

    Everything was just spiraling out of control for you. And you couldn’t get help; well you at least felt like you couldn’t. If you told Tony--not that you would, but hypothetically-- he’d probably wave you off and laugh. If you tried to get a therapist, someone would probably leak that shit to the press; confidentiality be damned. 

     You felt like you were drowning and you didn’t know how much longer it would be until you fully sank.