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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 4 months ago

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Look! Up in the Sky!

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Reader

Description: It's hard, making a name for yourself as an investigative journalist in a city as big as Metropolis. It seems like everyone and everything is against you, just because you weren't born and raised in Metropolis. But you're determined to make it. When a run-of-the-mill article turns into a hostage situation with armed criminals, you're not sure you'll be making it out of this situation alive. Can a run-in with Metropolis' own Superman light the flames of your passion once more? Or are you destined to pack up and go back home?

Disclaimers: DC canon-typical violence. Armed gunmen. Some language.

Warnings: Like most of my fics, this fic features a Female!Reader

Word Count: 3313

Author Note: Hiya lovelies! I've been thinking about this fic for a long time. I started writing it sometime early this year and never actually got very far. Several rewrites later and here we are!

First and foremost, I want to dedicate this story to the beautiful @sarahsmi13s, since it is her birthday! Vinny! Happiest of birthdays to you! I hope the upcoming year is bright and filled with as much joy as you've brought to me!

Second, I feel like I am permanently obligated to thank @horseshoegirl for being the Comma Queen she is and making sure my ramblings are well-written and actually make sense. This fic wouldn't be possible without you, Lucky!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

"I'm sorry, he what?!"

The mumbling on the other end of the phone makes you even angrier and more frustrated than ever. The frustration isn't new to you, not at all. It's part and parcel of being one of The Daily Planet's investigative journalists. The other thing the Planet appreciates in its journalists is people who have a nose for stories. You think you have one. Which is why everything is telling you that Peabody is prevaricating because he's trying to hide something.

"I understand your position, Mr. Peabody, but your contact is my biggest informant. If we don't have his testimonial, we'll never be able to publish this article on LexCorp."

There's more irate, increasingly loud yelling spilling down the speaker, but you could care less. You've been working on this article for months, carefully building layer upon layer of evidence, crafting the perfect hard-hitting expose. You're not taking his bullshit at face value anymore. Your mind is whirling as you lean back in your chair. Peabody is still spilling excuses into your ear, not that you care. Maybe you’re a little rough and brusque with Peabody as you hang up, but something about this situation is pinging in your head.

Your office is a bright space, all white walls, glass panes and metallic accents. From up on the 68th floor, Metropolis looks like a heaving anthill. Across the cityscape, another skyscraper glints tauntingly at you. You know Luthor is wrapped up in this. Okay, sure, corporate espionage isn’t exactly his deal, but who else could it be? You’ve carefully counted out every other potential culprit. Only Luthor is left. Turning around, there’s an unholy rage in your countenance as you glare down at the twisted mess taking over your walls. There are newspaper clippings, articles, string and scribbled notes all over the walls. Just looking at it is sometimes enough to give you a headache. But you desperately need to get to the bottom of this situation. There must be a reason why all roads seemingly lead to Lex Luthor’s shining obelisk to his ego. You wouldn't be surprised if Peabody is clamming up because someone is blackmailing him.

Before you can further dig into the LexCorp situation, a whistle rings out through the air. You're the newest investigative journalist at the Daily Planet. It means you have the smallest office with half-broken heating and air conditioning, which nobody else wanted. It’s also the office furthest away from the bullpen.

The editor-in-chief of the Planet, a gruff, peppery older man named Perry White, only calls all of you together if there is something big brewing in Metropolis. You have to shove your way to the front of the circle loosely gathered around Perry. You're short, so you couldn’t see over the crowd if you tried.

“Alright, alright, settle down you lot.”

Perry's voice is gruff, carrying the tones of a person who grew up in Metropolis or one of its boroughs. Of course, most of the office hails from Metropolis. Sometimes you think your upbringing in the cornfields of Iowa has something to do with your distance from the other journalists on staff. After all, despite living in Metropolis for the past five years, your voice still holds the slightest twang. You can dress like a Metropolis professional, walk like one, and talk like one, but everyone makes it abundantly obvious you will never be a citizen of Metropolis.

The hazing is par for the course. You’ve seen more than your fair share in the three months since you started at The Daily Planet. The source of your struggles is, you’re sure, one person. She’s standing at the other end of the circle of reporters waiting with baited breath as Perry doles out assignments.

Natasha Trace.

She gets all of the best assignments from Perry, just because she’s his niece or something like that. The vindictive smirk she gives you as she accepts the latest city hall press conference is proof. Your own assignment is a little more dangerous, 300 words on the newest homeless shelter opening in Southside. According to the mayor, Southside isn’t dangerous anymore, but you don’t believe him. Perry quotes the same thing every chance he can get, especially because he sends reporters out to Southside pretty often. It’s all part of the Planet’s “For the People” reporting strategy. Every day, you hear people talking about another mugging or shooting or what have you. So you’re under no assumptions that Perry and Natasha are giving you an assignment they want you to succeed in.

You're cursing them more and more the next day when you're kneeling with a puddle of spilled tomato soup seeping into your sensible dark trousers. It was just your luck that masked gunmen waltzed into the shelter in the middle of your interview, wasn’t it?

It was also just your luck that one of them had sent a spray of bullets into the air the moment hands went up. Cue some well-deserved screaming and a near-stampede for the doors, and you’d been pushed to the floor. So now you’re crouching in spilled soup with your hands up, trying and failing to moderate your breathing.

What the hell does a soup kitchen in Southside have for a gang of armed robbers, anyway? It’s not like it has much money. After all, this is only one of a string of new food shelters opening up in Metropolis. They’ve all been funded by the government, and they’re all supposed to be as clean as can be. Supposed to be, anyway. Obviously something isn’t right in the state of Denmark.

What’s just as interesting is the sight of the photographer you’ve been sent to the shelter with. Mickey Garcia is one of the Planet’s best. He’s got an eye for taking those photographs nobody else can. You’re not sure why Perry sent him with you. Usually he’s buddy-buddy with Natasha. He’s probably wishing he were with Natasha at City Hall right now. You know you are. But he doesn’t look scared or worried. He’s just kneeling in the soup next to you, hands up with his head cocked to the side and eyes staring into the distance.

It’s almost like he expects the police to come roaring up. Just as the lead invader turns his head, there’s a rush of wind and you see an imperceptible smirk on his face before he disappears between one blink and the next. You can smell ozone in the air, bitingly sharp, but it seems like nobody else notices but you.

Who the hell is Mickey Garcia? You almost wish you were hiding behind one of the tables. Because then you can pull out your notebook and start writing. Instead, it seems like all you have is your eyes and ears. How did he disappear so quickly? Metahumans aren’t exactly new in the world (or well, at least in the country). You remember reading about metahuman related events across the country. After all, everyone knows about Gotham City’s Bat. But recently there have been more and more reports. A meta-human in red-and-gold streaking through Central City. Villains with the power to freeze anything in its tracks and heroes with the power of the seven seas and beyond. And of course, everyone has seen the fluttering blue cape of Metropolis’ own metahuman.

So where does that leave you? Wishing for Superman, as you’ve heard him called, to save you? You’re not even sure he’ll show at all. There have to be a million other things happening in Metropolis more important.

“ALL OF YOU ON THE FLOOR!”

You’re not on the floor long when a hand grabs you by your hair and yanks you up.

“What do we have here?” A greasy voice growls the words into your ear as cold metal presses into your temple. “A little reporter eagerly waiting for a scoop?”

You shudder, your skin crawling at the hunger in this man’s voice as he traces his index finger up and down your throat. Your press badge thwaps against your chest with every movement.

“P-please.” You’re trembling in earnest, teeth chattering. “These people are innocent, th-they have no money. They’re here to get some food. The only money the shelter has is for food.”

His cackle chills you to the bone. “Oh, you’re so naive, you sweet little thing.”

“We’re not here for the shelter’s money. We’re here for the city’s money.” He grins, blowing his foul-smelling breath in your face. “And if the city doesn’t cough up the goods, we’ll just take you in exchange.”

“And what if he comes to save us?”

You’re not sure who asks, but it sparks a rising tide of questions. People are shouting the questions out, and the men grow angrier and angrier. From your new vantage point with a barrel pressed to your temple you can see how uneasy they actually are. Their fingers tighten around the weaponry, paling at the joints as they grip at the metal. The more people ask, bolstered by the sounds of the sirens outside and the crackle of voices through bullhorns, the angrier your captor gets.

“All of you, shut up!” It's a roar of sound which leaves your ears ringing. The gun hurts as it presses into your throat. It’s hard to breathe, to swallow, to think. Something tells you you're not getting out of this stand-off alive. Your pulse is thudding in your ears and your chest aches. You hear the tell-tale click and your eyes are screwed closed.

Please. Please. Please. I promise I'll be better. I promise I'll be a better daughter, a better employee.

You're not sure who you're praying to, but you’re praying nonetheless.

There's so much I haven’t done yet.

It shouldn’t be so sad, thinking about how pathetic your life is - how empty it is. You're braced to hear the sound of a gunshot, braced to feel pain and then feel nothing ever again. You can feel the silk of your blouse, the expensive one you never wear, sticking to your back as you heave in thready, unsteady breaths.

It's almost anticlimactic, the way it happens. You smell the same sharp ozone scent you did earlier and the hand wrapped around your throat, the gun pressed to the hinge of your jaw disappears. You keep your eyes screwed shut, trying to ignore the yells of pain and cut-off curses as people get beaten up. You keep expecting to feel the acute pain of a bullet lancing through you, burning through your skin. But you feel nothing. You hear nothing, and obviously all you can see is the underside of your own eyelids.

“Miss, you can open your eyes now. It's all going to be okay.”

You know what this voice is saying as you stand stiff-backed in the center of the room. Your muscles are locked in place and your hands are curled into fists at your side. You're not sure you could move if you tried to.

The hands that hold yours are warm, warmer than they have any right to be. But they feel good, and you can feel yourself relaxing into the touch. When your eyes open, you're not sure what you expected to see. But what you get is Metropolis's own Superman. He is smiling at you, pearly teeth on display, big brown eyes gentle as he talks you out of your panic. You're enraptured by how his dark hair curls just so over his forehead and how his jaw is so well-defined it could cut diamond.

More than anything, you wish you were still holding your notebook and pen or a dictaphone or anything. If there was anyone you want to interview here and now, it's him. But something is bothering you about him. He looks oddly familiar, something in the turn of his cheek and the fall of his hair.

Your statement to MCPD takes the longest. Long after all the other hostages have headed home or been shuttled to other shelters in the city, you stand, ignoring the way tomato soup is crusting on your clothes and how your fingers ache. Maybe your statement wouldn’t have taken quite so long if you weren’t trying to interview your interviewer back. In any case, by the time your throat is dry and aching, it’s late, approaching midnight and the only person left other than police personnel is Superman.

“A-are you okay, Miss?”

You blink at his words, because he sounds oddly bashful, and that is a look you never expected to see on a superhero’s face.

“I’m fine.” You grin, the motion only halfway genuine. “I'm just about to head out. I'm sure a superhero like you has better things to do, other people to save and whatnot.”

“U-um, no actually.” He tips his head to the side, using his hand to fix his already immaculate hair.

“Do you always wait around at crime scenes to walk a gal home?”

“W-would it be alright if I walked you home?”

Your questions collide in midair against each other. You huff out an exhausted laugh, but he just blushes a little, golden cheeks flushing as his eyes twinkle at you.

“N-no. I don’t make a habit of waiting at crime scenes to walk girls home. Guess that's something only for you.”

Now it's your turn to battle hot cheeks. You can't even fan your face off because you don't have a thing to fan yourself with. Flapping your hands makes you feel stupid. So instead, you let Superman lead you out of the shelter and onto Metropolis’ streets. The city is alive with the sound of cars and ambulances. Someone has a radio on their window playing music. It feels like you're in an entirely different place.

“So, what about that walk home?”

He smells good. For the first time you notice how good he smells, this Superman, now that your nose isn't clogged with the smells of spilled tomato soup and sandwiches. You want to spend time with him. You want to forget what is waiting for you in the morning, how angry Perry is going to be when you didn't get a scoop on the shelter or any pictures that you know of. Maybe if you spin the Superman angle to this? It doesn't feel right, exploiting this man when he's so clearly doing it to help people. You also don't want to stop talking to him yet.

“Sure.”

Honestly you wish you'd clarified, because when he said walk, you thought he was actually going to walk with you. Instead he sweeps you up in his arms and shoots up into the sky. You scream the whole way, hands scrabbling for purchase against his suit, finally settling for an arm around his shoulder. You're shaken and shivering when he finally stops moving.

“Shit, sorry.”

You grumble into his broad chest at the cheeky apology.

“Just thought you'd want to see the city how I see it.”

When you finally screw up the courage to take a look, your lips part in a gasp. The entirety of Metropolis is laid out in front of you. Lit in gold from all of the lights, you're grinning from ear-to-ear as you peer out over the city.

“It's gorgeous!” There's a pleased smirk on his face. “I can't believe you get to see the city like this!”

“Yeah,” He grins, something soft. “I didn't fall in love with the city until the first time I saw this view.”

“I can see why,” You gasp, witnessing how soft your colossal city looks in the moonlight, how it seems like a world filled with such promise.

“Let's get you home.” There's a blush on his cheeks as he swoops you down, following your murmured instructions like he knows every inch of the city.

You feel a little bit like a princess when he sets you lightly down on the doorstep. He's still floating in the air, the navy blue suit he's wearing clinging to every muscle. Now more than ever something feels familiar about him. He stays outside your door watching with the same smirk on his face, his head cocked to the side like he's waiting to hear your deadbolt slide home.

You're a little giddy when he flies away, and you curl into your bed like you're in a dream. You sleep well, for the most part, not half as traumatized as you expected to be after being held hostage at gunpoint. At least, until you jolt up in bed, your hair a mess around you and growl, “Garcia!”

He'd disappeared when the police came to the shelter with their bullhorns and their posturing. You'd smelled the same sharp ozone-tinged scent in the air when he'd disappeared and when Superman shot into the room. But there is more too. The shape of his face, the way he smiled, the almost compulsive way he pushed his hair off his face. He acts just like Garcia does, too.

What is the likelihood your first encounter with Metropolis' own Superman would give you insight into his alter-ego? After all, nobody would suspect that quiet, bespectacled, sweet Mickey Garcia, a photographer for the Daily Planet, is Superman. Nobody, it's obvious, but you. Forget your conspiracy board on LexCorp and their shady dealings. Right now, an exclusive interview with Superman seems like just the ticket to rocket you into fame.

But you can’t let on that you know. You spend the day typing up a lackluster article on the shelter opening, your eyes peering over your computer every time you hear footsteps coming your way. The people walking past you never stop by, not even to chat. You're practically sprinting for the door when you see Garcia, chunky headphones around his neck.

“Hey, Garcia!”

He turns and looks oddly surprised to see you.

“You got a sec?”

“Y-yeah, of course.”

His stutter is adorable. You have to remind yourself he is Superman.

“I wanted to take a look at the pictures you shot yesterday. Obviously the opening wasn't what we expected, but it should be an interesting public interest piece anyway.”

When he's sitting in the chair next to yours, fingers flying over your keyboard as he shows you all of the photos he took as well as a few of the aftermath, you're questioning your gut instinct even more. How is it possible he got pictures of the police helping people, interviewing you, if he was Superman?

It's nice, working with someone who smiles at you instead of spitting insults out behind your back.

“This looks great.”

There's a smile on your face as you look at the finished article.

“Yeah, not bad for an article about a shelter opening turned into a hostage situation, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

You turn, and rest your arm on his forearm. You let your reporting instinct take the driver’s seat. When he's relaxed, maybe you'll get some answers out of him.

“I completely forgot to ask! How are you holding up after yesterday? You know what Perry always says, ‘We're a family here at the Planet!��. I was terrified when those gunmen burst in.”

You prattle on and on, seeing his face change, almost fall, when you mention Superman.

“You know, he's awfully handsome, Superman is. He took me home, made sure I was alright.”

You grin, wickedly, though you know for sure nobody here in Metropolis knows you well enough to tell.

“And then he blushed.”

All of your suspicions are proved true when Mikey Garcia blushes the same way Superman did.

“You know something? Superman blushed just like that when he was showing me Metropolis how he sees it.”

There's panic in his eyes now. You're just fast enough to block him at the door, arm flung out to stop him from walking past you.

“So…. How long have you been Superman, Mickey Garcia?”

Taglist:

@sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @teacupsandtopgun

@roosterforme @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy

@shanimallina87 @a-reader-and-a-writer @dakotakazansky @seitmai

@shinycupcakebaker

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #mickey fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #mickey garcia x reader #superman!mickey #superman au #reporter!reader #both reader and mickey work for the daily planet

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the-ellia-west · 7 months ago

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INTRO POST!!1!!!!!1!

Hello! I'm Ellia! Welcome to my weird-ass writeblr blog! Here's some things to know about me:

I am an Aspiring author and Devoted Christian Woman. I live in the USA (CDT time zone) I am a minor, and the only other language I know is some very spotty spanish.

I mainly write Fantasy, and I'm working on four main projects (Listed Below)!

I like: Jesus, Bright Colors, People, Writing, Reading, Cats, Music, Warm Weather, Rain, Flowers, Dresses, and my Moots!

I Dislike: The texture of wool, Heavy Lifting, Baked Beans, Sin, Satan, Demons, and the Time Travel Trope

Hey! Pst! Before you continue! I have a side blog! Check out @jakkon-and-rose-topic if you want to read some stuff!

Tags:

Ellia Writes - Any talking or sharing of any aspect of any of my WIPs

Ellia's Construction Company - How I make stuff, tutorials, ect.

Ghost Party - Chatting and geeking out with my friends/Moots

Ellia answers - Answering questions

Ellia's Rambling - Me talking about stuff (a little too much)

Ellia's Haunted house - Any posts that I could slot into my story and character/world building. And my pile of creations (Including shitposts)

Ellia's mind palace - Stuff I'm adding to my mental Library :]

Ghost gardens - Aesthetic Pictures and stuff

Ghost scribbles - Art/Drawing Practice

My Wips:

TCOT - (The Cursed One's Throne) - TCOT is a low fantasy Novel Series I have been working on for 5 years, and I hope to publish in the next year, and the Main Wip I will work on and talk about on this blog (Tags: #elliatcot, #ellia tcot, #ellia's tcot, #the cursed one's throne)

J&R - (Placeholder Title) - High fantasy Adventure with Sass, spunk, and a heck of a lot of conflict (To be turned into a comic one day)

StF - (Steel and Feathers) - StF is a High Fantasy project about a Chosen one And stuff (Tags: #stf, #elliastf, #ellia'sstf, #ellia stf, #ellia stf)

Fallen - (That's the title) - A High Fantasy Romance between a Runaway Noble and a Disgraced (probably Criminal) (Tags: #elliafallen, #ellia'sfallen, #ellia fallen, #ellia's fallen, #rustpearl)

StF Short story Masterpost!

Alkain - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Raavas - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 3.5

Old Pinned post Copy-paste below (followed by my moots)

------------------------------------ Hey there! Hi! You! Tumblr user!

Are you a fan of epic fantasy? Want a story with romance, action, and sassy heroes and villains? How about some good old-fashioned ANGST?

If so, you're in luck! Get ready for the upcoming release of The Cursed One's Throne (TCOT for short), coming... well, eventually!

A story of trauma, war, recovery, trust, and love intertwined with curses, magic, sacrifice, and a few too little hours of sleep. Who needs a release date when you've got me, the very entertaining author, right?

------------------------------------

Wtf is TCOT?

TCOT sneak Peek

Worldbuilding

Music

TCOT Ships

Post this comes from

✨️Moots✨️💫

@agirlandherquill - HER WORDS ARE ART, GO FOLLOW NOW

@aredeemantagonist - Fun to talk to! AMAZING IDEASSS

@artsandstoriesandstuff - AWESOME ARTIST WITH AMAZINGLY CREATIVE IDEAS, FOLLOW THEM NOW!!!

@bigwipscholar - Yes

@bloodmoonloveletter - Slay

@blue-kyber - READ IT ALL

@corinneglass - Why is she so amazing and sweet?!??!? I do not deserve her 😔

@cosmolumine - Extremely Creative with wonderful ideas you can't help but get hooked on :]

@cybercelestian - I don't talk to her as much as I'd like to, but I live her <333

@darkandstormydolls - AN AMAZING WRITER, Her research on medieval clothing and settings is really cool and useful too! <3

@fantastictrashpolice - I need to talk to her more often too because she is very sweet and wonderful <3

@homelessnerdwrites - Very kind and wonderful, and I don't think I've seen any of her writing yet but she still ROCKS!!!

@i-hate-happy-endings - A wonderful author with FANTASTIC ideas that you all should check out!!

@illarian-rambling - ALL OF HER IDEAS MAKE ME WANT TO SCREAM, I WISH I COULD BE THIS CREATIVE AND WONDERFUL

@lunaeuphternal - A wonderful friend who I don't speak to often but is an amazing person you should check out!

@pastellbg - A Wonderful artist and friend all of you Need to follow!!!! (Slay Queen)

@phoenixradiant - His ideas and writing is amazing and poetic in EVERY SINGLE WORD he chooses

@rivenantiqnerd - YES

@savepoint-has-died - ALSO YES

@sl-vega

@somethingclevermahogony

@sunflowerrosy - Why does she follow me, I am so LAME?!?@?@?

@sunglasses-in-the-bentley - My beloved adopted daughter who deserves all the attention :]]]

@supercimi - A WONDERFUL friend with ALL the Amazing ideas you could wish for

@thecoolerlucky

@thelazywitchphotographer

@thepeculiarbird - Amazing Artist, I deeply admire her every word and movement

@urnumber1star - The author I can only wish to be 😔✊️ Follow Her

@vyuntspakhkite-l-darling - THE MOST CREATIVE AND WONDERFUL AND AMAZING IDEAS I THINK I HAVE EVER SEEN

If you made it all the way to the end, have a wonderful day, don't forget to drink water, have a little snack, sleep, take a walk, and Don't forget that I love you :] <3333

#creative writing #fiction writing #writing community #writer things #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writers #writer

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toloveawarlord · 2 years ago

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♥ Pairing: Koharu x Hajime Kokonoi

♥ Timeline: Bonten

♥ Event: Kinktober

♥ Day 3: Office

♥ Warnings: Workplace sex; caught; penetration;

♥ wc: 1.6K

"This is an absolute mess. Who allowed Sanzu to do this?" Koharu read the messy handwriting of his reports. They were lacking basic information, and nothing was dated. Sorting these would be an absolute nightmare. Ramblings at best.

Koko leaned back in his chair, taking a break from crunching the numbers on a recent purchase. He turned his attention to his wife perched on his desk. Her pencil skirt had ridden up her thighs, barely covering her.

"Honestly, how is this organization still afloat?" It frustrated her that poor paperwork and the organizational skills of a toddler were common among the executives. Hajime had to take on extra work to cover for what they lacked.

But he wasn't interested in the problem that she had. His hand reached out to stroke her thigh, soft skin meeting his fingertips. Boring days at the office were few and far between now. Not only did she excel in business affairs, but Koko had quite the view when he got tired of staring at his screen.

"Can you focus? I'd like to be finished in time for dinner." Koharu brushed his hand away, crimson irises never leaving the scribbles that needed deciphering. They had a reservation at the grand opening of a new rooftop venue, and she was not going to be rescheduling.

"Do you know how beautiful you are? It’s truly distracting.”

Ah, that got her attention, albeit the woman raised an eyebrow at his sudden sweet talk instead of swooning like others might.

"That's the line you're going with. A little weak, don't you think?"

He abandoned his chair to confront her. Plucking the papers from her hands, tossing them into the chair to be rid of them, Koko leaned down to kiss her. "What is it that I should be saying then? Should I be sweeter? Or-"

His hands hooked around her knees, jerking her forward to the edge of the desk. Koharu had no way to stop him from pinning her to the desk, back flat against the wooden surface as his lips captured hers once again.

He did know how to take her breath away. She was disappointed when he pulled away.

"I have no problems being a little mean to you."

Koharu almost laughed out loud but managed to hold it back. A smirk did creep up on her lips. It was impossible to deny that he was incredibly sexy when he got so demanding. "Oh? I'm pretty sure you're a big softie on the inside."

And it was the truth. Of all the men at Bonten, Hajime didn't quite fit in. He wasn't violent. He wasn't brash or arrogant. Koharu could tell that he was here because of his skills at making money quickly and efficiently.

Essentially, he was a prized asset that kept the criminal organization running.

"There's nothing soft about what I want to do to you." His eyes were filled with desire and lust. He'd never been a man that sought the arms of a woman as often as the others. Yet, since bringing Koharu in as his wife, he found himself desperate to touch her every day.

Koharu almost hated how he could make her body react to only his voice. The promise of what that entailed set her on fire. All her thoughts about finishing work were replaced with a craving for him. "I'm looking forward to it."

That was all the invitation that Koko needed. Today had been a particularly difficult one. Between meetings that ended in petty arguing between his colleagues that gave him a headache, and more paperwork being piled on his desk, he'd been relieved when she'd graced him with her assistance in the afternoon.

All that pent up into this aching desire that needed a release.

Her blouse buttons flew in different directions as quick hands ripped it open. Koko leaned down to nip at her collarbone, sucking on the soft skin to leave a mark. Her sweet voice as he licked the sensitive spot fueled him to continue.

"Fuck, I won't ever get tired of these." With her bra somewhere on the floor, Koko palmed her breasts. Pornstar worthy.

Koharu arched into his touch, biting her lip when his tongue flicked over her nipple. Her hips rocked forward against his, feeling the bulge in his pants. It was hardly enough.

But her hand was snatched when she attempted to slip it between her legs. Instead, it was brought to his lips, where he placed gentle kisses on her fingers.

"I believe I said that I was going to be mean. So, you'll have to wait until I want that. I'm plenty occupied right now." It never failed to make him shiver with delight when she pouted. Koko placed both her wrists above her head. "Keep them there and maybe I'll be nice."

His fingers ghosted her sides, making Koharu squirm underneath him. A truly exquisite body, and Koko was well aware of how hard she worked to keep this figure. "You're staring."

"It's because you have such a pretty face."

Koko let out a breathy laugh, bending down to shut her up. His cheeks were awfully hot. She rarely gave out compliments to anyone, and this one struck his heart a little harder than he thought. "You never cease to catch me off guard."

"That's what's so exciting about me, isn't it?" She asked, a smirk tugging at her lips.

He chuckled in response with a shake of his head. "It's part of your charm. One among many, many things that are amazing about you." They worked well together. He found that she rose to every challenge that he gave her.

And the sex was exciting and full of lust.

Koko was getting addicted to the feeling of being inside her. "Always so fuckin good." He was proud to say that he was above average in size, and Koharu was tight as a fuckin virgin every time they fucked.

Her eyes slid closed, legs wrapping around his waist. "Ah- yes- right there-" That full feeling never got old. He was the kind of man who could do it all. Rough. Tender. Fast. Slow. It was pleasure no matter how they did it. "Oh my god."

However, it was short lived.

The door unceremoniously slammed against the wall, revealing both the Haitani brothers. From her upside-down view, Koharu could have sworn that Ran had actually kicked the door open, hands still firmly in his pockets. She hated that eat shit grin that he had.

"Nice tits," Ran commented, no shame in staring at her body. He strolled in, brother right behind him. "When you get tired of her, Koko, I call marrying her next. I'd like to see the rest."

Koharu covered herself as best she could, rolling her eyes. Was he going to pull out or stay in? Either way it seemed like the wrong choice. All she could do was pull her knees together against Koko's stomach, thankful for his quick tug at her skirt.

"Jesus, can't you knock?"

Ran shrugged, violet eyes still watching the uncomfortable woman on the desk. He was never shy about his advances toward her. "Don't let us interrupt. We'll wait."

Koko covered his wife's mouth, sure that she was about to say something that might get them both in trouble. She still had problems with the Bonten hierarchy. "Get out, Haitani. I'm unavailable for the rest of the day."

"That's unfortunate."

"Boss wants a meeting," Rindou said, less interested in getting involved with this mess. He wasn't fond of Koharu, and they butted heads often. She had a hot body but that attitude of hers needed fixing in his opinion.

Koharu was tempted to bite Koko's hand and give them a piece of her mind but refrained. They were her least favorite among the Bonten Executives.

"Oh, shit. Uh-" Kakucho was the kindest out of the bunch aside from her husband. He at least averted his eyes, unsure of where to look.

Apparently, this meeting was taking place in Koko's office. At the worst possible time.

A whiff of smoke wafted through the room. Takeomi swooped in silently, grabbing Ran by the back of his collar and dragged him toward the door. Without a single word. And the other two followed, closing the door.

"Next time, we should lock the door."

Crimson irises narrowed, pushing him away so she could get off the desk. "Next time?" As if she was going to let him touch like that again anywhere near this building. "Next time we'll be at fucking dinner like I wanted to be."

Clothes were easily located and the two made themselves more presentable for a meeting.

"I shouldn't have put you in that situation. I'm sorry." Koko was kicking himself for letting this happen. He'd let his hormones take over. And it was her that would be discussed among the others, not him.

Koharu sighed. She wasn't angry with him. It was those two fucking brothers who made her blood boil. Animals, both of them. "Maybe we need an office that's not in the same building for... next time."

God knows that she had been utterly turned on by doing it in the office. Who wouldn't be after spending all day in a room with him?

"I'll be home as soon as I can."

She wasn't allowed in these meetings, which was completely fine with her. Koharu rose up to kiss him. It was all she could to calm her nerves. "Don't make me wait too long or you'll be left with your hand."

Koko's mouth almost dropped open as he watched her walk away. Fucking hell. He dropped into his chair, safely shielded by the desk so that none of his colleagues could see his hard-on. There was no way he could focus on the meeting when his mind was occupied by images of his smoking hot wife playing with herself in the penthouse.

What a fuckin woman he'd married.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers oc #hajime kokonoi #kokonoi smut #tokyo revengers smut

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djarinsbeskar · 4 years ago

Text

PREQUEL ARC: PART 2 - THE HOUK

A/N: Part 2 is here! First and foremost, can I just say thank you so much for the reception Part 1 received and to those who (gasps!) actually want me to tag them for updates??? I don’t know how to react??? I’m so touched??????? It’s so motivating and has reminded me why I love sharing my scribbles!

There’s a greater focus on world/character building in this chapter so if it feels a bit rambling or description heavy, I do apologise! Like I said, I’m trying to build some context to the reader-insert before we get to the smut, and I hope that I’ve kept her general enough that she doesn’t cross the line too much into OC territory and becomes unrelatable. As always, constructive criticism is welcome! My style of writing leaves much to be desired so I would love to know if something doesn’t make sense so I can improve and fix it. But enough of that, on with the show!

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: Language and slight injury detail.

Plot: You encounter Mando suffering one misfortune after another.

AO3 | Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

8 ABY, Mynock, Dandoran.

The second time you met him, he had dislocated his shoulder after a nasty clash with a Houk.

Your dealing with the Mandalorian on Klatooine had moved to the back of your mind and you rarely, if ever, thought about it. It was merely another encounter with a rough character that needed some medical attention. You wouldn’t have been able to hazard a guess at how many similar characters you saw in a week while you worked at the clinic. Even more so when you’d left Klatooine after becoming disillusioned that the New Republic were actually trying to make a difference.

You had heard stories from the Core and Mid Rim planets. Stories of the investment and progress being made to rebuild after the tyranny of the Empire, of the billions of credits being poured into the development of new ship building centers on Corellia and large, extravagant residencies for government members on Coruscant. Things, you were sure, that were not actually urgent necessities as they were desires. Especially given that the funds you received from that same government to sustain the clinic thinned before drying up completely a few months after your encounter with the Mandalorian.

…Hemorrhaging more credits than is justified for the benefits we’re seeing in return.

The busybody politician with a colorful title and even more colorful robes waxed poetically, hiding the sentiment of disinterest in ways only a politician could. Half-heartedly trying to distract you by his explanations with empty praise and gratitude for your service during the Rebellion and your humanitarian work now, a true embodiment of what the New Republic stands for. He crowed like the colorful bird he looked like, dressed as he was with fine feathers lining the lapels of his robes.

You bristle at the memory of the hologram’s eyes flickering to look at anything besides you, running down the time you had spent weeks trying to get.

That was when the memory of the Mandalorian surfaced, surprisingly. How the day after you treated him you arrived at the medical center and saw a familiar pouch of credits sitting innocently behind the check-in desk. When you enquired with the receptionist, she told you it was sitting there once she opened up earlier that morning. The only note left being on one of the datapads behind the desk, the scrawling font reading; to help with your work. You had let out a chuckle to yourself as you checked your schedule, wondering if the brutish male you had treated last night really was as cold as he portrayed himself to be.

The memory had incited a righteous anger that a bounty hunter was more willing to support a voluntary clinic than the government that set it up in the first place was.

I thought the Empire were the ones who put a credit limit on what a life is worth. You had hissed in return, interrupting what you were sure was a well-rehearsed and well used speech, before hanging up. You pressed the heel of your hands into your eyes, taking a shuddering breath as you tried not to be nihilistic in thinking that you had spent nearly half your life thinking you could make a difference, when, you were just serving the Empire in different clothing.

It wasn’t a fair comparison; you knew the New Republic was neither as cruel nor as tyrannical and oppressive as it’s predecessor, but you had been made so dreadfully aware that in places like the Outer Rim, people would always be overlooked by those in power because they simply didn’t offer enough to be worth looking at.

The realization was a raw wound to your soul. You had lost brothers and friends to the fight for liberation, but it didn’t seem as though the grass was much greener on the other side. Maybe elsewhere in the galaxy it was, but where you were needed most, the grass was dehydrated and dying under the relentless sun.

With the clinic penniless, your meagre pension from the Rebellion was not nearly enough to keep it functioning. Add to that the reluctance of the other medics to run the clinic alongside you out of their own pocket and the intergalactic beacon for medical aid that alerted anyone in the parsec of where to go being disengaged, traffic stopped. The native Klatooinians preferred their own healers and very rarely, if ever, sought out medics from the New Republic.

For the first time in your life, your path wasn’t clear. If you even had a path anymore.

That was how you found yourself on Dandoran, flying off a week after the last of the medics left Derelkann to the first planet that was habitable to humans. But by the Maker, it was even rougher than Klatooine. The temperate climate and lush greenery were more comfortable for you, but the city you found yourself in, Mynock, was to say the least, undesirable. Having once been Hutt Space, there were still several illegal operations active that kept the city going and you learned early on what areas to avoid and to always carry a blaster with you. But at least where there was activity, there was work for you.

***

You met Biran Sonter the very day you arrived, asking directions to the nearest medical facility, hoping they could use another medic. He was an elderly Mirialan male with a wealth of history behind him, his facial tattoos creased with deep wrinkles and a kindly smile that reminded you of your grandfather.

You were flabbergasted to learn that during the time of the Galactic Republic, he acted as the royal physician to the palace on Naboo.

As you choked on the tea he had kindly made for you at that revelation, you couldn’t ask him quickly enough how he ended up here? On an Outer Rim backwater skughole of a planet and his tale had been sobering. When the Republic first fell, anyone who did not immediately surrender to the rising Empire was terminated. Biran had, at the time, only heard word of the death of the beloved former Queen Amidala and blamed the Empire vehemently. Escaping on one of the last shuttles from the Mid Rim planet before legions of clones descended, he arrived on Dandoran where no one, not even the Hutts cared enough to notice him. All they knew, was that he was an excellent doctor who charged little for his services and kept to himself. That was good enough for them. While he treated a vast number of criminals ranging from thieves to bounty hunters, he was not wholly merciful. He somehow managed to avoid or talk his way out of treating anyone in the organized crime syndicates or known traffickers and killers. It may have gone against a physician’s code to do ones best to save every life, but he like many, made their own code in the Outer Rim.

You fell into a fast and easy friendship with the Mirialan after that, your similar histories of working in the medical field despite being decades apart giving you plenty to talk about. The practice Biran ran in Mynock was always busy and he was only too grateful when you offered to take the weight off his old shoulders and gradually, his clients began to expect to see you most of the day and Biran for a few hours in the early morning. You were never short on work between cantina brawls, accidents and the downright attacks that took place in Mynock and the next eighteen standard months seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, Klatooine a distant memory, as was the Mandalorian you met there.

The night you saw him again, was no different to any other you spent enjoying a quiet drink before heading back to turn in for the night.

You had been in the process of leaving the cantina, recognizing that the later it grew, the rowdier and aggressive the clientele became. You could handle yourself as well as anyone who made their home in Hutt Space, but you knew better than to be blatantly reckless when you were on your own. It wasn’t like you had the squadron you stayed with throughout the Rebellion for backup as you once did, and your closest ally would probably break in half if you pushed him too hard. So no, you were not staying late with Mynocks newest resident of a Houk warlord and the company he seemed to attract.

The Houk in question was a cruel and belligerent brute, a former local warlord by the name of Gappo Teff. His reputation for inflicting punishment disproportionate to any slight committed against him or the Empire was one of the many echoes of the former imperial rule that was still being felt in the galaxy nearly three years after its collapse.

The stories of the chokehold he held over Sullust would make even a hardened soldier’s stomach churn. How he managed to escape the liberation of the planet without being dragged to the noxious surface of Sullust to suffer for the pain he had caused so many, was a mystery. But there he was, sitting like a king in the cantina you found yourself in, bellowing laughter ricocheting obnoxiously throughout the space, not a care in the world that he was a wanted felon.

It might have been to do with the fact that he was at least seven and a half foot tall, with a mass that could easily fit three of you side by side across him and still not be seen. It might have been to do with the cold, milky blue of his small eyes, sunk into a skull so large it could probably shatter ribs and rupture organs if one were to be headbutted with it. The last thing anyone wanted was those eyes focusing on them. It could have been the heavy artillery modified blaster he kept laying on his lap; the weapon more of a cannon for those of a more regular stature. Whatever the reason, very few bounty hunters and even fewer New Republic guards came to collect him. He was probably one of the most easily found quarries on all Guild registers and New Republic wanted lists and yet, he languished in Mynock as if the Empire had never fallen and his reign was still assured.

Making your way to the entrance, you came up short as someone walked in, your nose coming abruptly close to a reddish-brown durasteel chest-plate. Taking a step back, your eyes did a double take at the familiar unpainted beskar helmet. Subconsciously, you had stepped to the side, the Mandalorian continuing to walk without a word as if you hadn’t nearly walked into him. Mandalorians were a rare sight these days, so you could be forgiven for staring. Though, you were most likely staring for entirely different reasons compared to everyone else in the cantina.

The armor was the same, if not a bit more worn, as was the dark boiled woolen cape and pulse rifle strapped to his back. But it was the gait; how could someone walk both gracefully and arrogantly, almost cocky in his self-assurance that he was in control wherever he went. It explained why he was so determined not to let his injury be known by his walk the last time you saw him. Because you had seen him before, there was no doubt in your mind that this was the same irritable reek of a Mandalorian you met in Derelkann years ago.

He stood in the middle of the cantina, assessing the place as his helmet scanned the area. If you didn’t know any better, you say he was…

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me.” You muttered to yourself when the helmet stopped on Teff. When you said bounty hunters didn’t bother to come after him, you should have been more specific. Smart bounty hunters didn’t bother hunting Gappo Teff, which explained why the one you knew of was right there looking for him.

A choice lay before you. Leave now and lock your doors until morning… or wait. For what, you couldn’t be sure. But if the Mandalorian wasn’t killed tonight by Teff, he was going to wish he was with the injuries he would probably sustain.

You let your head fall back on your shoulders as you exhaled. Why were you so soft for lost causes and wayward souls?

The Houks bodyguards left much to be desired, crumbling to the ground before they had even drawn their blasters, smoke rising from the blaster wounds inflicted effortlessly by Din.

The bodyguards weren’t what worried Din. Their boss hardly needed protecting, and he wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The groan and screech of the metal table being shoved away by Teff as he stood to his full height made Din grit his teeth, arms open as he boomed, “Ah Mando, I was wondering when you’d try your luck at me. Your reputation is becoming rather infamous throughout the parsec.”

A guttural, wet laugh left the purple skinned quarry as Din remained silent and kept his blaster aimed. Damn, but the piece of bantha crap was big. He quickly scanned his peripheral, but it seemed the residents of Mynock had more self-interest than to trade blaster fire over one warlord, the barkeep casually making his was into the backroom of the bar to keep out of harms way.

“Why don’t you hang up that Guild work and let me make you a better offer.” Teff boomed, taking a swing of his drink, streams of the yellow fluid running down the sides of him mouth as those frosty eyes stayed trained on the bounty hunter.

Din rolled his eyes behind his helmet; negotiations by the quarry were his least favorite reaction to being caught but he knew better than to think he had captured the colossal male yet. Until Teff was either dead or frozen in carbonite, he was a danger. Luckily, the orders were to bring him in dead or alive. Seems the New Republic were fed up with him still breathing. He couldn’t say he blamed them.

“No?” the Houk pushed when Din didn’t respond, “Too bad, you’d have made an excellent addition to my collection.” And with more speed than Din had anticipated from the large male, he charged.

You had the good sense to leave the cantina as soon as the first blaster shot was fired, pulling the hood of your dusty grey jacket over your head while you made your way back to the practice to gather a few things. Things that would be completely obsolete if he died but you wouldn’t think that far. You were a realist, not a pessimist. The Houk might have had the advantage of height and sheer strength, but the Mandalorian was quicker, possibly smarter, and decked with enough firepower to make a starfighter pilot drool.

So, you put the odds about sixty forty in favor of the Mandalorian. Not that you would ever tell him that.

Teff roared in anger as Din rolled out of the way again, shooting his grappling hook to latch onto the Houks shoulder and yanked hard enough to throw the male off balance. Despite his large size however, Teff was able to slide his foot back to catch himself, putting him in direct line with Din.

He was on his feet in no time as the Houk charged at him, lowering his head so that on contact, Din’s left shoulder was thrown back into the wall of the cantina. His breath left him as the impact winded him, a dull but growing pain throbbing from his shoulder before Teff’s vile breath permeated even his helmet and a large hand wrapped around Din’s throat. He could feel his feet leave the floor and the weight of his body pulling downward made the pressure on his windpipe all the heavier.

“Oh well, at least you tried.” Teff gloated, his head leaning closer as if to peer into the visor and that distraction was all Din needed to lift his hand and engage his flamethrower, engulfing the Houk in flames. Din gasped in a breath when he was dropped, the squeals of pain coming from Teff disconcerting as he staggered around the cantina, desperately looking for something to extinguish the inferno his clothing and more vulnerable tissue had become.

Din waited a few more measured breaths before lifting the blaster and shooting the quarry in the vulnerable side of the neck, satisfied with the resounding bang the body made as it fell to the ground, flames still burning bright until he picked up the half-drunk tankard on Teffs table to douse the fire lest he be completely unrecognizable upon delivery.

Din looked around, the cantina was empty; the silence suddenly deafening as he looked back down at the body.

Now, how to get him back to the Razor Crest.

Din sighed.

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

You held up your hands unsurprised when the Mandalorian spun on the ramp of his ship, blaster raised and aimed right at you. He tilted his head slightly, taking you in and you tried not to fidget under the gaze you could feel raking over you despite not being able to see his eyes. What you could see though, was how limp his left arm was hanging to his side.

“The demon medic from Klatooine.” He muttered, finally placing your face and lowering his blaster slowly while you lowered your arms.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You snorted before nodding to his arm, “And you’ll probably be calling me a lot worse when I tell you that that arm needs tending to.”

He shifted slightly, turning his body so you wouldn’t be able to see. You just crossed your arms across your chest and stared at him pointedly. He held your gaze and was still as a statue. You could play the silence game too if that was how he wanted to do this. It was only a matter of time before one of you broke and you weren’t the one with a dislocated shoulder, so you’d say that the odds were in your favor.

It seemed like time dragged on before, without saying anything, the Mandalorian sighed and turned towards the ship.

You bit down on a smile, but you could still feel it creeping upon your lips as you congratulated yourself on winning. Two nil, you tallied in your head, not bad girl.

The ship… well the ship was a fossil and that was being generous. But it was clean and obviously well taken of, if the tidy hull was anything to go by.

Apart from the charred corpse lying in the middle of course, but those were just details. Easily overlooked. The smell however… that was a different story, but you held back any comments. You still couldn’t fathom how he’d managed to drag a fully grown Houk through the town one-handed, but then you knew that the strength and discipline of the Mandalorians was unrivalled. He could have done it through sheer determination and honestly, you were lucky to have found him at all. But people in Mynock liked to talk, so following the rumors' had let you there relatively easy.

A sigh broke your train of thought, “Let’s get this over with.”

The warrior seemed resigned to his fate as he stepped over the corpse and you followed suit, mind instantly running through the correct procedure and treatment.

“We have to get the bone in the upper arm into the correct position before it slips back into joint, otherwise the force will just break your arm.” You explained as you moved to stand in front of the large warrior when he sat back on one of the many crates pushed against the wall of the ship. You could barely hear the short exhales coming from the modulator and you could only guess that he was holding back speaking, whether in pain or frustration that you had strong-armed him into accepting treatment again.

“But hey, look on the bright side.”

His visor tilted slightly to look at you.

“No droids needed.” You shrugged a shoulder and sent him a grin when he said nothing. When he looked away, you focused your attention back on the problem shoulder; it wasn’t immediately clear that it had been dislocated, the pauldron he wore hiding the jutting ball of the joint that was no doubt pressed uncomfortably against his flesh. What you could see was that his left side was hanging just a bit lower than his right, and the inability to move the arm was a dead giveaway.

“Are you just going to stare at it or actually do what you said you would when you barged onto my ship?” The rasp was closer to you as he turned his head, the rumble of his voice decidedly deeper than you remembered last time. Or perhaps it always had been, and you just hadn’t been paying enough attention, more focused on the very real threat of having a dead body on your hands as the poison spread. You rolled your eyes; or it was all the short and biting commands he only seemed to know how to give as opposed to actually speaking that made you forget the voice. The man could be attractive, if he wasn’t so frustrating.

“I can’t see it properly.” You replied, agitated with him again. He got under your skin too easily, and ruined your cool demeanor.

“You dealt with the problem just fine before.” He snapped back, pain making him cranky.

“You didn’t have a bone out of place last time!” You stopped yourself, sucking in a breath before releasing it to prevent yourself from snapping again.

“At least,” you bartered, “let me remove the pauldron. I can feel around the duraweave to get an idea. I won’t see any more of you than I did last time.”

He didn’t say anything again for a time and honestly, he was the slowest person you’d ever met at receiving emergency medical care. Half the men you treated during the Rebellion would yell until you’d taken care of the worst of their injuries before they even considered if it was what they wanted or not.

“Fine.” Was all he responded, making no move to remove the offending piece so you took that as your cue to feel around the curved metal cautiously, feeling where it attached to his duraweave and releasing it into your hands before placing it down on a separate crate.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” A warning growl echoed in the hull, turning you back to your task with a hum.

It seemed the joint had popped forward, no doubt from caving in as Teff collided with Mando’s shoulder. You leaned forward, your fingers feeling around the area as gently as you could while his breathing came out a little shorter. You sent him an apologetic smile.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stay still, okay? Usually I’d have someone to hold—”

“I can keep myself still, just do it.” He snapped finally, turning to look at you before he looked away again. You said nothing more as you took his gloved hand in yours, turning the forearm over and feeling the hand clench in yours when he hissed.

“Shh, nearly there.” You soothed, moving your hand under his elbow to lift it so it was aligned with Mando’s shoulder. You stood, keeping the arm in place and twisting yourself to stand facing his side.

You were definitely out to get him. There was no other explanation for why he only seemed to be seriously injured in your presence. Din tried to tell himself he was being over-dramatic and irrational, that you hadn’t even been on the same planet when he was injured the first time, but then you opened your mouth and he felt justified in his petulant thoughts.

“On three.” He heard you warn and all he could offer was a single nod; the sooner he got this over with the better.

“One…” You jerked the arm forward and slipped the joint back into place quickly with a sickening crack and searing pain took his breath away before it began to ebb immediately.

“DANK…. FERRICK!” Din yelled as his good arm reached across to grip his left, bending forward as he breathed through the flash of pain. You moved out of his way, waiting for him to look back up at you through the helmet, deep pants making his chest heave. You cocked your head to the side when his eyes found yours, a clear question there.

He groaned as he sat back, leaning his head against the hull, “It… doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” He admitted, thinking that the smile you gave him was somewhat worth the knock to his ego at having to admit such a thing in the first place. And like last time, before he could even worry about the concerning direction that thought had led to, you were fluttering about opening crates and bins as if you owned the place.

“What the hell—” he made to stand indignantly.

“Do you have any spare cloth?” You interrupted, “Your arm needs to be bound for a few days. If you have bacta it might reduce the healing time a bit but honestly, I don’t think dislocations can be rushed despite recent studies. Rushing back to heavily lifting or activity for at least six weeks is a sure way to hurt yourself again.”

You were rambling now as you set a pile of disused yet clean cloth you found on your lap, sitting across from him as he just blinked at this enigma of a woman. Giving him orders in his own ship, were you daft?

Your eyes sharpened and shot to his and he was suddenly glad you couldn’t see behind his mask. His eyes had widened guiltily at the thought that you had read his mind.

“You will do what you’re told, understand Mando?” You warned as your fingers tied a loose sling from strips of cloth you’d pulled apart without even having to look at it, deft fingers looping the material and strengthening it with several more layers woven in for good measure.

“If you insist on getting injured so often, you live with the consequences. And the consequences are doing what you’re fucking told and being happy about it, got it? Sulk if you want, so long as you keep the arm bound and don’t take on any jobs for at least two months.”

He opened his mouth a few times at the audacity, did she have a death wish? He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had spoken to him as if he were no more than a child and it made his blood boil. But just as quickly as the anger arose, it simmered as she muttered while watching her fingers tie off the sling,

“You don’t actually seem like a bad guy, and the galaxy can’t afford to lose anymore… not bad guys.” She seemed unsure of giving out even this level of praise but then again, she only had their first encounter to go by.

He grunted; not sure how to respond. And when Din was uncomfortable, he resorted to silence.

You got to your feet once the sling was suitably strong enough to support the weight of his arm without unravelling or breaking and you indicated to him, “May I?”

He jerked his head up in affirmation and you maneuvered the sling to sit correctly under his elbow and forearm, coaxing him to lift it slightly with a tap before you looped the tied end over his helmet, adjusting the length slightly to fit against him.

“You left Klatooine.” the statement rose from the warrior, his tone quieter than you’d heard him all day. Was he... trying to make conversation? Din told himself that it was merely out of curiosity from seeing you by chance on two totally different planets.

Blinking in surprise, you sat back on the crate in front of him, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back on one of your hands, “New Republic stopped funding the clinic and I realized that they’re all the same when it comes to the Outer Rim.”

He snorted in agreement, honestly, he wasn’t surprised to hear the New Republic had cut their losses on charity. It wasn’t in their nature to funnel money away from the Core planets.

“But it’s not all bad,” you continued, “I work with a doctor here. He’s old now so he should be enjoying his retirement. I’m kept busy and…”

He watched you while he waited for you to finish, surely there was more? But when you just shrugged and sent him a tight smile, he felt an uncomfortable niggle at the back of his neck, a familiarity that made him almost want to smile back even if you couldn’t see it. Almost. But not quite. He was unnerved at the… empathy he had for your situation. He too just… kept busy. It wasn’t towards any end beyond supporting the covert and the foundlings there. But for himself, he just kept working towards some translucent, non-existent goal, one job ended, and another began.

Something in your eyes told him you were doing the exact same thing. It unnerved him to think about.

“Echoy’la…” the word left him without knowing and you blinked,

“Hm?”

He shook his head and stood, grunting a bit at the ache in his shoulder when it jostled a bit, “Nothing. It seems I owe you my thanks again, demon medic.”

“I do have a name you know.” You snorted, letting the previous topic go as it seemed to just make him more awkward and grumpy than he already was. You packed away the medikit and replaced the unused cloth back where you found it.

“Somehow I don’t think it’ll be as fitting.”

“Whatever, sunshine.” You looked over your shoulder at him, the sling looking so out of place as he hooked a thumb in the utility belt he wore. It was amazing that he could still look as intimidating as he did. You gathered your things and started down the ramp leisurely. He followed you silently until he was standing at the entrance to the ship.

“Demon or not… thank you.” He called out as your feet hit the dusty ground of Mynock once again. You looked back over your shoulder and gave a single wave, calling something back to him that did make him smile behind his helmet this time.

As you disappeared into the streets of Mynock, he tested the name you had thrown back to him, rolling the syllables, and testing the vowels as he repeated it to himself.

Pity, he thought. He hated being wrong about anything, but somehow, your name was a much better fit than demon medic.

Not that he would ever admit that to you, of course.

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#the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #mando x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando #din djarin #din djarin imagine #mando imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fic

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scoobit · 3 years ago

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Candy Thief

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This is my first fic! Just keep in mind that I'm not a good writer. This is a sfw, platonic, tickle fic.

Mostly lee but implied ler Tommy

Mostly ler but implied lee Wilbur

Tw for light swearing and tiny bit of intense tickles

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Wilbur knew something was off when he realized the house was silent, besides the strumming of his own guitar. Techno and Phil were out training which left Wilbur and Tommy, who was no where to be seen.

He set down his guitar and went looking for the gremlin to see what trouble he was causing. He walked down the hall and hear shuffling from inside his room. Of course.

Wilbur opened the door and low and behold, the raccoon hybrid was sitting on the edge of his bed eating HIS candy. When Tommy heard the door open his head swung up and looked at the older with wide eyes.

"Hey Tommy. Where did you get that from?" Wilbur asked as if he didn't know anything. "Nowhere?" Tommy responded after throwing the wrapper behind himself.

"Sure. Because you are in MY room. And if I can recall that was in MY nightstand. "Wilbur said with a cocky grin, a plan already in his head.

Tommy saw the glint in his eyes and knew what his plan was immediately. He had seen that look many times before and this time it was no different.

He stood up and rambled on about how he should just let him go and that he would buy him more, but Wilbur was having none of it. It wasn't his fault that he hid it in a blatantly obvious place and left Tommy to do his own thing...

Okay maybe it was but he wasn't going to let the little thief get away with his crimes.

Wilbur lunged at the teen with his arms extended. The quick movement startled Tommy and he uttered a wild shriek as he scrambled to get away.

Unluckily for him, though, Wilbur was faster and managed to hook an arm around his waist and pulled him down to the bed. He climbed onto his hips so he couldn't get up and then fought to grab Tommy's wrists to pin him.

After a bit of struggling, the older got his victory. He held the boys arms above his head with one hand, and the other hand was tracing shapes around his tummy and sides which were exposed. His shirt had rode up in their scuffle.

Tommy puffed out his cheeks and squirmed around trying not to laugh. He opened his mouth as if to say something but all that came out was giggles as Wilbur switched to squeezing up and down his side's.

"WIHihill nohoho!" The raccoon boy whined out through his giggles. "Will yes!" Wilbur sassed. "You need to pay for your crimes you thief!"

He moved up to his ribs, earning louder and higher-pitched giggles and he gently scratched at the bones. The boy below him hid his face in his arm as a blush grew on his cheeks.

"No sir I need to see your face. Laugh for me you criminal!" Wilbur let go of his arms and shot his hands back down and vibrated his fingers below his belly button.

A scream tore through Tommy's lungs and he was thrown into bouts of loud laughter. he threw his head back, hips bucking and feet digging into the bed.

"YOHOHUHU PRIHIHIHICK!" He managed to get out. "Hey, you were the one who stole my candy, im just giving you what you deserve." Wilbur sad as if Tommy wasn't going ballistic under him.

Wilbur leaned down so his face was right over his belly. He sucked in a breath and blew raspberries all around his belly button as his hands scribbled around his side's and hips.

Tommy's laughter went silent for a few moments and then came back booming as he was reaching his limit. Wilbur could tell and gave on last raspberry for good measure before climbing off his hips.

He rubbed his hand over his stomach to get rid of the ghost tickles that were still making the boy giggle and helped him sit up.

"You bitch." Tommy deadpanned as best as he could but the wide grin on his face made it hard. Wilbur chuckled and ruffled his hair. "That's what you get for stealing my candy."

Tommy let out a playful huff and stood up. "I think its your turn now." He turned towards Wilbur with a smirk on his face and his fingers wiggling.

Needless to say their tickle fight went on for a while.

#lee!tommy #ler!wilbur #mcyt tickle #mcyt #dsmp

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ruershrimo · 3 years ago

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genshin impact x reader: the inventor and their traveller, part 4- freedom and youth

features kazuha

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drunkards

notes: projecting??? nono not here pfft no what are you on about

taglist: @apyrose

series masterlist

“-I’m telling you, papa!” you pleaded, clamping your hands against each other above your forehead, your gaze fixated on the ground. “Those two are trusted samurai who can protect me, we’ll be safe! A-and, I’ll also be able to be friends with them that way!” you continued, attempting with your level-best to convince your father to let you go.

Your father merely grinned at you as you rambled about the benefits of travelling with kazuha and tomo.

“Please, papa, please?”

Though the minute was just as short as it usually was, it felt like eternity incarnate. The deafening silence paired with the painstakingly sloth like hourglass on your father’s table drove your mind into thinking that its “eternity” was almost tangible.

Please say yes, please say yes.

“Sure-,”

Woooo!

“You should be able to take care of yourself. I should really be letting the bird out of the nest by now,” your father chuckled with the supposed wisdom of a sweet old man (even if he wasn’t that old yet).

He strayed closer to you before engulfing you in a wide, snug hug and lovingly pressing his lips on your forehead. Your face lit up as he uttered those words, the corners of your lips subconsciously twisting up as your eyes seemed to have a hitherto never-seen-before bright glint to it.

“Just let me meet them.”

Oh no.

You tried your best to hide your bright “yes” change into a gloomy “no” as you endeavoured to maintain an innocent happy-go-lucky expression mid-hug like a fool who just took beginners’ acting classes.

Drafting up a plan for this adversary would take a while…

“Ok, so-!”

“What’s the plan?” tomo inquired excitedly.

“Well, I’m planning on making an invention,” you proudly smiled with the beam of a kindergartener showcasing their crayon masterpieces while pointing at the little diagrams that adorned the makeshift board next to you (courtesy of kazuha and his unexpected knack for making things out of scratch). “Look at these drawings here. What can you see?”

“Scribbles?” kazuha chuckled at your rushed drawings in the nicest way one could, scratching the nape of his neck.

“Yeah, they look like the scribbles of a drunkard,” tomo joked from his spot among the viridescent blades of grass.

“All wrong. They’re actually my grand plan.” you corrected them as you gestured to each drawing accordingly. “When we visit him, we’ll act totally normal, then I’ll give you an invention that can probably hide your visions with an illusion, and-”

“-Probably.”

“-that can probably hide your visions, and then we’ll leave as soon as we can.” you replied admonishingly, annoyed at tomo’s jovial antics. “I need kazuha to help us stretch out the conversation, what with all the poetic-ness of this guy and all.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but why don’t we try something else? I have confidence in your inventions, but I’m not sure if we have the money to get the materials required for it, and judging by how complex it sounds, it would probably take you hours to make it, while we’re supposed to meet your father tomorrow,” kazuha sweetly suggested, his voice saccharine.

If in the right quantity, it could probably give you diabetes.

“But it would be helping the nation’s economy!”

“Tomo and I are criminals…”

“-And, well, I don’t take that much time to make inventions anyway! I’ve been getting quicker at it!

“Hmm…” tomo hummed, then smirked like an over-confident light novel side character. “Why don’t we dress up in disguises?”

“Oh, please don’t tell me you want us to act like we’re in a light novel,” expressed kazuha, who was running his fingers along the bridge of his nose in utter disapproval.

“It’s a good idea, though!” you cheered. Like a light novel!

“Oh, I don’t know how I’m going to be able to handle the two of you,” kazuha jested sarcastically, his sighs followed by the joined harmony of laughter created by the two of you.

You wished for this moment to stretch for an eternity. It would be a better eternity than the Raiden Shogun’s, you thought. It felt like the world was nothing but kazuha, tomo and you; you, tomo and kazuha. Perpetuity was present, if just a little, in that small bubble of a memory, a moment, a future. You wanted to preserve this, something you thought you would never experience again and something you thought could only occur with you present at that particular time, for you knew the waters between people could crash like hell incarnate. You thought -or you finally understood- that if time were to pass you and your true friends by, the memories that were left would be enough to keep you youthful, to keep you staying like smiling, stupid “young adults” forever.

They were your first true friends.

“Papa, I want you to meet akira and haruto!”

“Are you sure this one is a samurai? He looks so… soft and maple-themed,” commented your father as kazuha giggled quietly in his brown hat, kimono and haori (he initially thought that they could wear different outfits to not look suspicious, but who has that much time to find clothes so similar yet so different anyway?). “Huh, strange. He reminds me of autumn even though his name is haruto.”

“Y-yeah, I know, right? Ka- haruto was actually named that because his- uhm- his parents really really liked spring!”

“I see,” your father nodded. Was he acting like a dense fool for your sake or just because this was his natural response to… “things” like these?

“And- and, uh- akira is this, uh, very amiable man! He’s also a samurai and, uh, yeah! So, we’ve all become friends!” you stuttered.

“Hi, sir!” tomo exclaimed cheekily, his voice as earnest as a soldier.

Acting in order to hide lies and secrets was not your forte.

“Well, haruto, you must know the way of the sword, right?”

kazuha nodded.

“So who taught you about it?”

“His fa-!”

“My master.”

You nearly sighed. Thankfully, kazuha was there to save the day. However, if tomo answered that question for his friend, that must have meant that they were very close, you thought.

You wanted to be close friends with them as well.

“I see.” your father started once again, “Akira, what about you?”

“I’m self-taught!” tomo grinned, his voice exuding full confidence.

You weren’t even sure if that was true or not. Good acting, tomo.

As your father poured out each of his interrogatory questions, an answer followed. You thanked Celestia above for tomo’s godly acting skills.

“Alright, I think we’re done here. Kiddo, I’ll tell your mother about this and I guess you’ll be all set by tomorrow?”

“Yep!”

“Alright, make sure you pack all of your things by tonight. Don’t do things at the eleventh hour.”

You embraced your father again as he patted the back of your head.

“All grown up now,” you heard him proudly whisper.

“Phew, we’re finally done!” tomo exhaled, taking off his disguise like a snake shedding its skin.

“Your outstanding skills in acting were unbeknownst to me, tomo,” kazuha praised.

You concurred, “Yeah, I almost thought you weren’t acting too!”

“Thanks-!”

“Halt! Under the Almighty Shogun’s orders, you are under arrest!” bellowed a man in a violet uniform. A Tenryou Commission guard; a tyrant’s lackey. She was the reason why you and your family were trapped in Inazuma. She was why you could never return to your birth country anymore.

Only they had visions, maybe you could bail them out- wait, you’d be an accomplice to their crimes.

Oh no.

Tomo smirked as kazuha grew serious.

“Quick, run!” kazuha blurted out, ever so gently seizing your wrist with his bandaged hand and pulling you forward.

And although you felt terrified for your life, this sensation proved to be something you enjoyed. Adrenaline flooded your veins as you glanced forward, away from the ground and what was behind you. It was as if you had to choose between the life in front of you- with kazuha and tomo and a feeling of liberation- and the life you had always been surviving in. You wondered if kazuha and tomo felt like this everyday. Freedom seemed so close you could taste it, and all you needed to do to attain it was to run forward and take more steps. These footsteps would illuminate a new path for you, a path that included freedom and not family-imposed imprisonment; a path that included life and not only survival.

So you ran, just like before, with your newfound fervour and the life in you restored.

The wind blew around you and the sky was clear. The grass danced beneath you and the sun was smiling.

You did not look back.

Freedom is finally close to me

And youth, it’s always had me-

I’ll keep it, unseen before

I want it to have me more

Hitherto and forevermore, me.

#genshin impact x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin kazuha x reader #ruer writes #kazuha #kaedehara kazuha x reader #genshin x reader #the inventor and their traveller

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 4 years ago

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The most baffling part of WKM is that everyone trusts and adores Damien, despite him being the only one in politics and actively in office. Mark made the mayor character the most trusted and loved. How????

(uh oh, you unlocked my 'Love Damien' mode)

You came to the right person! This is a great question and I will gladly go on a rant to try and help shed a little light on this!

In short, it's exactly because of how you phrased your question. There's a politician. He's seen as nice and trusted and loved. It seems like something that shouldn't be, and you assume the worst of him because it has to be an act for whatever reason; and that is because of the general view of politicians at the moment. I'm not touching IRL topics with a ten foot pole, but I will say that at present, there is a sorta wariness/a 'they don't care about us' vibe toward politicians in certain countries (including my own). That's something that then seeps into media.

Think about it. If there's a politician in a show of any sort (especially one holding office), they're usually up to no good behind the scenes or are unreliable - just like how a librarian might be cranky, for instance - in a sort of caricature. Off the top of my head I can remember seeing... A mayor that wanted to evict an entire community to build a business something-or-other to make lots of money, a mayor who branded a local team of agents as non-trustworthy when they went against his pretty crummy views (which could be the same show tbh), an absolutely useless buffoon of a mayor who needed the help of children to constantly save his city from supervillains, and a politician (maybe a mayor?) who constantly clashed with the chief of police in a city. This isn't even considering the times a politician character (whether or not they hold office) is involved with criminals, bribery, is being blackmailed, or even has a criminal record of some sort.

Damien is an exception to this trope. It may or may not be completely intentional, but it's genius on Mark's part. You walk in, see this well-dressed man with a rather cheesy Mayor badge pinned on... And people would immediately get suspicious... Something which Mark called people out on at a panel! Don't forget, every character was framed in a way to give reason for them maybe being the killer. I watched WKM (and got vaguely into the fandom) a week after it finished, so I missed the speculation in between each episode. From what I've seen, it appeared that a lot of people were wary of Damien, though I'm not too sure if it's because they were like "IT'S JUST DARK IN DISGUISE DON'T BE FOOLED" or if it was because of his job and mannerisms. Either way, it turns out his worries were genuine, and he was innocent of any crime that night, which completely subverts the expectation of a politician in a show. He's a rare breed - someone that has good intentions and a good heart, who wasn't 'tainted' by politics in some way.... But ends up getting corrupted anyway through matters far beyond his control.

Not only that, there's two important points that I think people forget and I'll go into better detail of under the read-more because this is getting pretty long.

1. The character that is the viewer has known Damien since university. That means they've been friends minimum... Let's say five years, but probably closer to ten. You're going to be more at ease and more 'yourself' around people you are very fond of, and Damien's face lit up the moment he noticed the viewer arrived. Since the viewer would be going into this cold the first time it's viewed, they wouldn't feel that bond and might think Damien's friendliness is an act. 2. While he is the Mayor, he's not The Mayor at that moment. He's merely a Mayor by title alone. For the events of Who Killed Markiplier?, he's just Damien. It would be different if we had walked into his office, but we arrived at a party with people Damien was comfortable with. He had no need to impress anyone because they were friends. Remember, the reason the badge exists is to tell the viewer what Damien does. Otherwise he could be any sort of businessman or guy in a fancy suit, and the explain everything video states that everyone thought Mark got the suit for a wedding when he shared a photo.

(Both points are showcased nicely in the very first scene we meet Damien if you compare the way he talks to the Detective - someone he barely knew - to the viewer - who has been a friend since university. When talking to Abe, Damien stands poker straight (almost rigid) and rests his hands on his cane. One hand moves to emphasise something, but the rest of his body remains still. There's a polite, yet formal, air to him. Here, he is The Mayor. I'd bet they were having casual conversation on how they met Mark or some other generic topic to break the ice. Then the pair notice you and that conversation is instantly DROPPED. Damien immediately lifts his cane as his entire body turns to the viewer. That smile isn't one that's given out of politeness. He's now Damien. There's no need to put on an act when it's a familiar friend. He still stands straight, but his body language and facial expressions are far looser and more casual. Gestures are with both hands now. His expressions are more playful, including widening his eyes to emphasise his tease about the viewer's skill of poker. This continues until he walks off-screen where, I presume, he was going to say hello to William.)

We don't know the extent of how much anyone trusts anyone else, but one of the big exceptions is the Colonel. I know I've written a headcanon on a roleplay blog about this, but he didn't know you, so he was polite, but distant and aloof. He had no reason to even care about you. We saw a good example of William acting like this the morning after. HOWEVER, after spotting the viewer talking to Damien outside at the end of the first episode, he notices a connection. The moment he knows you are Damien's friend he opens up with no hesitation in the second episode and is rather friendly toward you from then on. He trusts you because he trusts Damien, which to me suggests that our Mayor keeps good company and has a good judge of character. Plus, no one really has a reason to think ill of Damien. He and William have an argument focused on William's reaction to Mark's death (and don't forget that Damien wanted to apologise but William kept running away), while Celine shuts him down for Damien trying to get her to reconsider her idea; but neither are motives for them to be suspicious of Damien. Chef and George are indifferent, while the Butler is probably indifferent but feels comfortable enough to make a drug joke with Damien in earshot (and Tyler's IC stream as Butler had it that he thought well of Damien, but this might not be considered canon). On the other hand, you could say that the Detective is wary of Damien, but he was suspicious of everyone between all the work he did and the warning he got from Mark, so it's not completely reliable.

Speaking of, I haven't forgotten about the Detective's study and how there's a record sheet for Damien with something scribbled out. Unfortunately, I don't think it's something we'll ever get clarification on. I double-checked the explanation stream and there wasn't any mention of what was on it... But I feel like I heard Mark say something like 'forget about what is there, focus on why it's there', or how it got there in the first place? Maybe it was for another project, but the idea is more that the Detective's work was built up over time, and not in the span of that weekend; rather than focusing on every little piece of writing that can be seen. Perhaps there is something shady in Damien's life... But since it wasn't relevant to the 'story' we were being shown, it was omitted. This could very well be where people take the idea of a corrupt politician and run with it (and I have seen some excellent roleplayers over the years work with that!), or they could be like me and say that the crimes were things he was framed for. Or maybe, as I'm writing this, it could be like how Abe had documents for things that didn't happen in WMLW, and that the crimes he scribbled out were ones that Dark would do later... But that's going into theorist territory and that's not at all relevant to what I'm talking about.

Anyway, I've rambled on waaay too much as it is. He's trusted and loved as a character because he's so human. Mark pointed out in the explanation stream that Damien was the only one to question what was going on. He was upset, mourning, and had no idea what to do. It's a vulnerability that you don't see from people often, especially if they are supposed to be leaders.

If there's anything people wanna add or point out, jump in and do so! :D

#Ash talks #(it's either Damien or Y.ancy. I think they're the two you can really get me ranting about so apologies for the length!)#(when you've been writing a character for three years you tend to think a LOT about them)#(I'm no theorist or someone who claims to be the 'best Damien writer' btw. I just really appreciate our good Mayor)#long post #(I was nearly late for work because I wanted to start this before work; and I've spent over an hour AFTER work adding to it)#(there's a read-more but I wrote a LOT damnit)#who killed markiplier #mayor damien #(also it's a nice change to not have to rapidly proof-read and put dots in the middle of important words so it doesn't appear in searches!)#(how much answers the question and how much is me being like 'DAMIEN IS A GOOD MAN'? You decide!)

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thewhitejournal · 4 years ago

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“The Intern” Part Six

Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader Series

(not my gif)

hey guys! i know i haven’t been active in awhile and i apologize, but i hope this final chapter (unless y’all want like an epilogue or something of that nature) of ‘the intern’ makes up for it. i’m so sad to see this series go because it was one of my favorites to write but we got more series, one shots, and all that good stuff on the way!

please enjoy my loves :) <3

content warnings: cursing, super fluffy and sappy towards the end

thewhitejournal’s masterlist

“the intern” masterlist

The past four weeks have flown by quickly. You were out of the cast and back on your feet in the bullpen. You were helping out everywhere; between running errands for Garcia and helping out with the rest of the team, you were dead tired by the end of the day. But it didn’t matter to you. You were finally getting a taste of what you loved, even with school and classes still a part of your daily routine. You were eternally grateful for the geniuses you had on hand when you were doing homework in between tasks. Everything be damned if you didn’t take advantage of it.

A groan slipped from your lips, filling every nook and cranny in Garcia’s office. It broke the comfortable silence between the two of you, other than the sound of her fingernails clicking away on the keys at record speed.

“What’s a matter, babe?”, she asked, gaze never wavering from the work in front of her. Your head now rested on your arms on the table in front of you. You let out an exasperated sigh.

“I hate math.”, you stated simply, earning a chuckle from her. She rolled her chair over next to yours, placing a gentle hand on your back.

“Let me see it.” You sat up so she could look over your work. The page was littered with dozens of scratch work equations that were slightly visible from having been erased. Most of the questions had half-completed answers or none at all. She shook her head.

“You should ask Reid. Why do they change the way people do math every year?” You sighed again as she rolled back to her desk. You gathered your book and assignments up in your arms and carried them out into the bullpen, eyes falling on Dr. Reid scribbling away on a file.

“I’m glad I caught you here, I need the help of a genius.”, you explained, pulling an empty chair up to his desk after having sat your things down on it. He looked taken aback by your sudden approach. He didn’t say anything at first, not meeting your eyes. “If you’re too busy right now, then don’t worry-“, you started, but were cut off by his stammering.

“N-no, I’m not too busy for you, (Y/N).” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say a slight blush crept upon his cheeks. “What’s the w-work?”, he asked you, clearing his throat and meeting your eyes for only split seconds at a time. You smiled and shook your head at the awkward doctor, letting him take a look at the papers. He quickly realized what you were working on, then tried helping you, going on ramblings about the equations and variables you didn’t understand. Eventually, you could form answers to your questions on the pages.

“You’re a lifesaver, Spencer. Thanks.”, you said, flashing him a bright smile. He offered you a small smile and minimal eye contact. You just turned and left, satisfied with the completed worksheet. You returned to Garcia’s office to see Hotch there, standing over her. They were talking about something; pictures of criminals and crime scenes flashed the screens on the walls as she clicked around and typed. You froze in the doorway.

Aaron Hotchner was a wonderful boss and an amazing man; he thought of you as an outstanding addition to the team, so you had no reason to be so intimidated by him. But you couldn’t help it. Maybe it had something to do with the way you’d seen him interrogate suspects so intensely, or maybe with the fact that you had a bit of a crush on him. You’d never admit to the latter though. It was unprofessional and wrong, but it felt so right all at the same time.

Almost as if he could sense your presence, he called you in the room without ever turning to face you. You moved towards him, setting your things down on your desk. You stood next to him in the already small, getting smaller space. His body heat radiated onto your skin, cologne filling your senses. You swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t hear it.

“(Y/L/N), see if you can help Garcia find a connection between some of these victims. If you find anything, just drop by my office and let me know.”, he stated, turning to face you. There were only inches between your bodies; you couldn’t meet his eyes. You could feel his gaze looking down on you, so you looked up, ready to maintain composure.

His brown eyes looked black in the minimal light of the room. “Yes, sir.” You could hear your voice waver slightly and you kicked yourself internally for it. You couldn’t help but think that if Garcia weren’t here, this would be a very different story. He looked in your eyes a little longer than might’ve been necessary, then gave you a smirk before leaving. He shut the door behind him.

You exhaled immediately, nearly doubling over. You hadn’t realized you’d barely been breathing.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), I’m surprised he didn’t fuck you right against that wall!”, she hissed under her breath, in case he was still in earshot. You gasped.

“Garcia!”, you exclaimed, lightly slapping her shoulder.

“You could cut the sexual tension between the two of you with a knife!”, she retorted. The two of you made eye contact.

“Really? It’s not just me?”, you asked with full sincerity.

“Hell no! You need to get on that, (Y/N).”, she said with a knowing smile, sending you a wink. Your cheeks flushed hot red and you rolled your eyes.

“Garcia, I can’t do that. You know it’s wrong.” As much as you wanted to pursue anything with Hotch, you were telling her the truth. It was wrong. You walked over and sat in your seat, sighing and starting to work on your homework again.

“Honey, love is never wrong.”, she said in that soothing and comforting voice. You knew that, on some level, she was right. You dropped your pencil, unable to focus on your work. You swiveled to face her.

“Yeah, cause that argument would go over well with Strauss. Or whoever is above her.” She sighed. She knew you were right, too.

“Just don’t count him out yet. You two…deserve happiness. I think you could give each other that.” You knew she was serious. She placed a hand on your knee, squeezing it.

“Thanks, PG.” You gave her a half-smile. She shrugged.

“What’re friends for?” She flashed you a huge smile, and the two of you returned to your respective workloads.

Nearly four hours later, you’d long ago finished your homework, and now you were helping Garcia with the workload provided to the two of you by Hotch. The two of you agreed with each other that you’d need some eye bleach after this; the images flashing on the screen were those that most people could never stomach seeing.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking afterwards. Your eyes physically hurt from staring at the screens for hours. Suddenly, a pattern caught your attention. “Garcia, do you see that?” Your finger prodded the screen. She pulled her glasses so that they’d rest on top of her head, and leaned closer to the screen. She pulled a window from the top left corner so it would sit next to the one you two were looking at. Then, she pulled another picture from the fray of images and documents.

“A signature…”, the two of you muttered in unison. You locked eyes and shared a laugh.

“We finally found a pattern!”, you exclaimed, the life returning to your body as the joy flowed through you. Maybe it was because you were new, but making a connection like this and getting one step further to a solution felt so good. Garcia chuckled. You knitted your brows, looking over at her. “What?”

She gave you a sly smile. “You know you have to report to the boss, right?” Your heart sank in your chest. She was right. Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall.

“It’s kinda late, do you think he’s even still-?”

“(Y/N), you know damn well he’s still in his office. If he could, he’d live here. Now go!” She ushered you out the door, almost by full force, but not before trying to undo a button on your top. You swatted her hand away and left the room, the sound of her laughter fading with every step you took forward.

Entering the bullpen, there were few agents left for the night. Dr. Reid still lingered, hunched over and lost in his paperwork. He looked up when you walked in, eyes following you as you walked and ascended the stairs to Hotch’s office. Not that you knew his gaze tracked you; you were too nervous about being alone with Aaron in his office to notice anything other than the floor beneath your feet.

Your knuckles rapped softly on the door and you heard him call you in from the other side. You exhaled, trying to get yourself together. It was ridiculous, the effect he had on you. You wondered if he knew.

You turned the knob, pushing the door open and shutting it behind you. The desk lamp illuminated a stack of papers, his pen scrawling what was likely his signature on the bottom of a sheet of paper. He looked up momentarily, then his gaze fell back on his desk. “(Y/L/N). Did you and Garcia find anything?” The sound of your heels echoed in the room as you carried yourself to his desk. You took a seat in the cushioned leather chair that sat spaced evenly from his desk and another chair that looked exactly like it.

You cleared your throat before saying, “We did find a pattern, a signature on all the victims.” He perked up, raising an eyebrow at you. You presented your findings to him, careful to keep your voice steady and not make eye contact with him for too long. It then occurred to you there was really no reason to try to hide your feelings around him; he was, after all, one of the best profilers the BAU had ever seen. You were sure he already knew. Worth a shot to try and keep it hidden, though, you figured.

After your rant was over, he nodded approvingly, a small smile on his lips. “Great job, (Y/N).” Your heart pumped quicker in your chest at the sound of your first name on his voice. But his voice was different than usual, so was his tone. He was tired, resulting in his voice being barely an octave deeper. Which didn’t help your nerves settle.

“Thank you, sir.”, you said with a twinge of confidence in your tone. It made you happy to impress him; his validation made it feel like you were getting better at your job every day. He suddenly chuckled, and you weren’t sure why, until he spoke up.

“I told you, (Y/L/N), you can call me Hotch. Or Aaron, if you’d like.” He leaned forward in his chair more, dark amber eyes burning a hole through you. Did he ever offer anyone else to call him Aaron? You weren’t sure you’d ever heard anyone else call him that – not to his face, anyway. Other than Rossi, maybe. But they were close friends.

“Thanks, Hotch.”, you spoke softly, stifling a small yawn. You’d play it safe for now, but the gesture itself meant everything to you. He smiled, almost satisfyingly so, leaning back in his office chair. He raised his right wrist to look at his watch, noting the time, before meeting your eyes again.

“It’s late, (Y/L/N). You should head home. You’ve been a lot of help today, as usual, of course.” You would never get used to hearing him compliment you. Your eyes flickered between the stack of paperwork and him. You’ve spent enough time at the BAU to know that those files needed to be reviewed, signed, and done by the end of the weekend, which crept closer with every passing second. As amazing at his job as he was, there was no way humanly possible he’d finish it in time and get a wink of sleep at the same time.

“That’s a lot of paperwork.”, you noted aloud. He nodded, likely knowing where you were going with the words that would follow.

“It is.” His eyes narrowed at you, a small smirk playing on his face as he awaited your question.

“You can’t finish all of that and still have time to sleep.” He was silent. He knew you were right. “What can I do to help?”

Hotch just chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ll burn yourself out, you know.” Nevertheless, he passed you a black ink pen, your fingertips brushing each other’s hands in the process.

“I could say the same thing about you.” He chuckles deeply and shrugs. You smile to yourself, successful in making him smile, which is a rare accomplishment for most.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of you as hours pass and the pile dwindles to only three or four files. The two of you migrated to the leather couch in his office, a more comfortable place to work on a tedious assignment for hours. You’d lost count of the yawns you’d let slip from your lips. Even Hotch seemed to have trouble staying awake. You glanced at the time. You’d been in his office for almost four hours. Your mind wandered to what Garcia will have to say about ‘what really happened last night’. The time slowly crept into the early morning hours of the next day.

“(Y/N)”, Hotch begins, breaking the silence. You look up at him, waiting on him to continue. “I’ll drive you home if you’re too tired to drive. And a ride back to the office in the morning for your car. But you can’t oversleep.”, he jokes. You hit his arm lightly.

“I don’t oversleep!”, you exclaim, trailing off. “That often.” You stifle a yawn before answering, “Let’s just finish these last few and I’ll drive myself home. I wouldn’t want to be in your way.”

His mind was filled with one thought: “How could you ever burden me, (Y/N)?”. But he didn’t answer you. He just handed you a file and took one for himself, the two of you finishing the workload quickly. On your last one, it took all your strength to focus on the words on the paper and your handwriting. It felt like the couch was pulling you in. The cushions wrapped you up, softer than how you’d imagine a cloud would feel. You didn’t mean to, but your eyes fluttered shut and stayed that way as you drifted to sleep.

Aaron didn’t even notice at first that you’d fallen asleep. He continued working, lost in the papers and his mind. He got so enveloped with the case, he hadn’t noticed the slow rise and fall of your chest and your body relaxed into his chest. Once he did notice though, that he wasn’t just being used as a cushion, it was all he could pay attention to.

It wasn’t that you always looked stressed, but it was a nice sight to see you so relaxed. He kept thinking about how you deserved it, what you might be dreaming about, even. Thinking about if it might’ve been him. A dread grew within him, knowing he’d have to wake you. He didn’t want to; you just looked so peaceful, angelic. Beautiful.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he draped a blanket – which he happened to have, thrown across the back of the couch, in case he had a late-night himself – over your resting form. He made sure to cover you fully, from below your neck to your toes, without waking you. Another thought soon crept into his head: he couldn’t just leave you here, overnight, alone.

He evaluated his options. He could try to sleep in his office chair, which he’d done before. It wasn’t the most comfortable. There was no room to lay down on the couch, for obvious reasons. He had a couple of chairs in the office, but…

His gaze fell upon you again. Was it risky, waging a war with fate in the chance that the two of you might be caught snuggling on the couch together? Absolutely, it was. But he was willing to take that chance. Besides, who could tell him, their boss, that he was wrong? Sure, the two of you may never quit hearing about it, but he wouldn’t mind. And something told him you wouldn’t either.

After doing a quick scan of the bullpen for remaining agents, and finding none, he shifted his weight ever so slowly, letting you fall gently onto the couch. He stepped quietly over to his desk to flick the lamp off, then closed the shades slowly, and shut the door, careful not to let the door handle click too loudly. He shrugged off his suit jacket and shoes, draping his jacket over your already-covered body.

He got as comfortable as possible on the cushion that he’d previously occupied, slowly, as to not shift the cushions and risk waking you. His eyes were trained on you; you never moved as he settled himself down. As cliché as it was, he seemed to fall asleep faster with you in the room.

The sun woke you up, in a disorienting way. The simple fact that the sun had woken you was strange in itself since the sun rises on the other side of your apartment complex. Suddenly, you remembered, you weren’t in your bed. The surface you were lying on was comfortable, but not your bed comfortable. The strangest thing was that your pillow was uneven. And warm. With a pulse.

Your eyes opened, and you instantly snapped them shut. Bad idea. The sun hurt your sensitive eyes, and a groan involuntarily slipped from your lips. You sat up, stretching out all your limbs. You looked over at your ‘pillow’, putting a heartbeat, chest and a smell to a face. The blanket and jacket you were covered with smelled of him, so you didn’t need to open your eyes to know who it was.

“Aaron?”, you asked in a sleepy voice. Your eyes finally focused, the sun losing its effect on you. He was awake. How long had he been…?

“Good morning, (Y/N). If you want a ride home to change out of yesterday’s clothes, I can drop you off on my way home.” A small smirk danced on his pink, soft-looking lips, the sun sparkling in his eyes like rays of light through a glass of whiskey. You started panicking. What if the team caught you like this? Would they tell Strauss? What if you lost your job?

“(Y/N).” You’d broken eye contact with him. He knew you were freaking out. You met his gaze again. “Nobody’s here. It’s eight o’clock, on a Sunday morning. Calm down.” Regret started flooding his mind. Should he have just taken you home? You exhaled a breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding. “Are you okay?”, he asked you.

“Y-yeah, I’m good.” You rubbed your eyes, realizing too late you were wearing makeup, smearing it over the rest of your face. “Oh, shit.” You looked down at your hands, laughing at yourself. “I probably look a mess.”

Hotch laughed. “No, you don’t.” The words slipped from Aaron’s tired lips, no thought behind them. But it was true, it was how he felt. A blush crept up your neck and to your cheeks. Suddenly it was harder to meet his eyes. You chuckled nervously.

“Thanks, Hotch.” You wrung your fingers through your hands. A truthful atmosphere fell over the room, it seemed. “That was the best sleep I’d had in a while.” Hotch was a little taken aback at your honesty but flattered. He blushed a bit himself. He cleared his throat, then laughed.

“Me too, honestly.”, he muttered in a deep morning voice. Your eyes met. There wasn’t much space between the two of you in the first place, but you could’ve sworn he leaned forward to close the distance. His huge hand gently caressed your face, his thumb rubbing over your cheek. You watched his eyes flicker from yours to your lips. You could feel the blood rushing to your heart; you wondered if he could feel it running through your veins against his fingers.

His lips brushed against yours when suddenly, the alarm on his phone went off. The two of you jumped back like you’d been shot, your heart rate climbing. “Jesus Christ, Aaron.”, you exclaim, laughing to try and hide how startled you were. You hear him curse under his breath, digging his phone out of his pocket and silencing it. He sighed, shaking his head. He chuckled at himself, you assumed.

“I’m sorry.”, he said lowly. The apology wasn’t very specific towards anything; if it was, it wasn’t clear to you. How many things was he apologizing for? What thoughts were running through his head? He was hard to read, but maybe he liked it that way.

“For what?”, you asked softly, scooting closer to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. You felt him tense under your hand, then relax. He looked up at you.

“For ruining that…”, he trailed off as his eyes met yours. He searched your face, trying to understand exactly what feelings you were experiencing. Hopefully, he knew you weren’t upset with him. Your hand snaked down his arm, taking his hand in yours. Now it was your turn to cup his face in your hand; you felt his five o’clock shadow prickling against your fingers, but his cheek was soft as you smoothed it under your thumb.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”, you whispered. His eyes were a dark brown, despite the sunlight coming in. The rays were softer now, an orange color. His dark eyelashes shone under the light. He was enthralling in every way. You felt yourself falling harder and harder for him every second, especially now, but you’d never change that.

Your thumb lightly brushed over his lips, taking him in. He watched your every move, just as entranced with you as you were with him. You felt his hand behind your neck, pulling you closer to him until your lips finally touched. His lips on yours were better than you could’ve ever anticipated. He was slow, soft, gentle, like rain in the spring. Then again, there was a need behind it. A longing; he’d been waiting for this as long as you have, maybe even longer.

You wanted to kiss him all day, be in his arms and wrap yourselves up in each other. You were falling, hard. Harder than hitting every branch on the way down, harder than the way the first boom of a firework echoes in your chest.

Both of you were breathless by now, but neither of you seemed to care about the lack of oxygen. The kiss was deeper now, hotter, needier, messier. You’d thrown a knee over his lap, your hands fisted in his white button-up. His hands rested on your sides, dangerously low past the waistband of your pants. His lips suddenly broke from yours, the sound of your heavy breathing filling the room. He never stopped for a breath; his lips were making up for lost time, trailing from your chin, down your neck. He took his time with you, as you’d always imagined he would.

You’d barely caught your breath when you whisper his name in his ear. He stopped, pulling back. “(Y/N)? Are you okay?” His concerned eyes searched your face. You didn’t answer him with any words, just by kissing his lips again but only for a moment. The single kiss took a lot of your self-control, but you knew you were moving fast.

“I’ve never been better, Aaron. But…”, you said in a low voice, trailing a finger down his neck until you hit the first button on his shirt. “I want to take it slow with you, Hotch. I want to know all your little quirks and I want to be there for the stuff that you don’t do in front of anyone else because you trust me that much. I know how sappy it sounds…”, you paused, watching for his reaction through your spill so far. He watched you move and speak like you were the most important thing he’d ever had to pay attention to. And that’s exactly what you were to him. “Aaron,” you started again, running one of your hands through his hair, “I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you. And here you are, everything I’ve ever wanted, right in front of me.”

How did he feel? He answered you with a kiss, one more passionate than any from earlier – if you could believe it, that is. “(Y/N)...you’re everything I’ve been waiting on. I can’t believe I’ve gone this long without you.” You chuckled, earning a small smile from him.

“Well, good luck getting rid of me now, Aaron Hotchner.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

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monsterywriting · 4 years ago

Text

Thenerius - pt 3

Masterlist

Word count: 4,581

AN: so i gave up on making this just 3 parts lol. will probably finish up in the next part. maybe. the last couple parts i posted weren’t showing up in the tags initially so fingers crossed this one does on the first try.

Alfore was nearly devoid of all life as your odd pair rode into town, the cold driving most residents indoors to the warmth of their hearths. Besides the occasional resident outside running errands and icebreaker ship crew, the streets were largely empty.

You were frankly jealous, your knitted wool coat thin with overuse and doing little to protect you from the cutting wind. However, the largest source of unease for you was the stares following you, only able to catch the subtlest hints of movement in windows whenever you would whip your head around to look.

It took you a minute to figure out why, but the reason was obvious once you thought about it.

Thenerius still led the way, a few feet in front of you despite the fact that he had no idea where you were headed. Even in a city filled with all kinds, purple skin and twisting horns stood out, and it was evident to anyone who caught a glimpse of his clothing what the nature of his occupation was.

Pirates weren’t rare in Alfore, but really only venturing here in the warmer months. There were hardly any normal sailors this time of year, much less the more criminal ones. And, despite their frequent visits to the port, pirates were by no means a welcome sight to the residents.

The city council had even imposed alcohol bans within city limits to try and discourage them from stopping here, the only reason The Deep was able to turn a profit as the port was a necessary stop for trade between the eastern and western hemispheres and too far away from any major kingdom for adequate protection, making for prime pickings for pillaging.

So of course Thenerius would be stared at, most average people resenting his presence. It made you antsy, paranoid someone would grow brave and decide to confront the lone pirate and his companion - you. But even as you feel nervous, Thenerius seems unfazed by the glares, sitting tall while on horseback.

“We’re turning here,” you scowl as your voice waivers, uncertain, as you try and get Thenerius’ attention.

You turned Horse down a narrow side road, now in front as Thenerius was forced to turn his own horse around.

“Where exactly are we going?” Thenerius asked after an innumerable amount of turns in the maze-like structure of the city, the sound of the water of the bay now audible with how close you were to the water.

“I am going to the doctor’s office to buy medicine for my mother,” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the street signs as you navigate.

“What, exactly, does your mother have?” Thenerius asks, his voice careful, though you’d been expecting the inevitable line of questioning.

“She fell ill with an unknown sickness a few years back,” you say, unable to maintain the usual bite in your tone you had for Thenerius when you thought back to those uncertain times, “Mr. Thistle wrote to me that it seemed I should prepare for a funeral, she had gotten that bad. They had to bring her to Alfore for treatment The doctors weren’t sure what it was, just that it wasn’t the consumption.

“By the time I arrived from the capital, she had recovered somewhat and insisted on going back home. The doctors couldn’t stop her, and they said it was just a matter of her body fighting it off, so she went back,” you finished, wincing once you realized just how much you revealed.

You hadn’t intended to say more than she was sick, but it had been like a dam had broke once you started speaking.

It felt… cathartic. To talk about what had happened. You couldn’t talk to your mother about it - it inevitably devolved into arguing about selling the cottage to move to Alfore. And though Mr. Thistle insisted that you could always come to him with any trouble, having a heart to heart with your prickly halfling godfather about how sick your mother and his best friend of decades was, was about as appealing as it seemed.

“What does the doctors say now?” Thenerius asked, seemingly unaffected by your rambled speech.

“I’ve been saving up for one to make a home visit, but it’s been almost a year since he last saw her.” You think back to how bewildered the doctor had been when he came to check on your mother after so long the last time and her condition hadn’t improved.

You find yourself glancing at Thenerius through your periphery. He was staring right at you. You quickly look away, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes.

“Actually, I’ve finally earned enough for the final payment, so I’ll also be giving him that today.” A small lie of omission. You would be able to make that final payment, as well as the next month’s supply of pills, but there wouldn’t be much leftover until you go back to work, and even then with only your base salary to last you the winter as the cold kept even more travelers from crossing its threshold, much less tipping ones.

Miraculously, Thenerius didn’t push the matter further. You’re grateful, finding that mulling over every answer to avoid oversharing exhausting. You find that word beginning to describe your state of being more and more lately.

The doctor’s office is a small storefront in a larger building, nestled in between a tavern and barber’s facing the choppy water of the bay, only a single cobblestone separating it from the drop-off.

After hopping off Horse and tying him to a post outside, you step inside. The doctor had no receptionist, so it was just a matter of being able to find him amongst the clutter of medical devices and books everywhere.

“It’s been a long time, child,” the doctor’s wizened face appeared from what you now realized was a desk underneath the mess, nearly giving you a heart attack, “Good news, I hope?”

“I have the final payment,” you smile, but it’s forced and awkward as you desperately wished you had good news to share. You give up on the smile and pull out your coin purse to hand over to him, “it’s all in there.”

“How is your mother?” He asks as he waves you into his office, clearing out a small section on his desk and flipping through papers until he somehow finds one particular one. He pulls out a pair of spectacles from his pocket, looking at the paper, shaking his head before putting it back and flips some more. He then begins the arduous process of counting your gold.

Dr. Inderpahl was old as dirt, to put it mildly. He was the doctor who delivered you and your mother before you. You’d believe it if someone told you he had some magical blood in him, keeping him alive much longer than a normal human. Though his body was ancient and senescent, and he hadn’t been able to perform a surgery in years as his hands had become gnarled with rheumatism, his mind was still sharp as a tack. So, though he counted every coin painfully slowly, he made no mistakes that would have further set back his progress.

“Yes, it’s all here,” he muses, crossing something off on the paper. At some point, Thenerius had found the two of you in the back room and both of you now stared expectantly at the doctor still scribbling away, “Okay. I’ll be seeing her in the spring.”

The relief you had been feeling burned away, your eyebrows furrowing as your mind refused to process what he said.

“What? No, Dr. Inderpahl, she needs a checkup as soon as possible. The payments- you said it was enough to close your practice for the day!”

“I’m sorry, child, but I’m afraid I’m unable to travel in the cold. I’m much older than I used to be, you know,” he said, struggling to rise from his seat in one go as though to prove his point, “and your mother’s condition remained largely the same the last time I went, correct? I’m afraid a house visit will have to wait.”

Your eyes sting, but you quickly grit your teeth and stand, nodding. With a trembling lip and small voice, you give a small “ok, thank you” and turn to leave.

Thenerius was leaning against the doorframe, his lip curled in disgust as he watched the doctor. He pushed off the wall, taking a step towards the oblivious old man futilely straightening a stack of papers. Sensing the danger in the look in his eye, his expression twisting into that familiar anger you’d only ever seen the one time before, you jump into action.

“I also need the medicine for the next month,” you say, stepping in front of Thenerius and stretching both hands back to keep him from moving forward. You do not want Dr. Inderpahl to be scared off before he can get you your mother’s medication - or worse, become unwilling to go out to your cottage to check on her, even if months later. Thenerius fortunately seems to get the hint, tense behind you but stilling.

“Of course,” Inderpahl muttered, finally noticing the pirate for the first time and eyeing him disapprovingly.

You pray he doesn’t ask about him, your mind already trying to think up an excuse as to why a pirate would be with you that wouldn’t come across as an intimidation tactic. You could say he was a stranger, but Thenerius may argue that assessment and that would look suspicious. Friend was too vague, partner may be taken as romantic which… with Thenerius right there, you refused to say.

Your whirring mind slows as Inderpahl finally looks away without a word, walking around the tiefling with no fear and back into the storefront, a large row of bookcases pushed against the far wall repurposed to hold various ingredients for medications.

Thenerius still doesn’t move, and you realize you’re gripping his sides tightly. You immediately drop your hands back to your side and step forward to put distance between you.

“Please, don’t do anything,” you hiss, about to follow after the doctor before Thenerius grabs your arm just above your elbow.

“He’s scamming you,” Thenerius seethed, “How much gold have you paid him so far? I can’t believe you’re going along-”

You break his hold on you, immediately rounding on the tiefling. You struggle to keep your voice low, but the outrage is evident, “He has helped my family for decades. He is the only doctor we can afford and the only one willing to even go all the way out to see her. You absolutely cannot ruin this by scaring him off or- or worse!”

When Inderpahl returned with an envelope of pills, you were afraid Thenerius would ignore your plea, but he fortunately kept his mouth shut. His expression, however, was a different story, glaring daggers at Inderpahl.

You thanked the doctor as you took the pills, elbowing Thenerius’ side to get him to move to the door.

He allows himself to be ushered by you out the door, though he lets the tips of his horns scrape the top of the doorframe (or you may not have given him enough time to duck completely). Either way, you make it outside with no bridges burned and everything you needed to do done.

“I suppose the apple does not fall far from the tree. If you’re anything like your parents, I’ll be seeing you two soon,” Inderpahl bids you farewell from the entrance.

You freeze, the meaning of the doctor’s words sinking in. It wasn’t malicious, and as you turned around the old man was smiling at you from the doorway.

Nodding dumbly - unsure of what else to say and hoping Thenerius didn’t ask questions - you shove Thenerius towards your waiting horses.

“What did he mean, like your parents?”

You suppose a nice, silent ride it was too much to ask of Thenerius. And, if it meant he could learn something so personal about you as your lineage, you held no doubt that he would jump at the chance. But, it had miraculously taken him until you reached the inner limits of Alfore to ask his question - a whole ten minutes, during which you lost track of his many attempts to speak up beforehand.

Not once had you ever affirmed aloud who the man was, first because everyone in your life already knew - more than you, in fact - and then because no one in your life knew. Once you went to the capital, everyone you met came from wealthy families, their fathers nobles and doctors and the like.

You weren’t necessarily jealous of that - you didn’t miss a man you never met. As far as you were concerned, you had no father. You were, however, upset at what his abandonment did to your mother. How she constantly worked, spreading herself so thin to provide for the two of you, to try and give you a better life while he was off fucking around at sea. Most of all, how she still loved him despite all that, refused to curse him for the scoundrel he was for leaving her.

Realizing Thenerius was still waiting on your response, you cleared your throat.

“My mother also used to work at The Deep and…” you trail off, the words feeling foreign and heavy sitting on your tongue, “My father was a pirate.”

“Was?” Thenerius asks, “What does he do now?”

You shrug, the edges of your mouth twisting downward, “Wouldn’t know. Never knew him.”

Thenerius is silent for a long time, seemingly sensing your souring mood but clearly wanting to say something.

“Your friend, at the tavern. She truly is worried about you,” Thenerius thankfully changes the subject, though not to one you feel like talking about any more than the topic of your parentage.

You sneak a peak over your shoulder at him, confused at the sudden change of subject. He’s staring at a spot on the back of his horse’s head, seemingly mulling over what he wanted to say.

“She says- you never accept anyone’s help, would rather say everything is fine and do things on your own. She asked me to check on you, even gave me your pay to give to you. She said they were all worried you’d ‘off yourself,’ I think it was. Not that day, just in general you… offing yourself.”

Putting aside the tiefling’s apparent penchant for exact quotes, as well as any mention of doing yourself in, you instead focus on the important bit of information shared in that entire rant.

“That was my gold?” You ask, pulling Horse’s reins to slow him down until you were riding next to Thenerius.

“Oh, yes, here,” he said, feeling up his coat, pulling out the small pouch and handing it over to you.

You glance down at it briefly, noting the small embroidered frog leaping off of a lily pad before stuffing it into your bodice, your brassiere holding it in place. You ignore Thenerius’ lingering stare.

“My offer still stands,” Thenerius finally spoke again and you wished he hadn’t.

“What offer?” You feign disinterest, hoping he’ll drop the subject but knowing better.

“Let me help around your farm. I’ll stay at The Deep but… just let me help you.”

You blink, your rapid-fire retort to a different response dying in your throat. You hadn’t been expecting that. You thought for sure he’d bring up the proposal again, using your obviously dire financial situation as incentive to marry him at least for convenience. You’re not sure what to say and the silence is only extending, threatening to seem as though you can’t turn down his offer.

“I can’t afford to pay you for that,” you finally manage before quickly adding, “and I won’t let you work for free. I’m not going to take advantage like that.”

You leave your final statement vague, but the point is clear. You don’t want to take advantage of his feelings for you, obviously much deeper than the initial infatuation you believed it to be. No matter how badly you may need the extra set of hands around the homestead, you simply could not bring yourself to agree to such a one-sided agreement, unable to give Thenerius what he truly wants. You almost wish it was the fleeting nightly obsession of drunken pirate, vanishing with the onset of the inevitable hangover and gone with the morning dew, dried out by the light of day.

Fortunately, Thenerius seems to recognize the finality of your decision and makes no further argument, following you wordlessly.

Rather than head straight back out of Alfore, you make a detour towards the market in the heart of the city, a block lined with stalls and shops in the old town square.

As you approach the center of Alfore, the city also grows more lively as people run their daily errands. Once the streets become crowded with stalls and people walking between them, you dismount from Horse and tie him to a post, trusting his surly attitude and the crowd to keep any would-be horse thieves at bay. Once you were certain he was secure, you grabbed the empty satchel hanging from the saddle and throw it over your shoulder.

“I’m going to go pick up an order,” you turn to Thenerius, holding up a hand to stop him from following you, “Alone. No pirates allowed.”

“But-” Thenerius began to protest, but you shook your head firmly.

“Her business, her rules. And you don’t exactly have the best disguise,” you gesture to the tiefling’s clothing, the most obvious pirate garb even a child would recognize and was already earning both of you a few stares, “Go… look around or something. Keep an eye on the horses. I’ll be done soon.”

With that, you leave Thenerius behind and head to the blacksmith’s.

Unfortunately, when you reach the street of your destination, there’s several crowds converging around it. Nearby stalls selling firewood and thick fabrics and pelts for winter clothing were of course at their busiest, and flanking the one place you needed to go.

With great difficulty and several sour looks directed your way when you squeezed in between people in lines, you finally reach the entrance of the small stone structure. As though to further mock your misfortune, a small piece of paper stuck in between two pieces of the wood making up the front door.

Of course the blacksmith would be away making a delivery when you arrive, you think with a brief flash of bitter annoyance, sitting on the step as you wait for her return.

By the time she does, the crowd on the street has largely dispersed, the stalls nearly completely sold out of their wares, and you were on the verge of freezing to death.

“You finally came by to pick up your order,” Yagiri said, sweeping you aside to unlock the forge door.

Yagiri was a half-gnome. Well-suited for the heat of the forge though perhaps not for the nippy winter air, evidenced by the sheer quantity of layers she’d wrapped herself in, looking more like a textile merchant’s inventory come alive.

“Yes, I’m sorry I’m so late,” you answer sheepishly, following her into the forge.

“I’d tell you I was going to sell everything off to the next customer who wanted them, but truthfully no one’s building anything this time of year,” she called out, pulling small boxes of iron bits onto her workstation, “Is there a particular reason you finally decided to come by?”

“Finally have time to use everything,” You reply, waiting awkwardly as she counted forty small nails, various hinges and pieces of wire mesh. Not entirely a lie. You have a week before your next shift, but you had plenty of opportunities to come down and at least pick up the order.

You apologize again as Yagiri hands your items to you, placing everything in your satchel and take care while rolling up the meshes.

Yagiri walks you to the door, both of you freezing as you step around her to see Thenerius standing across the street with both horses, dressed in more simple clothes and a wolfskin coat.

“He with you?” Yagiri grunts suspiciously and you wish you could deny it before Thenerius grins and waves at you, calling out your name.

“Yes, thanks again,” you murmur, quickly exiting the blacksmith’s and tugging Thenerius away from Yagiri’s watchful eye.

“I bought regular clothes,” Thenerius said proudly, showing off his new outfit to you.

You were definitely wrong. It wasn’t so much the clothing that made the pirate, but his overall demeanor; too carefree and wild to be anything else.

“I also got you one, too,” Thenerius held up another pelt coat, this one appearing to be from a bear based on the sheer size of it.

You balk, tempted to throw it on over your own but not wanting to encourage Thenerius’ affections, and there was no way you could pay him for it. Pelts were worth two months of your wages at The Deep. You had no idea how much a finished coat would be.

“I can’t pay you back-”

Thenerius grabs your arm before you can continue walking, “I have to insist. You’re going to get sick if you don’t wear something thicker, and then how will you work?”

You can’t argue with his logic, but can’t help but stiffen as he throws the coat over your shoulders and begins to tie it off down the front. As soon as he finishes, you step away and slither your arms through the sleeves.

“Better?” Thenerius chuckles, you practically swimming in the coat, “give me your bag, keep your hands in the pocket.”

You’re no longer shivering, so used to it at this point that you no longer noticed you it was so bad until you were finally able to stop and your muscles slightly sore where they’d been overworked.

You nod, silently handing over the satchel still clutched in your hand so you can stick your hands in the felt-lined pockets of the coat. With that, you lead the way through the labyrinthine streets to the section of vendors selling live creatures. You take your time looking at each vendor’s wares, smiling at the cute animals until you come across a stall with what you’re looking for.

You smile at the old woman manning the stall and her granddaughter sitting a short ways behind her, both snuggled comfortably in rabbit pelts, before turning your attention to the rabbits curled together in their cages.

“How much for the spotted buck and three solid does?” You ask, pointing out the each rabbit you’re referring to in their respective enclosures.

The old woman grins toothlessly back, holding up three fingers, “three silver pieces.”

You hesitate, not sure you’d have enough to take all four home today. You grab your coin purse from a pocket of your satchel and dig around for any silver, finding two and starting to count up the equivalent bronze when the old woman suddenly clucks a “thank you, sir.”

You look up in surprise to see Thenerius retracting his hand, the silver pieces disappearing into a pocket of her coat before you can even protest. You don’t know where where Thenerius was keeping his coins, much less how much he had. She picks up an empty cage and begins gathering your picks, each easily curling up into the crook of her arm when she grabs them.

“The gray one’s already pregnant. Two weeks left,” she whispers, winking at you as she hands the full cage over, continuing loud enough for Thenerius to hear, “Good luck for you and your husband.”

Your smile strains to remain plastered on your face, merely nodding in thanks so as to not cause a scene. You already feel the heat rising in your face, refusing to meet Thenerius’ gaze as you walk away from the market despite how deeply you could feel it boring into you.

The ride out of Alfore was mostly silent, you lost in thought and playing absentmindedly with one of the ties of your coat.

You think back to what Yagiri asked you. Why you were picking up your order now when it had been ready for weeks now. You had already made your decision, one you had spent the entire afternoon thinking about but was now unsure how to bring the topic up again.

“What did you buy from the blacksmith?” The question sounds nonchalant, but when you look over, Thenerius looks concerned as he looks at the satchel. You suppose Thenerius wouldn’t be very familiar with a blacksmith’s more mundane talents in metallurgy.

“Some things to build a hutch,” you reply, looking away.

“You’re building a hutch?” Thenerius asks incredulously.

“No, you are.” Is your brilliant retort, and you hope your burning face isn’t noticeable from where Thenerius is.

“I am?” It isn’t teasing, or negative, but actually sounds… hopeful. It’s almost enough to make you backpedal, tell Thenerius nevermind or that you somehow misspoke.

“I still can’t afford to pay you,” you say instead, swallowing a lump in your throat you think is your pride, “But you will be compensated with room and board.”

“Yes,” Thenerius agreed immediately, his mood obviously perking up, “but I’m going to pay rent.”

You are on the verge of arguing but soon think the better of it, “Twenty gold a month.”

Thenerius scoffs, “Why so low?”

“It’s five gold less than the rate at The Deep,” you shoot back, “or were you lying when you said you couldn’t afford a room there?”

“Yes, I did,” Thenerius admits immediately, surprising you with his shameless.

You feel the amusement begin to bubble up and before you can stop it, what you thought would be a small snort comes out an uncontrollable peal of laughter.

You bend forward, body shaking with the force of it, threatening to fall right off your horse’s back had you not had your feet securely in the stirrups.

Once you’re finally able to compose yourself with only the aftershocks of your giggling managing to escape, you realize Thenerius is beaming over at you.

“You’re still paying twenty,” you fail to put in the sternness you wanted in the words, to out of breath to sound firm.

Either way, Thenerius would no doubt change his tune about paying the extra gold after a few days of the work you planned to put him through. There was plenty of work you’d been holding off on doing yourself around the homestead, having planned on waiting until the weather warmed.

“Alright,” Thenerius agreed dreamily, or so you determine, a small kernel of gratification germinating within you at the thought of your ability to turn a sea-hardened pirate into a lovestruck fool.

Residual mirth, you tell yourself, forcing yourself to not read so deeply into things. Perhaps it was unwise - stupid, even - to invite the tiefling whose ultimate goal was your heart into your home for an indefinite stretch of time, but as you continued riding down the path, the sun finally making its presence known and still buzzing with your good mood, you can’t help but drown out your objections.

Besides, after a week you’d be occupied at the tavern and your daily interactions would undoubtedly be limited to the mornings when you returned from work.

part 4

#monster boyfriend #tiefling #exophilia #reader insert

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multiharlot · 5 years ago

Text

real life spencer / matthew gray gubler x reader

summary: in which matthew meets the woman who inspired the man that’s stolen the hearts of america.

masterlist

part two

third person pov

the girl walked timidly through the busy filming set, clutching her hands around the strap of her shoulder bag. she approaches the studio doors, rocking awkwardly on her white low top vans and running her hand through her hair. her yellow midi skirt swayed softly over her legs as the warm los angeles breeze floated through her white button up. the doors open suddenly and she jumps back, nearly tripping over herself.

“you must be, y/n. i’m jeff davis, thank you for coming in today.” the man smiles, sticking his hand out to the girl.

her mouth opens and closes before she smiles.

“hi. sorry umm...germ thing.” she chuckled awkwardly.

“oh. oh right i’m sorry. come in and meet the cast.” he says, wiping his hands on his pants and opening the door wider.

she stepped into the doors, tucking her hair behind her ears and waiting for jeff to lead the way.

“we really appreciate you being here and consulting with us. we want to make this show as real as possible.” he explains as he leads her towards the writers room.

“of course, i’m happy to help. you did decide to base a character off of me, it’s the least i can do.” she nods, the thought in her mind made her feel slightly awkward, but grateful nonetheless.

“yes, the cast is so excited to meet you by the way. we all were. it’s not everyday you get to meet a real life genius.” he chuckles.

“technically, passing the IQ test only determines that you have a certain IQ. a large portion of those with higher IQ’s aren’t all that smart. high IQ’s couldn’t determine your true intelligence, never mind a genius.” she shrugs, silently reveling in the fact that yet another person had called her a genius.

she secretly hated the term genius. as complimenting as it was, the word had hung over her head her entire life. she herself never believe she was a genius, and the word alone made her feel as though she had to meet a certain quota. the idea of being a genius held her to a standard that she felt she couldn’t meet.

“right...well i mean, you do have an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory. so...you’re the most genius non-genius i’ve ever met.” jeff shrugged, stopping in front of the white door.

“yeah...” the girl trails off, stopping beside him.

“well this is the writer’s room, and this is our cast. everyone, meet agent- sorry, dr. y/n y/l/n. doctor, i give you the criminal minds cast.” jeff smiles as he opens the door, leading the girl into the room.

she rocked awkwardly on her sneakers, waving timidly.

“oh you’re so cute!” kirsten squeals, wrapping her arms around the girl, making her jump back.

“sorry. ah. i’m sorry. i just uhh...germ thing.” she chuckles, making kirsten blush.

“oh. oh i’m so sorry. i’m just a hugger.”

“that’s okay. you know our tendency to engage in physical touch is often a product of our upbringing. those of us who’s parents weren’t as physically demonstrative tend to disengage from activities like hugging, or even something as simple as a pat on the back.” the girl rambles nervously, making everyone in the room pause.

“although, some children tend to have the exact opposite effect, leading to a starvation for human physical interaction, which in turn actually turns them into huggers.” matthew smiles widely at the girl.

she blushes, and a nervous chuckle escapes her lips.

“you must be dr. spencer reid, nice to meet you.” she smiles, nodding her head at the man.

“my name is matthew. matthew gray gubler. and it’s nice to meet you too, doctor.” he smirks, looking the girl up at down.

shemar raises his eyebrow at him, an impressed smirk growing onto his face.

“right, well, y/n here has graciously taken the day off to help assist in our terminology and making this show as realistic as possible. so, let’s get started.” jeff smiles, closing the door behind him.

the room buzzes with light chatter as everyone begins taking their seats. y/n stood awkwardly off to the side, unsure of where she would be going. matthew takes note of this, and smiles softly, standing from his chair and walking over to her.

“you can come sit next to me.” he smiles.

“o-okay.” she nods, clutching the strap of her bag tightly and following beside him.

the cast all exchange knowing looks as they looked from each other to the pair off in their own little world.

“so, tell me, is working in the fbi as hectic as we’re making it seem?” matthew asks, leaning his head on his hands.

“yes and no. we’re more of a sub-unit within the national center for the analysis of violent crimes. there are a total of six different behavioral analysis units, each of us working for a different type of crime.” she explains as the writers scribbled across their notepads feverishly.

“and which one are you on?” thomas asks, and she smiles as she looks at the man.

“i work in analysis unit 4, which is crimes against adults and we also work hand in hand with the violent criminal apprehension program, also known as ViCap.”

“is it true you graduated high school at twelve? or did jeff just make that up?” kirsten asks, her eyes wide and curious.

“thirteen. not twelve. and after high school, i attended Stanford, Cal Tech, and then Harvard where i was immediately recruited by the US government. i’m not supposed to tell you this, but it’s true what they say about those who take math 55.”

“how many PhD’s do you have?” aj asks as she leans onto the table.

“two. chemistry and clinical psychology. and i also have a master’s degree in neurobiology.”

“did they wave you through the academy the same way they did pretty boy, here?” shemar asks, ruffling the top of matthew’s head.

“no they did not. i actually went through the training, same as everyone else. one thing that isn’t accurate about this show, however, is that our agents are actually required to take a certain amount of personal days per month, and there’s a mandatory 12 hours of counseling with our building psychologist that we have to complete every month.”

“how many personal days?” matthew asks, a flirtatious smile slapped on his face causing the butterflies to go into a frenzy in y/n’s stomach.

“u-um. i have a quota of three days per month. so i usually take a long weekend at the end of every month.” she smiles, nervously tucking her hair behind her ears.

“do you carry a gun? oh! can we see your credentials?” aj gasps, almost excitedly.

“i do. but only when i’m on the job. otherwise, i don’t like having them. and uhh..yeah sure.” y/n mumbles, rummaging through her purse and pulling out both her credentials and her identification card.

y/n hands them to matthew and his fingers graze lightly over hers, causing a blush to form over her cheeks. he passes them along to the rest of the cast and he then looks down at the girl next to him.

“can i draw you?”

“only if i can draw you.”

matthew chuckles, nodding his head. and the two mindlessly doodled each other as the meeting went on. y/n answered what seemed like an endless amount of questions and matthew simply stared her. her eyes, her nose, her lips. he found her absolutely beautiful, and he couldn’t manage to tear his eyes away from her for longer than 2 minutes at a time. as y/n finished her one line doodle of matthew, she scribbled a quick note at the bottom of the page, and tore it out of her notebook. matthew ripped the page from his, ready to hand it to the girl when jeff interrupted them.

“alright guys, we’ll see you tomorrow. and thank you, dr. y/l/n, for coming in. i can’t explain how informative you’ve been.”

odd choice of words, she thought. but she nodded, saying you’re welcome nonetheless.

everyone began to exit the room and matthew called out for the doctor, stopping her in her tracks. she looks up at him only realize just how tall he really was.

“here.” he smiled, handing over the paper.

to: the real life spencer reid from: gatthew may bugler

she giggled as she opened the page, seeing the truly abstract drawing of herself.

“this is actually really good.” she smiled, staring down at the page.

“thank you. it helped to have such a beautiful model.” he says, biting his lip nervously.

a blush covered her cheeks and her ears and she giggled nervously.

“well umm...here.” she says, handing over her page.

when he folds open the paper, his mouth falls open at the beautiful one-line drawing she had done of him. then, his eyes fall to the bottom of the page, and his mouth runs dry.

“umm..give me a call if you need any...character reference.” she says as she rocks back and forth on her feet.

“can i call you even if i don’t need any character reference?”

she smiles, nodding her head.

“would uh...would you maybe want to go grab lunch with me?” he asks, scratching nervously at the back of his neck.

she opens her mouth to say something when her phone rings out. her eyebrows furrow as she pulls her phone out of her bag, her partners name across the top.

“sorry, this’ll just take a second- i’m on my personal time, fields.” she sighs into the phone.

“no no i know. so am i. and i also know you’re in los angeles. wanna go check out the bureau offices?”

“sorry, i have plans.” y/n shrugs, staring up at matthew.

“oh do you? doing what?” fields questions.

y/n bites her lip, reaching over and grabbing matthew’s hand.

“someone’s taking me to lunch” she smiles, pulling matthew towards the studio exit and hanging up the phone.

“so, where are we going mr. bugler?” she smiles.

“i thought you had a germ thing.” he says, raising an eyebrow at their intertwined hands.

“i’ll make an exception for you.” she shrugs, making him smile.

“well, how does chinese sound?”

“perfect..as long as i don’t have to use those god awful chopsticks.”

“a PhD in engineering yet you can’t use chopsticks?”

“excuse you. dr. reid is the one with the PhD in engineering. i only have PhD’s in chemistry and psychology.”

“oh. yeah. only.”

taglist:

@dreatine @slytherinintj13 @mileven-reddie @eleventhdoctorsangel @haileymorelikestupid

#mgg #mgg imagine #mgg x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #x reader

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bi-bard · 4 years ago

Text

Do You Ever Stop to Think About Me?- Emily Prentiss Imagine (Criminal Minds)

Title: Do You Ever Stop to Think About Me?

Pairing: Emily Prentiss X Reader

Song Drawn: Dorothea

Word Count: 1,687 words

Warning(s): Mentions of feeling abandoned, broken promises

Summary: Memories were strange things. Some feel like they’re forgotten in seconds, others seem to last a lifetime. When the source of (Y/n)’s longest lasting memories rolls back into their small town, how will they react?

Author’s Note: I got halfway through this and realized that I basically wrote some very weird version of the first season of You... oh well. Please consider supporting my Ko-fi account. It would mean a lot to me. If I know there are people interested in it, I’ll get the monthly donation part set up.

Buy me a coffee? https://ko-fi.com/khoward0

If you want to know more about my Taylor Swift writing challenge, click here!

--------------------------------------------------

“It appears that the FBI has just arrived on the scene of the latest crime-”

I popped my head into the living room when I heard the news. I had been trying to keep up with the latest string of murders in my town. Not only had they been a strange occurrence in a town as small as ours, but they were also incredibly graphic... at least that’s what the news was saying.

My heart felt like it stopped when I saw who got out of the car. Emily Prentiss. I’d be damned. I hadn’t seen her in years. Some of us moved from city to city... or country to country while others stayed in the same town their whole life. She threw a quick “no comment” at the reporter’s question and walked into the house with some of her coworkers.

“Wow,” I mumbled before checking the time. “Oh, shit.”

I had work that day. A librarian in a small town wasn’t the best gig in the world but it paid fine and I got to be surrounded by things I loved.

I was sitting at the front desk, checking on which books were overdue and which ones had just been checked back in.

“Excuse me,” I looked up to see Emily and two men standing there.

“Emily,” I said, furrowing my eyebrows. “Emily Prentiss... I don’t know if you remember me. I’m (Y/n) (Y/l/n).”

“(Y/n),” she repeated, smiling at me. “I remember you, I promise.”

I stood up, walking around the desk and hugging her.

“This is Agent Morgan and Dr. Reid,” she introduced. I shook Morgan’s hand and waved back at Dr. Reid.

“What can I help you guys with,” I asked.

“We were wondering if you’d seen anything odd here recently,” Agent Morgan explained. “Maybe a man coming here a lot suddenly. Maybe you’ve talked to him. Probably close to your age, awkward, most likely white.”

“I can’t think of anything,” I said, biting my lip as I tried to think. “We don’t have many regulars and when we do they tend to stick to themselves.”

“Did you know any of the victims,” Dr. Reid asked.

I shook my head, “Not personally. Some of them would come in here every now and then but I tend to be a bit of a fly on the wall when no one needs my help.”

“Here,” Emily handed me a card with her number on it. “Keep your eyes open, call me- I mean- us if you see anything.”

“Do you have security cameras,” I looked back over at Reid and nodded. “Can we take a look at them?”

I nodded, stepping back behind my desk so I could hand him a key, “This will get you into the room. It’s in the back right corner. Door says ‘Security,’ you can’t miss it. We have backlogs for a week so I don’t know how much you can get off of it.”

“Thank you,” Reid and Morgan walked off.

“Emily,” I said, touching her arm. “Am I in danger?”

“I... I don’t know.”

“Emily...”

“The other victims look like you, the library is the center of the hunting ground. Yes, I’m worried about you. Keep your eyes open. Don’t go somewhere private with someone you don’t know. Just... please be safe.”

“I’ll try,” I nodded. Emily was about to walk away. “Hey... I don’t know how long you’re going to be in town after this but... if you’re able... do you want to go out for drinks? Catch up?”

She grinned at me, “That sounds really nice.”

“Okay,” I chuckled awkwardly before grabbing a spare piece of paper, quickly scribbling my number down before handing it to her. “If I can help you guys anymore, let me know.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “I’ll see you later.”

I nodded. She walked back towards where her coworkers had gone earlier. I sat down at my desk, trying to stop blushing before going back to work. I spent about twenty more minutes working before I saw Dr. Reid walk out quickly while talking on the phone.

Agent Morgan walked over and handed me the key, “Thank you for your help.”

“You’re welcome,” I replied. Emily waved at me as she and Agent Morgan left.

I had stood up to go put some books on the desks. It was slower today than usual but it gave me more time to get my work done. I only left the desk because the library was empty. I popped my head out from behind a shelf when I heard the door open and close. I saw a man standing by the desk.

“Can I help you,” I asked, walking over to the desk.

“Hey,” he said, waving at me.

“Hi,” I chuckled. “Can I help you?”

I was caught off guard by the man jumping at me and holding a knife to my neck. I stuttered over some words, scared out of my mind.

“Come on,” he pulled me closer. “We have a date tonight.”

--Time Skip--

“Listen, just let me go, and we can talk about this,” I said, trying to not cry in front of him.

“This is the only way,” he replied as he finished tying me to the chair. “This is the only way for us to be together. All those girls. The ones who wanted to take your place.”

“I...I...”

“Don’t you remember,” he asked. “You always were so kind to me. Whenever I came in, Mondays and Fridays-”

“The Fantasy section,” I mumbled.

Agent Morgan said that he would awkward but this man was as casual and confident as a man his age. I saw him each week. I gave him a wave as I did with everyone. How did that turn into him think I loved him?

“I’m so happy that you remember,” he cupped the side of my face. I noticed the knife in his other hand. “I love you.”

I knew very well that it would’ve been very bad for me to reject him. Knives were scary.

“I love you too,” I replied shakily. He smiled, tilting his head at me.

I was terrified. I didn’t know how long I was going to have to do this or if I was going to be able to. I tried to force a smile at him.

I shouted when the door was kicked open. Agent Morgan and Emily walked in with their guns drawn. The man stood behind me, knife by my throat.

“Hey, hey, put the knife,” Emily said. “You love (Y/n), right?”

“Yes and you won’t come between us,” he shouted.

“But killing them would,” she reasoned.

“Please,” I begged quietly. “If you love me, you’ll listen to them.”

“But-but-”

“I’ll never get to see you again if I’m dead,” I continued. “Please. For me.”

I let out a sigh as he moved the knife away from me. Agent Morgan stepped forward, handcuffing him after the knife clattered on the ground. The man watched me with a smile as he was led out. Emily walked over and started untying me.

“So... how about that drink,” I tried to joke.

“You’re being funny,” she asked. “You just had a knife to your throat.”

“I must be trying to avoid it by using humor as a coping mechanism,” I said, rubbing, now untied, wrists. “That’s a thing, right?”

“I don’t know about immediately after,” she replied, finishing untying my ankle. “Can you stand up?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, standing up. Emily supported me even though I was standing. “So... that drink?”

“My god,” she laughed as we walked. “Get cleared by the medics and I’ll go for that drink tonight... if I can clear it with my boss.”

“Deal,” I said.

Emily passed me over to the medics with a grin before walking over to talk to some man in a suit and scowl that looked like it hadn’t moved in years. The medics checked on me quickly. I wasn’t too concerned. I hadn’t actually been hit but I could see why they needed to check on me. Emily walked back over just as they were wrapping up.

“Good news,” she said. “My boss has encouraged me to go. Is (Y/n) going to be alright to go?”

“Should be alright, everything looks normal and they aren’t describing any pain,” the EMT nodded. I stood up and thanked them.

“I know this lovely restaurant,” I started rambling. Emily just smiled and nodded.

--Time Skip--

We both thanked the waitress as we handed back the menus. I looked at her and grinned.

“I should thank you for saving me,” I said, trying to break the awkward silence between us.

“It’s my job,” she shrugged. I raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re welcome.”

I chuckled at her, shaking my head for a moment. Another moment of silence took over the conversation. I looked down at the table.

“Can I ask you something,” I tilted my head at her. She nodded. “Did you ever think about me after you left?”

“Of course I did,” she replied. “You were one of my best friends ever. You made yourself very hard to forget.”

“Oh,” I chuckled. “I never forgot you either... you were... gosh... a little more than a best friend.”

“What?”

“Emily, we made out, you were my first kiss, you took me out on a date,” I said. “You don’t remember?”

“I do but I didn’t think about how much you’d hold onto that... we never really talked about it.”

“I haven’t left this town in years, not much else to think about,” I chuckled. “I guess I was scared that you had gone off, found cooler friends, forgotten about me... and I was just here. Stuck. Waiting for someone to make me feel the same way you did.”

“I didn’t forget about you,” she replied. “You have my number now... maybe we could keep in touch when I leave. I’d love to show you around D.C.”

“I’d like that,” I grinned, blushing a bit.

Emily waltzing back into my life may have been one of the best things to ever happen to me.

--------------------------------------------------

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#emily prentiss imagine #emily prentiss fanfiction #imagine #fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction

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hyperfixationswithkate · 4 years ago

Text

connect | davey jacobs

reader x davey jacobs

[modern newsies au]

summary: It’s been two years since they spoke, and they need a wedding date. What could go wrong?

The opening of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ plays as you anxiously await for a response. The song he’d made his contact all those years ago as a joke but you’re too sentimental to let it go. You sprint across your apartment to grab it. “Hi,” you pant into the receiver. “As for your proposition, for you” your old friend said, “anything”. Your heartbeat races even faster at the thought of seeing him again. “Thank you” “See you then” He says and then the receiver clicks.

Almost a month and a half later, you sit on your couch waiting. Fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you think about the last time you saw him. It was almost two years ago now. After graduation, you two had slowly grown apart. People thought you guys were made for each other, actual soulmates, but time is a cruel mistress. Romance was never a word you would use to describe your relationship with Davey. He was always your partner in crime, your best friend, never your boyfriend. Well not never, the amount of times you’d see him laugh or talking or just existing and imagine a world where you two weren’t just friends. But the possibility of love wasn’t worth risking a friendship over.

Somehow the idea of seeing him still makes you feel butterflies. Even though he recently moved to New York for a grad program, you didn’t reach out with the fear of being awkward or just wanting to leave things the way they were. But a friend’s wedding where they were desperate to meet your childhood friend after learning he’s in town and needing a date, a proposal arised.

It wasn’t a large wedding but large enough that you could leave early if things got weird. Getting cornered into bringing a guy you haven’t seen in years to a wedding where you barely knew the bride wasn’t the finest combo but it will have to do. All your worries and fears were pulled from your mind with a knock on the door. ‘Here we go’ you thought. You pull the door open with a deep breath as you see him.

Wow, college has done him well. Davey was always handsome but wow. Maybe time isn’t so criminal after all. Suits make anybody better but damn does he pull it off. “Hey, long time no see” he says, “shut up” you breathe as you hug him. The silk of the suit touches your face, you can smell the laundry detergent. The same one he’s used since he was a kid. The stale cotton smell fills your mind with nostalgia. Memories of crying into his shirt over god knows what, or borrowing a jacket from his car after a spring rain. A small smell brings you back to a past life, a completely different person, someone afraid of the endless possibility of the future. But his voice brings you back to the present. As he pulls away from the hug, he says “So y/n, what’s the plan?”

You two leave your apartment in an almost awkward silence. The fear of making things weird after two years of limited contact weights on you. As you approach his car, he says “so how did you get wrapped into a wedding?” You take a moment to reply and say “I barely know at this point, the groom is a friend of mine from my freshman writing class. His friend group is filled with frat boys and trust fund babies but he’s an alright guy and I am still easily peer pressured.” You ramble.

“You have a theme of finding the one alright guy in a group of animals” He says, winking at you. “A prime example being your juvenile posse from freshman year.” You say. Davey playfully gasps, acting offended. “Jack, Race, Romeo, and the rest of the goonies weren't exactly angels but they weren't heathens” He says in an overly dramatic tone.

He changes the subject before I can poke fun at his boys again saying “Me and Jack are sharing an apartment while I finish my double major and while he’s still doing random things to pay for art school. Some of the other boys are around town. It’s kind of homely though, especially through the first couple weeks. What was it like living somewhere completely new all on your own?” You think for a second and say “It’s kind of nice. Starting completely fresh. No one has any expectation of who you are. It was rough at first without anyone close but I was able to change without fear of ruining old friendships.” He nodded silently, definitely thinking about my statement and analyzing it like the over thinker he’s always been.

We sat in a comfortable silence as we approached his car. Davey takes two large steps to reach the car door before you, “M’lady” he says as he opens the door. The inside of his car smelled like a lemon air freshener and his dashboard was covered in post it notes with random things scribbled on them. “What are these?” you say, staring at the little notes. “Oh well they started by me forgetting things all the time and it evolved into the boys leaving notes every time they’re in here alone. I’m too sappy to take them down” He replies as he gets into the driver seat. ‘If you mess this up, I’ll deck ya. Love Race’ reads one of the notes. Davey notices you eyeing the note as he starts the car and says quietly “Race wrote that one about today. He really wants us to be close again so when I drive down here to see you, I pick up cheap weed for him.” ''God that's such a Race thing to do'' you say laughing. He makes nervous eye contact with you that makes you think that maybe weed wasn’t Race’s only motive for us meeting again. But Davey speaks before your mind can race too far off, “So what’s the address for this wedding venue?”

As we drive for a few minutes, Davey turns on the radio to fill the weird gap of silence between conversations and of course the first sing playing is “You’re my best friend” by Queen. The song about your partner being your best friend is playing, the song that could definitely be labeled as “our song” is playing, the universe is playing a cruel game on us today. Davey turns to you recognizing how significant this song is and says “You better remember all the words to this song” and of course I do. I reply by singing the opening verse very loudly. To which he does the exact same thing. As the song fades out, he says “I remember listening to that in high school. We used to sit on your bedroom floor and do homework while the whole Night At The Opera album played”. The nostalgia flooding back to you as his eyes focus back on the road. A particular memory stands out.

One night we were both studying for our AP Lit test in my bedroom. It was almost 2am and you’d been studying for hours. We snuck down to the kitchen for some snacks before the final haul of work. Running down the stairs your feet slip and Davey catches you in his arms. As you balance again, his arms don’t fall away and you turn to face him about to ask him if something is wrong. His eyes staring deeply into yours as you look at him and you savor the feeling of his warm hands on your arms. The moment quickly passed when your cat meowed very loudly at your feet, scaring the both of you apart. After raiding your kitchen, you two swiftly return upstairs to finish studying and hopefully avoiding another borderline romantic encounter for the evening. Once you close your bedroom door, Davey said “What’s your favorite record at the moment?”. He was trying to avoid studying but I didn’t really care. “Currently it’s A Night At The Opera by Queen. I just got it on vinyl and it’s definitely a winner” I say back. “Well then put it on” he says jokingly gesturing to the small record player in my room. “Alright mate” you mumble in a vague british accent knowing that’ll get him to laugh, and of course he does. You put on the record and the opening instrumental starts playing.

We study for most of the album, only interrupted by pages flipping, pencils scratching, yawning, and me flipping the record. By the end of the album, we’re both lying on the floor staring at the ceiling in exhaustion, the carpet touching my bare arms as the final notes fade out. “That was incredible,” Davey says quietly, turning to face me on the ground. “I know” I say nodding, leaning towards him. For a few seconds, we were close enough together we could have kissed. Staring at each other waiting for the other to make a move. He turns away, a fear of making things weird overcomes him. You can tell in his face that he regrets it the moment he turns.

The memory fades as the car stops at a red light. Turning to Davey as his eyes are fixed on the road, you see the side profile that you saw everyday at school. The slightly crooked nose that got broken from a flying book during lunch. The eyebrow that has a small scar above it from tripping at the city pool during freshman year. The pink blotch of color on his cheek that never seems to leave no matter the temperature. All these memories attached to him for better or for worse.

He notices you staring as he turns the corner. “What?” he says quietly, blushing. “Nothing, just thinking” you say equally as quiet. “About what?” he almost whispers. Just as you panic about what to say, the GPS says “You have arrived at your destination”

#davey jacobs #davey x reader #davey jacobs x reader #davey jacobs modern au #newsies #newsies musical #davey jacobs fluff #davey jacobs angst #connect #fic #gender neutral reader #please give me feedback

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monkeebratz · 5 years ago

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Gotham Seamstress Marinette - Wayne Gala

I should sTILL BE UPDATING BIO!DAD BUT HERE I AM AGAIN

Initial Idea | Uncle Ozzy | Wayne Gala (you are here) |

So we have the whole Cobblepot Crew at the Wayne Gala. Mari is off wondering, scribbling away in a palm sized sketchbook all the ideas this beautiful place is giving her! (She smuggled it, along with Tikki and Sass, in her purse. Its a little crowded but they can snuggle.) Peri is following behind her quietly, smiling to herself. Not that anybody can see.

Meanwhile Gale and Ozzy have started talking to dear ol’ Brucie boy. At this point, its been a couple years since Ozzy has declared his vendetta and has calmed the fuck down. It also helps that Bruce is not suck a dick about things and Ozzy can relax the stuffy old Gothamite Socialite act around him. They get to talking and Bruce kinda chuckles about how he heard Oswald brought a plus one? Who’s the lucky lady? And he points out Mari, who’s slowly making their way back to the Cobblepot Crew with Peri gently steering her in that direction. And Bruce, dad of all dads, immediately sorta puffs up. “Oswald.”

“Eh? What, Brucie boy?”

“That’s your plus one? She can’t be any older than my youngest-”

“Oh, get your bird-brain out of the gutter! Just doing this as a little favor to the girl, she’s my favorite seamstress, y’know. Made me and the Girls outfits for this little soiree, her own dress too. Figured I’d get her some more... legitimate business, you see. Sweet songbird’s had a rough go, recently.”

And Bruce is even MORE side eye-ing bc wtf does all THAT mean, Cobblepot? Wtf? Should he be Batman concerned or Bruce Wayne concerned? There’ll be a full blown investigation in the Bat Cave when he gets home from this but for now he puts on a smile as Oswald introduces them. Mari is, of course, completely flustered. What an honor to meet Mr. Wayne himself! The Gala is so pretty, and she’s heard all about his charitable work, she’s such a fan!

Bruce is kinda blown away by this little French Sunshine Child and gives her the Father Smile, letting her ramble. Ozzy is preening bc hell yes, his Songbird has Bruce Wayne’s approval. Bruce asks about her designs for the Cobblepot Crew and commends her skills. Gets Mari out for a dance and then she’s dancing with everybody! Bruce, Ozzy, the Girls, even some strangers. Its a great time!

Bruce introduces Mari to Damien, who is unimpressed and bored out of his mind. He can appreciate the aesthetics of Mari’s designs but holds to the idea that she shouldn’t be so willing to design for criminals like The Penguin. Not that he says any of this out loud, of course. Offers to take Mari out for a dance and there’s a lot of Mari apologizing for being such a horrible dancer. (It was one thing with the Cobblepot Crew, who she knew didn’t mind, or Bruce, who seemed so nice. But Damien is sorta angry looking and she’s nervous as hell.) Damien tells her its no problem and manages to lead her around with minimal toe tromping.

BUUUUUT of course this couldn’t last, right? A certain blonde model boy notices Mari and breaks up their dance. In the middle of the dance floor. Like the oblivious boy he is.

And you have panicked French as Adrian grabs Mari’s arm and keeps going on about how glad he is to see her! Where has she been, doesn’t she know how worried everybody has been? Mari, how could she leave him like that? Really, he knew she was upset about the little mishap with their identities and his Father, but did she have to throw such a tantrum about it?

Marinette, meanwhile, is digging her nails into his wrist and trying to get him off of her, practically tripping on her dress in her haste to get away. Adrian still has a firm grip on her arm, though, and she falls back into Damien who, in perfect French, is asking what the hell does he think he’s doing Agreste? And Adrian puffs up and tells him that he doesn’t need to worry about it, its none of his business-!

(Mari stops panicking long enough to catch Ozzy’s eye and the Girls make their way over with extreme prejudiced. None of them notice Marinette grabbing something from Adrian’s finger and slipping it into her purse. Nobody but Damien.)

The Girls pull Adrian away from Mari and Damien and there have their claw hands out, making those upset bird coos. Adrian is kicking about and Bruce is getting an explanation from his son, while Ozzy is trying to comfort Marinette. Its a disaster.

And then. It gets worse. Because Gabriel fucking Agreste notices the commotion and his sons name attached to it and goes over to figure out what the hell is going on.

He grips the back of Adrian’s neck and shakes him a bit because he recognizes Mari and, of course, apologizes profusely for his behavior Miss Marin-

“Mari. Its... Its just Mari, now.”

And Gabriel just nods and apologizes again. “Miss Mari, then. I’m sure this incident will not affect our... agreement?” And Marinette shakes her head and Gabriel nods again and drags Adrian off to leave because not only is this embarrassing, this could jeopardize everything! You stupid, stupid boy!

Mari’s scrubbing tears away from her face and Bruce is apologizing profusely, he had no idea she knew the Agreste’s, or he’d have ensured they didn’t have to interact, and Mari tells him its fine, he couldn’t have known.

Ozzy bundles her up and takes her back to Arthur’s and seethes. The Agreste’s might be having a little accident soon. He drops her off and Mari shuts herself up in her room and slips on the ring and Plagg fizzes into existence and Tikki tackles him and its an emotional night for everybody.

Because you see, when Marinette has found out Gabriel and Adrian’s identities as Hawkmoth and Chat Noir, she’d panicked, and when she’d confronted Gabriel and learned why he was doing what he did... She helped him. Used her Guardian training, and Tikki, to fix the Peacock Miraculous, and heal Mrs. Agreste. In return, Gabriel gave her both the Butterfly and Peacock Miraculi back, saying good riddance as long as he had his wife back. Marinette agreed to keep this between them, as long as he worked to fixing the damage he’d caused, with the city, its people, and his family. And Gabriel has sworn to, less she go back on her own promise to ensure Mrs. Agreste’s health.

Adrian had, of course, figured out Marinette’s identity as Ladybug, and what she had done for his family, and gotten... worse. Not horrible, really, but gradually going from not taking her denial of his advances but becoming more and more pushy about it. Because of course they were meant to be together! And idk if any of you have ever dealt with men like this but its awful. Because Adrian doesn’t understand that what he’s doing is only scaring Mari, and the worse he gets, the more scared she gets. The more desperate to get away. And one day, when Fu names her the official Guardian, she does. She flees to Gotham and never looks back, because Fu remembers so little now, and her family had ignored how her love for Adrian had turned into fear. Everybody had.

So she left. And here she was.

(As far as the Fu thing goes, I haven’t watched season 3′s finale(s) so please don’t spoil them. The idea of Fu losing his memories has more to do with the fact that he’s almost 200 years old and the human body just isn’t made to last that long, magic or no magic. So he starts losing his memory and doesn’t always recognize Marinette so in a moment of clarity he passes the torch, unfinished training or not. Marianne comes to live with Fu and take care of him, remind him of things. They didn’t have their time in their prime, but they’ll take it now.)

Tag List! If you’d like to be added, please send me an ask! Just a little easier for me to keep track of that way, lol

@destinationdesignation @xxmadamjinxx @emjrabbitwolf @meg-chi @officiallyathiana @graduatedmelon @seraphichana (I’m so sorry I can’t figure out why it won’t tag you?) @theatreandcomicfreak @beaversuenightly @7701deathlyhalfbloodprincess

#miraculous ladybug #batman #maribat #gotham seamstress marinette au #oswald copplepot #kabuki twins #bruce wayne #marinette dupain cheng #adrian agreste #gabriel agreste #miraculous ladybug au #batman au #DUN DUN DUUUUUN

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missing-marvel · 5 years ago

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The Shape of You (Pt. 3)

Pairing: Vision/Reader

Part 2, Part 4

A/N: Surprise! Didja think I died? Well guess what, I lived. Dedicating this one to the anon that asked me to write again! You got me workin on this again so kudos to you

---

As the car slowed, so did your heartbeat, the adrenaline beginning to wear off. You didn’t know where you were going, just that you needed to keep moving. You took the highway out of the city, figuring your place wasn’t a safe option. Only once the city skyline gave way to open road did you speak again.

“So, uh, what’s the plan? Where are we going?” You glanced over at Vision, only taking your eyes off the road as much as you had to. He simply shook his head solemnly, making it clear there was no plan, which was not what you wanted to hear. He began trying to say something else, miming something you didn’t remotely understand. “Hang on, I’ve got something that’ll help,” you reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. “There’s a text-to-speech feature you can use to talk to me.”

Barely after the last word was out of your mouth, Vision took the phone in both hands and snapped it in half effortlessly. You winced at the crunch of the metal. He rolled the window down and threw the destroyed phone outside as you simply stared at him wide-eyed.

“What the hell was that for?!” The car drifted slightly while your eyes were off the road, causing you to quickly snap back into your lane when you heard another car honk. You turned back to Vision for an explanation, though he simply pointed up at the sky.

“Oh, GPS. Right.” You hadn’t thought about your phone being used to track you. You mentally chided yourself for such a stupid mistake.

Vision began rummaging through the glovebox while you kept your eyes on the road, not wanting another close call like before. The roads were relatively clear this time of night, especially as you got further from the city, but you weren’t taking any more chances. You’d had enough near-death experiences for awhile.

Most of the glovebox’s contents were just rubbish or various bits of paper, but there was one thing that would come in particularly handy. Vision’s expression lit up slightly as he held up a pen and some kind of legal notepad. You began to think this car probably belonged to some kind of corporate businessman or something. Clearly someone with money to spare. That made you feel a little less bad about stealing it.

Vision was writing hurriedly but you couldn’t make out what he was saying and watch the road at the same time. When he was done, he leaned over to hold up the paper in your line of sight.

“Car is compromised. Need new one. Something inconspicuous.” You agreed, but you had no idea how to go about that. You didn’t know a thing about car thievery, today’s events being your only experience.

“Vision this isn’t exactly my area of expertise. Besides I don’t even know where we are. What’s even a good place to find a car? Or leave this one for that matter? A parking lot?” You rambled until Vision quickly tapped his hand on the dashboard to get your attention. He pointed at some kind of sign ahead of you. You made out the words as you got closer, the headlights illuminating the old rusted sign as if it were neon.

‘Motel- 30 miles,’ it read, the letters were peeling from age but nonetheless legible. “Yeah I guess that’ll work...” you mumbled, more to yourself than anything.

The drive was quiet from there. It was peaceful almost, the hum of the engine, the open road, and the clear view of the sky. The sight of the endless highway made time feel as if it had stopped. Under better circumstances, you would love to roll the windows down and enjoy the rush of the night air. There had always been something about driving at night that you found relaxing. That is, until your thoughts caught up with you.

You’d been processing the day’s events. It was slowly dawning on you that you were a criminal now. Officially on the lam. You were no doubt being hunted still. And they likely wouldn’t be feeling merciful when they caught you. If they caught you, you corrected yourself.

The realization that you’d just uprooted your entire life had crept up on you. You thought of your family and your friends. Hell, even the employees at your favorite coffee shop that always knew your order. There were people that would wonder what happened to you. Would they assume you went missing or would your face be plastered across every news channel in the country?

It was all becoming too much too quickly. You tried to force your breathing to slow as your heart beat against your chest, but it didn’t help. It was all you could do to keep a straight face, pushing back the panic simmering just below the surface. You hoped the darkness of the car would hide the way your jaw was clenching until your teeth hurt, the way your knuckles were turning pale on the steering wheel, or the way your chest rose and fell more rapidly than it should.

One perk of being a supercomputer would be the impeccable observation skills. Vision was nothing if not perceptive. The sound of your breathing alone would’ve tipped him off that something was amiss. He scribbled something quickly on the paper, unbeknownst to you.

Your eyes were glued to the windshield, though you weren’t truly seeing through it. Your thoughts were focused inward. You were so fixated on them, in fact, that you nearly jumped out of your seat when Vision put a hand on your arm.

“Huh— what?” You de-tensed after a moment, Vision’s gentle grip surprisingly reassuring. In his free hand he held up the paper, just barely readable under the flickering light of passing street lamps.

“What is wrong?”

What were you supposed to say to that? ‘Oh, you know, just a little stressed about running from the law!’ There weren’t many words to describe your feelings right now, but you knew ‘stressed’ didn’t quite cover it.

“It’s just— well, what am I going to do now? I can’t exactly go back to my old life. I’m pretty freaked out too. It’s all just too much to process.” You tried not to sound accusatory, but a look briefly crossed the android’s face that you could’ve sworn was guilt. He began writing again after a pause, but scribbled it out before finishing. You caught a glimpse before he threw the crumpled paper into the back seat, just catching sight of the words, “an idea.”

Vision just stared at the blank paper at a loss for words. The experience was new to him. He knew countless words in countless languages and processed thoughts faster than a human could comprehend, yet here he a was; unable to find just the right message to comfort you. It brought him a feeling a helplessness.

As luck would have it, you were just hitting the exit ramp. In the near distance was a flickering neon sign, accompanied by a shabby-looking building.

Pulling into the parking lot revealed this to be the best-case scenario for you. For a motel that sits in the middle of nowhere and looks straight out of a horror movie, the place was surprisingly busy. Counting the doors, you estimated the place only had maybe 12 rooms, max, and there were probably almost that many cars in the lot. That gave you plenty of options.

Once the car was off, you groaned in frustration, letting your head hit the steering wheel with a dull ‘thud.’ Outside, a chorus of cicadas drowned out everything else. Even with the windows up, the noise seemed deafening, or maybe that was just because you were so used to the city. You heard Vision move in his seat, but didn’t bother to look what he was doing. You didn’t move at all, in fact, until you felt his hand on your shoulder.

“There’s a grey SUV a couple rows over. Common model. Inconspicuous.” When you looked up from the paper, Vision gestured out the passenger window. Sure enough, the vehicle he described was right there in plain sight. It was several years old and it showed, but overall there were no real distinguishing features about the vehicle. It had no stickers you could see, no obvious damage, and it had local license plates, so they wouldn’t stand out.

“Nice choice. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a professional car thief.” You chuckled half-heartedly, too tired for anything more than that. You weren’t sure if it was just the exhaustion setting in, but you could’ve sworn you even saw Vision crack a smile. “Let’s go—“ Before you could finish your sentence, however, a huge yawn came over you.

“You’re exhausted. We need to stop.” Vision had the words down by the time you’d closed your mouth.

“We can’t, we can’t. It’s not safe. I’ll be fine,” you insisted, much to the android’s dismay. You opened your door and stepped outside before he could write a response. The cool night breeze perked you up ever so slightly. The chill was just enough to give you that second wind.

You looked around the lot, trying to lean on the car as inconspicuously as possible while you checked to make sure no one could see you. You didn’t see anyone outside for a cigarette, no one in their cars, no one in the windows, and no security cameras on the building. You leaned down to face the window, gesturing to Vision that the coast was clear. He stepped outside without any further arguments about stopping for the night. He agreed with you that this wasn’t a safe place to stop, but he was also worried you weren’t in a fit state to be driving. He’d have to settle for keeping an eye on you and hope for the best.

The two of you made your way to the SUV, keeping other cars between you and the building as much as possible to hide you from view. You stood a step back from the driver’s door to give Vision room to unlock the car just as he’d done with the last one. Neither of you made a sound until you were in the car and getting back on the road.

As you opened your mouth to speak, another yawn escaped your lips. It was true, you were exhausted and you weren’t sure how much longer you could drive. Until you found somewhere safe however, you didn’t have any other options. “So, you have idea where we should go?”

Vision was already writing something when you’d asked the question. He was writing quite a lot, actually. May as well have been writing a novel on the tiny notepad. He had to lean over a bit more to hold the paper in front of you since the SUV’s cab was wider than the last car. His arm brushed yours and your mind flashed back to the first time you’d touched, when you’d touched his hand back at the lab. You were still stunned by the softness of his artificial skin, and equally red in the face. He really wasn’t like any other machine.

Between your distracted thoughts and the need to keep an eye on the road, it took you annoyingly long to read the note. You kept glancing between it and the pavement ahead of you, your eyes struggling to shift focus in the evening light. Or rather, morning light. The sun was in the earliest stages of rising, the sky still dark but beginning to blend in with your surroundings. It was a bad time to be driving half-awake, that’s for sure.

“Avengers have old safe houses scattered across the country. Closest one should be about a state over. Can stay there awhile, try to contact the team.” You lost your focus on the road as you squinted to read the last line, not noticing the car had begun to drift over the line. Dropping the note, Vision practically leapt over the center console to grab the steering wheel, sharply swerving back into the lane just before you would’ve gone off the road. The whole ordeal definitely woke you up. Sat up straight and with both hands on the wheel in a death grip, you checked your mirrors for other cars around you. As luck would have it, there was no one else close to you. The closest vehicle on your side of the highway was so far back that their headlights were barely a speck in the distance. You let out a sigh of relief. The last thing you needed was someone calling the cops about a crazy driver. That may just be the worst way you could get caught.

You could hear your android passenger writing another note but you cut him off before he could finish. “If you’re gonna tell me we need to stop again, don’t bother. How long a drive would you say this safe house is?”

Vision took a second to scribble out his previous unfinished response before penning a new one. “Five, maybe four hours. Barring any incidents.”

“That’s great. I can do five hours.” You didn’t exactly sound confident, but Vision didn’t question you further about it. “How about we see if there’s any music on. That’ll help me stay awake.” You turned on the car’s stereo and were immediately assaulted by the most god-awful 70’s soft pop that you’d ever heard. It sounded like something that should be playing on loop at 3am in an empty convenience store. It was so dull and repetitive it would’ve put you straight to sleep if it weren’t simultaneously so annoying. You tried skipping through a couple songs on the CD, but it wasn’t getting any better. Whoever owned this car must’ve burned their entire tape deck collection onto here. That’s not to say there isn’t plenty of good music to be found on tapes. In fact if it had been even like a decade newer it would be perfect, but this just wasn’t it.

After the eighth terrible song in a row, you gave up. “Nope. Nope. None of this.” You ejected the disk, across which ‘road trip mix’ was scrawled in messy sharpie, and tossed it haphazardly into the back seat. You switched the radio to FM, figuring literally anything could be better than that. While you were busy fiddling with the console, you didn’t catch the smile that crept across Vision’s face just out of your field of view. He was reminded of Tony Stark and how picky that man was with his music. On multiple occasions, his insistence on finding the ‘perfect soundtrack’ during a mission had nearly gotten him shot. Not that it would’ve hurt him, but it certainly drove the rest of the team up a wall. Vision found himself wondering where the team could possibly be right now, though he didn’t like most of the answers.

When you’d settled on a station, the drive began to settle down. For a good few hours, neither of you spoke, or wrote, in Vision’s case. It wasn’t as if you didn’t have anything to say, but the process of trying to read Vision’s writings while you were driving had proven to be more of a hazard than it was worth, so you kept conversation to a minimum. You figured there’d be time to talk when you got to the safe house.

Every so often the radio station would need changed, either from the weak signal as you drove further away or just because you got sick of hearing commercials. Vision took it upon himself to dial through stations, quickly learning what kind of music you actually liked, or would at least tolerate. Eventually, you didn’t even have to say anything when he landed on a good station. He would just know as soon as you heard the music.

The sun was finally showing itself on the horizon, and the drive was taking a toll on you once more. Once or twice, you felt your eyelids beginning to drift shut before you’d snap them open again. Whenever that happened, you would turn up the volume a little on the radio. Had you been more awake, you would’ve noticed Vision gazing at you for the last ten minutes, as if studying you.

As a matter of fact, he was. Studying you, that is. He wondered what sort of person you were to help someone like him. It took a lot of bravery to do what you had done. That, or sheer stupidity, but you seemed like a more intelligent person than people realized. Were you just the type of person to help any poor soul that crossed your path? What could your life possibly be like that you’d drop it all for him? Were you afraid? Were you lost?

Were you alone, like him?

A road sign alerting you of the approaching state border caught both of your attention, and Vision was already writing a response before you could even ask the question.

“City’s about half an hour from here. I’ll try to give you directions.”

You simply nodded in response. You wondered if he had a GPS of some kind in that big computer brain of his, or if he’d just memorized the locations of all the safe houses and was good with directions. Either worked, you supposed.

You found yourself in what could only loosely be referred to as a city, definitely a lot smaller than where you lived. Or rather, where you used to live. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. This city wasn’t some backwater hamlet by any means, but it was definitely smaller than anywhere you’d been to in a long time. Getting directions was something of a difficulty as you got further into the city. Vision couldn’t really write out instructions on the fly and if you went the wrong way that would just mess it all up anyway. A fair amount of frustration and several wrong turns later, Vision gave up on trying to write anything and just gestured when you needed to turn. It was possibly the least fun game of charades you’d ever played.

Eventually the business districts gave way to a slightly more familiar setting. This part of town was what you could fairly call dilapidated, packed with narrow streets, run-down apartment buildings, and more pedestrians than cars, though there wasn’t even many of those. Vision insisted you were in the right place, so you didn’t question it further. He directed you to an alleyway that led to a small parking lot behind one of the many identical buildings, where you finally stopped the car. Good timing too. You couldn’t go much longer on the fuel you had and stopping at a gas station had seemed like a good way to get caught.

“Okay, what now?” You sat back as you removed the keys from the ignition and looked over at Vision. It took him a good thirty seconds to write out his response.

“The safe house is close by, but we’ll have to walk. We can leave the car here with the keys on the seat. Ideally someone else will see them and take it. We’ll take the plates. Out-of-state. Easier to trace back to us.”

The plan seemed fine to you except for one thing. “How far do we have to walk, exactly? Won’t someone see you? It’s broad daylight.”

“That’s a chance we’ll have to take. Luckily, not many people seem to live around here.”

You didn’t like it, but you didn’t have any better ideas. “Alright, lead the way.”

You did as Vision had said and left the car keys on the driver’s seat. You even left the car unlocked for good measure. Once you got out, however, things got a little more difficult. As you walked around to the back of the car, you heard a loud thud from the passenger side. You raced around to find Vision leaning haphazardly on the side of the car, one hand braced against the metal and the other clutching his side. The pen and paper had been dropped on the ground.

“What’s wrong?! Are you— are you hurt? What happened?” You raced over to him as he struggled back to his feet, unsure what you should do. You scooped up the pen and paper, handing it over to him as soon as he could support himself again.

“Just a bit of internal damage. Seems to have gotten a little worse but there’s no need to worry.”

“That sounds like something I should definitely be worried about.” Other than his arm, you hadn’t realized he might be hurt. It makes sense that an android could have internal injuries, just as well as any human. You just hoped it wasn’t too serious. You weren’t a medical professional, but you would still be more confident in helping tend human injuries rather than android. You hadn’t the slightest idea how to help with those.

He waved you off like it wasn’t a big deal and you decided not to push your luck. He insisted the walk to the safe house would be short so you headed that way. You couldn’t help but notice his steps were more uneven, however, although he was doing his best to hide it. You wondered if he felt pain the same way you did. You kind of hoped not. You didn’t like the idea of him being in pain, especially if there was nothing you could do to help.

You stuck to alleys and backstreets, which made the walk a but longer than it needed to be but you couldn’t risk anyone seeing Vision, at least not up close. You always walked with him between you and the nearest wall, trying to shield him from view as best you could. It didn’t help that he was taller than you. You were so focused on scanning your surroundings for any onlookers that you almost walked right by the safe house. Vision grabbed your arm to stop you and you turned to look at the building. It looked just like all the other buildings around it; vines climbing the brick walls, curtains covering the windows, cement crumbling around the foundations. It hardly looked safe. Though perhaps that was the idea. It certainly blended in. No one would suspect anything out of the ordinary.

As you climbed the steps, you noticed the electronic keypad by the door. It was just a series of buttons with apartment numbers and names printed on them, though most of them were faded beyond legibility. You highly doubted there was anyone inside to buzz you into the building.

“I don’t suppose you have a key.” You watched as Vision shook his and approached the keypad. He pressed one of the names and for a brief moment you genuinely thought you were going to have to have someone let you in. Then he pressed another name, and another. It was a seemingly random order that you quickly realized was a code. Leave it to the Avengers to put a secret code on their already secret safe house.

The door buzzed once the code was entered, signaling that it was unlocked. Vision ushered you inside and you were immediately overwhelmed by all the dust in the air. You couldn’t help but sneeze one, two, three times in a row. For a brief second you swore the room was spinning. Then you blinked away the blurriness in your eyes and took a good look around.

From the outside, the building looked like the kind that would have multiple apartments in it, but that change once you got inside. It was set up like a town house of sorts, with the front door leading directly into a living area. The building was only two stories, but that was still a lot of space for a single unit in a neighborhood like this. In a bigger city, this place would cost a fortune. Although it needed some work. Everything was covered in a heavy layer of dust and a the air was heavy with a musty smell. Still, if it was safe, that’s all that mattered.

As soon as your eyes landed on the sofa, all your concerns vanished into thin air. You didn’t even take the time to look for a blanket or bother to see what Vision was doing before you collapsed onto that dusty sofa as if it were a bed fit for a king. You vaguely noticed the feeling of a blanket being draped over you before drifting off into much-needed sleep.

---

A/N: I’ll be honest, this blog has been a little neglected since I started writing my Mandalorian fanfic (link to my AO3 at the top of the page if you’re interested winkwink) but I’ll try to get back into the swing of it. If there’s one thing quarantine is good for, it’s giving me time to write!

#vision/reader #vision x reader

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