#like I'm sure they've done it where him not being able to get a word out was the entire joke

[krawdad]

Wait have they actually taken away porky's stammer that was like all he had

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: language, violence, oral (male receiving)

Chapter Word Count: 5306

—-MDNI—-

A/N: kind of an odd chapter tbh, there was a few things that I wanted to write so it felt best to squeeze them all in together. I want to start getting into the romance side of things with Dean, so I guess that starts here. Also I’ve been away sick so I’ve added a bit of spiciness.

New readers start here: Prologue

Previous Chapter: Chapter 13

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 14

I grasped the hanger off the rail and slung the pair of flared jeans over my arm to join the other items I was purchasing. Dean had been kind enough to give me a hundred bucks in cash - God knows where from - to get myself whatever I needed whilst he and Sam sauntered off to the menswear stores. As I browsed, lifting a crocheted crop top up before scrunching my nose at the thought of how little it would cover, the bell to the store jingled as someone else walked in. I heard footsteps slowly pace down the short aisle I was in, and as I placed the top back on the rail, I almost jumped out of my skin as someone started talking.

“Oh hey, it's (Y/n) right? You're bunking with the Winchester boys?”

I snapped my head up at the female voice, not expecting anyone out here but Sam and Dean to know my name. My eyes met a pair of warm brown ones, faint crows feet in the corners from years of joy and smiles. I recognised her; she was the short haired woman in the bunker kitchen the night we got back from the strip club.

“Uuhhhh ye- yes! You know Sam and Dean?” My expression was clearly confused as she grinned and held out her hand.

“The names Jody Mills. I've known the boys for a while now - through hunting. It's a pleasure to meet you at last - I've heard great things about you,” I juggled the clothing in my arms and grasped her outstretched hand, giving it a firm shake. She seemed to grin at that.

“Oh, they talk about me? I had no idea,” I suddenly felt a little nervous, the knowledge that I've been the topic of conversations unbeknownst to myself made me sweat a little. Jody seemed to notice this.

“They've only had great things to say, so don't panic! Especially that boy Dean. Not sure how you've done it chick but you really got that wild card wrapped around your little finger,” she raised her eyebrows almost suggestively and I felt heat start to prickle my skin.

“Wh-what? No no no, he's not-” I watched as her head tilted in my direction, eyebrows still raised as a slight grin tugged on her lips. “Have I really?”

She hummed and nodded her head, starting to flick through the clothing rail that I'd been looking at before.

“I've known that boy a few years now, and I've never seen him run to anyone the way he ran to you that night you appeared in the kitchen, looking like a kicked kitten,” she smiled softly and squeezed my arm, “you're something special to him honey, so try not to break his heart.”

“Oh,” was all I managed to say, with what I can imagine was the dumbest look on my face as I felt myself getting redder by the second. A phone ringing suddenly pulled me from my dazed thoughts as Jody reached into her pocket and answered the call. She spoke in a sterner tone than what she'd used with me, and after a few words were exchanged she hung up and returned the device to her pocket.

“I've gotta get going, but I'll try and catch you all again later. I'm in the area for a bit so I'll try and pop by. It was lovely to meet you (Y/n),” she squeezed my arm one last time before turning to leave, the bell on the door signalling her departure. I stood for a moment, my mind spinning from what she'd said about Dean. There was absolutely no way that what she'd said was true. I mean, I beat the crap out of him when we first met, and we've bickered a lot. I guess we've not argued for a good few days. And we've had sex. Oh the sex. I bit my lip as thoughts of us tangled in his sheets came to mind. Not just thoughts, but memories. Like I said to him this morning, we're just fuck buddies. Right?

*

Leaving the store with two large paper bags in one hand and my phone in the other, I first dialled Sam to find out where he was down this stretch of high street. When it went to voicemail, I hung up and dialled Deans number instead. It rang and rang, and when I thought his was going to ring through as well, he finally answered.

“Hey sweetheart, what's up?”

“Hey, I'm finished getting what I need. Whereabouts are you?”

“Uhhh…” I heard him turn to the shop assistant and ask for the name of the store he was in before he relayed it to me.

“Cool, I'll be there in two minutes. See you soon.”

“See ya.”

And with a click I hung up and tucked my phone into my back pocket and walked no more than two hundred yards to get to where he was still trying on boots. As I gingerly walked in, well aware it was a men's store and I was currently the only woman in here, Deans head snapped to the door when the arrival bell jingled.

“Hey sweetheart, you're just in time! I have no idea what to get.”

I couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the thought of the great Dean Winchester getting stumped by the more domesticated side of life.

“Well I'm here to help,” I placed my bags on the bench next to his discarded jacket. “What are the options?”

We must've spent half an hour going over the ones he'd shortlisted, then he chose an entirely different pair anyway, unrelated to the ones he'd picked out for himself.

Leaving the store and a quick phone call between the brothers, we all concluded that now was the best time to stop for lunch. Dean and I made a quick trip back to Baby to drop off our bags, with Dean opting to sport his brand new boots in favour of his old and decrepit ones. It was a short walk back to the high street now that we were bag free, and I could see Sam a mile off - his tall frame loitering outside the chosen diner, the occasional woman walking past throwing a few looks his way. He, of course, was oblivious to those looks, and when he spotted us as we neared he offered a wave. He sprouted a wide, friendly grin as we came to stand next to him.

“You guys get everything you need?”

“Yep! Took Cinderella a while to find the right boots but we got there in the end,” I flashed Dean a playful smirk as he tilted his head in slight annoyance at the nickname, which pulled a light hearted laugh from Sam.

“Oh yeah? Well, at least I didn’t spend twenty bucks on a thrifted Carhartt hoodie.”

“Hey that is durable shit, it’s worth every penny.”

“You could've had one of mine, I don't wear hoodies much anymore.”

“I somehow feel like there'd be a catch with that.”

“Uuhh, I got my jacket, if anyone cares?” Sam decided to interject, and we both turned to look at him.

“Good for you Sammy.”

“Yeah, nice one Sam,” I looked around for a second, not seeing any bags, “where is it?”

He gave me a funny look.

“What?”

“Seriously?” He asked, looking between Dean and myself. I looked at the older Winchester and seemed to have the same questions I did.

“Guys, I’m wearing it. Did you seriously not notice?”

I bit my lip.

“It looks exactly the same,” Dean spoke my own thoughts out loud.

“Well I mean technically it is. But it's not all scuffed up. Look you can clearly tell it's new,” he gestured with his hands that were still in his pockets, flapping the jacket around like he was an elongated flying squirrel.

“Not really.”

“Nope,” Dean popped the ‘p’ before he walked past both of us, “come on guys I'm starving, can we just go in?”

*

A simple lunch in the diner turned into beers in the bar which somehow turned into karaoke followed by shots. The place was bustling - all tables and booths occupied and a permanent flow of people ordering drinks. Most of the guys were of similar tastes, donning boots and leather jackets whilst the few women that were there pranced around in short-shorts and low cut tops. I for one felt a little out of place. The three of us were lucky to snag a booth, albeit close to the small stage situated up front, and I’d tucked myself into the corner, cradling my rum and coke. Dean had left his jacket beside me whilst he’d ventured off to challenge a group of guys to a ‘friendly’ game of pool, his laugh occasionally flowing over the chatter and music towards where Sam and I were sitting.

“How long do you think it’ll be until they realise they’re being conned?” I quizzed, taking a gulp from my glass and letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue before swallowing. Sam chuckled, taking a second before answering.

“Uhhh I don’t think these guys will find out until tomorrow morning.” We both laughed, knowing full well that Dean will spend all night gloating about how great he is, how we should bow in respect of the swindle master. I was lost in thought for a moment, wondering how much money he would actually walk away with when Sam’s voice pulled me back to reality.

“(Y/n), can I ask you something?”

I took another gulp of my drink, knowing full well what that puppy-dog look in Sam’s eyes meant, that furrow in his brow only accentuating it.

“Sure, go ahead.”

He took a breath.

“Are you ok? Like, really ok? Because if I’m honest, if I saw someone who I thought was dead - that I used to be in love with - stand before me after years of believing I’d never see them again; I don’t think I would be ok.”

I fiddled with the hem of Deans shirt sleeve for a second, my brain swarming with every thought I’ve been avoiding since the other night and keeping every little buzz under lock and key. I hated to admit it, but I was afraid to open Pandora’s box for the fear of ice cold confrontation. It wasn’t the wisest option, but putting the skeletons back in their closet and throwing out the key was what I genuinely thought was best. I let out an emotionally exhausted sigh before slumping back in my seat.

“I’m not ok. It still feels like some sort of fucked up fever dream, but… but thinking about it isn’t going to make me feel any better. Talking about someone who’s been dead to me for years isn’t going to take this messed up feeling away. In my mind, there’s nothing to get over where he’s concerned. Yeah, he was my teenage sweetheart, but I’m a grown woman now with a whole new brain and a whole new heart,” I could’ve kicked myself for letting my eyes flick over to Dean.

Sam sighed, resting his elbows on the table, a small smile twitching on his lips.

“If you’re sure, because you know I’m always here if you want to talk.”

“I know, thanks Sam,” I gave him a soft smile, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Although, just one thing…”

“What’s that?” He sat up straighter.

“I don’t think it’s Daniel as a person that has me feeling like this - I grieved him and moved on from him years ago. I think… I think it’s the thought of that soul crushing sorrow coming back that scares me the most. The kind of sorrow that makes you forget what day it is; that stops you from eating and going outside and taking care of yourself. It makes you lose friends and interest in hobbies. It makes the whole world look grey and lifeless. You feel so unbearably numb that you aren’t even sure why you’re alive anymore. It makes you want to die.”

“(Y/n)…” Sam seemed at a loss for any other words as he held my hand softly across the table, running his thumb gently over my knuckles. I took a deep breath before carrying on.

“I felt like that when I lost Daniel, but when I lost Bobby, I… I…” I felt my voice crack slightly, “when I lost Bobby it was so much worse, I genuinely never thought I’d be normal ever again. Luckily for me, Charlie found me,” I grinned, remembering her determination to piece me back together. I looked up from where our hands joined, meeting Sam’s gaze.

“The only way I’d go through any of that again would be if I was to lose you guys. I know it’s not been long, but for once I’ve found something that makes me want to get out of bed in the mornings. That shit is hard to find.”

We both took a moment, feeling the weight of my words as we shared a gaze. I knew from the way his brows drew together and that far away look in his eyes that he felt everything I’d said. He’d experienced it first hand. And he knew that he didn’t have to say much, if anything, to convey that he understood. Slowly pulling my hand out from under his and placing my palm over his knuckles, I gave a gentle squeeze before standing, letting him go and grasping my glass. I threw the last mouthful back, the liquid vigorously fizzing down my throat before warming my chest. As I swallowed, I held my glass up and raised an eyebrow at Sam.

“Well shit, would you look at that - my glass is empty. Guess I’m heading to the bar. You need a top up?”

“Yeah, please. Remind me to get the next round,” he grinned as I slid out the booth and headed towards the bar. As I waded through the crowd I passed the pool table, glancing over at Dean who was deeply engrossed in taking a player's hard earned money out of his grasp. I watched the smug grin spread over his lips as he counted then pocketed the cash.

I looked up to see an opening at the bar so I squeezed in, perching myself on a stale beer-scented barstool whilst I waited for the barman to notice me. After a couple of minutes of being served he placed the drinks before me and I paid on one of Deans ‘special’ credit cards, scooping all three glasses into my grasp - with an insane amount of skill - and turned to leave. The moment my ass left the seat cushion however I found myself toe-to-toe with a very tall and very rugged stranger, the smell of cigarettes and old leather wafting around him.

“Not seen you around these parts before doll; I know I’d recognise such a pretty face,” he had a grim smirk on his face and his voice was like sandpaper - rough but certainly not sexy. I tried to take a step back but only ended up seated back on the barstool.

“Just passing through,” I did my best to flash a polite smile in the hopes he would sense I didn’t want to have this conversation. No such luck.

“A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be in a place like this all alone. Things might…happen.”

A shudder ascended my spine into my neck and I tried my best to subtly shake it out before I gave into my more defensive side.

“Who the fuck do you think I am with this many drinks? They’re clearly not all mine… ergo, I have company.”

His gross grin widened, the subject of my statement clearly not settling correctly in the empty space between his ears.

“Getting feisty… I like it. Can’t get much better than a little thing with a mouth.”

I shuddered again.

“What part of ‘I have company’ do you not fucking understand? And even if I was alone, I definitely wouldn’t be going anywhere with you.”

His grimy smirk faltered slightly, finally absorbing some of my words that seemed to be floating in the air around his thick skull.

“Aw don’t be like that.”

“Oh I’m gonna ‘be like that’ until you leave me the fuck alone.”

He took a lumbering step forwards, pushing me further onto the barstool.

“See now there’s a point when a mouth on a pretty thing becomes down right obnoxious, and you’re nearing that point sweetheart.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘sweetheart’ me you dick,” I was mentally preparing to buy another round of drinks as the thought of throwing these three at this asshole was becoming sweeter by the second, and people were starting to watch on but there wasn’t a single white knight in sight.

“Well now you’ve just crossed that line,” the second I saw him start to raise his arms my instincts kicked in and I gave into my previous thought and doused him in liquor, the amber liquid running down his face and neck and soaking into his clothes. He looked down at himself in disbelief before lifting his head back up, this time baring his teeth and raising his hand as if to slap me. I reflexively raised my arms and squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact.

“You stupid bitch.”

“If you touch a hair on her goddamn head ‘imma put you six feet under.”

My eyes shot open and I lowered my hands to see a seething Dean Winchester, a single strong hand wrapped around my harasser's wrist.

“Who the fuck are you?”

The faintest smirk pulled at the corner of Deans mouth before disappearing as quickly as it appeared, leaving nothing but quiet rage burning across his features.

“I’m about to be your biggest fucking problem.”

Before the asshole could even react Deans hand went from twelve O’clock to six O’clock in half a second with a sickening snap, breaking the jerks elbow with deadly skill. Practised skill. Whilst my harasser cried out and cradled his limp arm, Dean let go of him before a few of the onlookers gave Dean a nod of approval before escorting the creep out. Once he knew he was out of the building, Dean turned to me, softly grasping my chin between his thumb and index finger.

“Are you ok? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He tilted my face left and right, scrutinising over my unharmed skin. When he was sure that there wasn’t a scratch on me he let go, relief flooding his gaze as he sighed.

“Dean I’m fine, I promise,” I reached up, fingers hesitantly grazing his stubbled cheek before I thought better of it and dropped my hand to his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“I swear to God (Y/n), if he’d laid a finger on you he’d get a lot more than a busted elbow,” his hand came to rest on my bicep, his long fingers gently wrapping around my arm in subconscious comfort, almost pulling me towards him. My own hand seemed to slide down from his shoulder to rest softly on his chest, my fingertips feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath.

“I know,” I reassured, giving him a little smile to which he returned. I felt my soft smile turn mischievous as thoughts started conjuring in my mind.

“Come on, Sam is waiting for another drink, let's order and get back to the table.”

The bartender had seen Dean step in to help me, so luckily for us this round was on the house. As we slid into the booth opposite Sam I slid his drink over to him.

“What happened back there?” He asked, mildly concerned.

“Just some asshole thinking I was gonna leave this place with him,” I sighed, sitting down, Dean taking his seat beside me. Sam's eyes flicked between the two of us.

“I'm sure I saw him leave with his arm all out of shape, was that-”

“Yeah well, shrimp-dick had it coming,” Dean was doing his best to act nonchalant, however the moment our eyes met over the top of our drinks we couldn't stop the giggles from tumbling out.

“Guys, Dean, you can't go around breaking elbows-”

“Relax Sammy. No one's gonna say anything, they all saw him acting like a creep. Just didn't have the balls to step in. Anyway,” a darker look clouded his eyes as his gaze bore into his younger brother, “he was harassing our girl, Sam. Ain't no way in Hell I was gonna let that slide.”

There was a moment of thick silence before Sam nodded, finally agreeing with Deans actions, knowing that if it had come down to it, he might've done the same. I raised my glass to my lips, taking a long sip before placing it back on the table, looking between the boys as they continued to have some sort of silent conversation that I wasn't a part of. The mischievous thoughts from earlier kept bubbling in my mind, and it didn't take any self-convincing for me to act on them. I shuffled slightly closer to Dean, not enough to draw attention to myself but enough to be in touching distance. I glanced up at him, making sure he was totally unaware and focused on his drink before I reached out slowly, letting my soft fingertips glide over the rough denim of his jeans. I glanced up at him when I heard him inhale his drink, spluttering slightly as I squeezed the inside of his thigh. I traced the length of his inseam, watching his grip on his glass tighten, the tanned skin over his knuckles paling.

“You ok there?” I asked, feigning concern with a quirk of a brow.

“Oh I'm just peachy sweetheart,” his voice came out low, lower than I think he was expecting it to as his eyes nervously darted to Sam who was too busy opening his laptop to notice. Dean leant back on the bench, the worn leather creaking under his weight. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, pausing for a moment before lifting his arm closest to me, as though inviting me to sit closer. Eager to oblige I scooted towards him, nibbling my bottom lip when I felt his large hand rest softly on my back, subconsciously pulling me in. I crossed one leg over the other, turning into him slightly, tilting my head to get a better look at his face.

“I think I left something in the car, would you mind coming with me whilst I grab it?”

He looked a little puzzled for a moment before shotting the last of his whiskey and nodding his head.

“Sure thing,” he turned to his brother, “hey Sammy, we’ll be back in a few.”

Sam grunted a reply, too lost in the article he was reading to pay much attention to us. Dean slid out of the booth and held his hand out to me, which I grasped. His long rough fingers enveloped my hand as he pulled me to my feet. Leaving his jacket behind, we left the bar and made our way to the impala.

The night air had turned chilly, biting at my flushed cheeks as we paced across the lot, taking all of about thirty seconds to reach the impala. Dean was a few steps ahead of me, having unlocked the rear passenger door by the time I'd arrived.

“There you are, grab what you ne- whoa!”

He was caught off guard when I placed my hands on his chest and pushed him down into the car, his broad form filling the space in the back with ease. I climbed in after him, closing the door and crawling along the back bench towards him. It took a moment, but Dean eventually caught on.

“Oh, I’m liking where this is going.”

I chewed at my bottom lip, watching him settle beneath me as he propped up slightly on his elbows, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching thin over his muscular chest.

“I wanted to thank you for being my hero. That’s the second time you’ve rescued me - I wanted to thank you properly. You know, to really show my appreciation.”

It was Deans turn to pull his bottom lip between his teeth, the corners of his plush lips turning up.

“You know, I’m starting to think you might be trouble,” his voice was getting lower with every word, each syllable rumbling in his chest and vibrating into my fingertips.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, feeling some truth to them as I scooted down the bench to sit between his legs before slipping into the large footwell. I patted the seat in front of me, and it didn’t even take a second for Dean to slide himself into it, sitting up straight. As I sat between his knees and looked up at him, I couldn’t help but marvel at the sight; the way the streetlights painted his face in warm amber, softening his battle-hardened features and reflecting in his eyes like dancing embers from a stoked fire. The shadows didn’t seem contradictory - the darkness we were sitting in was far from cold. Dean Winchester was not an artistic man by any means, but he himself was certainly a masterpiece.

I reached up and unbuckled his belt along with the button on his jeans, carefully dragging the zipper down after and tugging the thick fabric along with his boxers off his hips; just enough to dip my hand in and pull out his cock, already hot and heavy in my palm. He made an almost strained noise on contact and my stomach fluttered at the thought of him being so sensitive. So sensitive at my mercy. I adjusted my grip on him before going up and down, once… twice… three times… over and over at a sinfully slow pace. His hands gripped his thighs like they had nowhere else to go, and when I looked up he was watching every move I was making with knotted brows and parted lips. His eyes only found mine when I straightened my back and leant forwards, gliding my tongue up the thick length of him but avoiding the tip. Mimicking my hand, I licked up and down again and again, ever so slowly gaining speed before I finally dragged my tongue over his tip and plunged his whole cock down my throat.

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasped out, his large palms flying to my hair - long fingers knotting with the soft strands. I could tell he wanted nothing more than to shove my head down as far as it would go, but his self restraint shone through. I started to move, slowly at first, head bobbing without missing a beat. The feeling of his cock pressing against the back of my throat over and over was fine at first, but the longer I sucked him off the urge to gag grew. The size of Deans cock was not something to be taken lightly, and after a couple of minutes the impending gag hit and I pulled him out of my mouth.

“Shit, (Y/n)… How are you so good at this?” He hissed out in a breath I’m sure he’d been holding since I'd started. I assumed the question was rhetorical as I gave him a few pumps, swallowing the excess spit and precum on my tongue before leaning back in. One by one I placed hot, wet kisses up his length, placing the final one on his tip before I pulled it back into my mouth. With the new found sensitivity of my gag reflex ever-present, I avoided taking him too far down my throat, this time using one hand to reach where my mouth couldn't at his base. Adding a little twist, I felt his grip tighten once again in my hair, his long fingers absently scooping loose strands away from my face. The combination of feeling him lose his mind beneath me and the tenderness of his touch sent a flutter to my heart which quickly travelled south at the sound of his euphoric groan, his head lolling back and eyes closing. As I pressed my tongue to the large vein scaling his length I could feel his rapid pulse, my own heart rate almost as fast as his. As I continued to bob my head, I could feel him gather all my hair in one hand, his other softy tracing down over my temple, my cheek and my lips before stopping at my chin, a single swipe from his thumb removing most if the spit and precum that was threatening to stream down my neck. I would consider my next move a grave mistake - looking up through my damp lashes to meet Deans white-hot gaze fixated and fascinated with every little motion I made. The blissed-out look in his eyes could have turned a weaker woman into a puddle right then and there, and I surprised myself with my own resilience. He continued to hold me with one hand in my hair and a soft grip on my chin, my own free hand moving to grip him near the inside of his thigh. Another soft moan slipped from his lips as I started to speed up, not caring for the ache in my jaw or mess he was now too preoccupied to swipe away. I was surprised when no words left Deans lips, his usual blasphemous language replaced with velvety moans of pleasure. I could tell he was nearing his peak when his cock twitched between my lips, again and again before before he finally groaned out a strained:

“Fuck, oh shit.”

His grip tightened, like he was trying to pull me off him, however when that telltale throb made his cock graze the back of my throat I removed my hand from his base and enveloped him in his entirety, a final, breathy gasp and groan tumbling from Deans lips before the sensation of warm, viscous liquid spilled across the back of my tongue. It took a moment for the ropes to stop coming, and when they did I pulled him from my mouth slowly, looking up at his breathless form. Not taking my eyes from his, I parted my lips slightly to show his cum, glazing my tongue, before closing my mouth and swallowing the thick liquid down. He let out another groan, his grip finally releasing my hair as he ran his hands over his face, taking a moment for his eyes to find mine again.

“Holy shit, sweetheart… I feel like I just died and went to heaven.”

I couldn't stop the stupid giggle spilling from my lips as I wiped the spit from my lips and chin with the bottom of Deans shirt that I was wearing.

“For a moment there I thought you had too.”

He grinned down at me, perhaps a little bashful as he tucked himself back into his pants and refastened his belt. As he finished up, a few moments of silence hung over us as I still remained nestled between his strong thighs. His eyes met mine and they seemed to hold a thousand words that he wanted to say, and when nothing came from his lips he simply held out his hand to pull me into his lap. Just as my fingers grazed his, however, there was a loud rap at the window which spooked both of us out of our skin.

“Motherfucker,” Dean muttered before rolling down the window, and a small wave of guilt and embarrassment washed over me when I heard Sam's disbelieving yet humoured voice coming from outside.

“Guys are you fucking serious?!”

——————————————————————

Next Chapter: Chapter 15

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[notnotstarving]

What the Survivors Think of Wes

I saw somebody make one of these with Maxwell, and they stopped it at that. So I've decided to continue the saga of analyzing the survivors relationships with one another, trying my best to remain objective and not let my bias seep in. And then maybe I'll make a chart once I'm done with this series, for those who don't wanna read allat. I'm starting off with Wes because it will help give context to another interpretive essay I'll be doing.

You are welcome to add more quotes/other context I missed, as well as reply with your own interpretation, in fact I encourage it!! I love nothing more than a good discussion.

Wilson

Generic- "Greetings, %s!"

Attacker- "%s is silent, but deadly..."

Murderer- "Mime this!"

Reviver- "%s thinks outside the invisible box."

Ghost- "How do you say "I'll get a revival device" in mime?"

Firestarter- "Wait, don't tell me. You lit a fire."

Wilson doesn't actually have much to say about Wes, if anything Wilson seems slightly peeved by him, but he's mostly neutral towards Wes. He actually seems more interested in his balloonomancy than Wes himself, but not by much:

Pile o' Balloons- "It looks like clown currency."

Balloon- "How are they floating?"

Speedy Balloon- "The hole in the center makes it more aerodynamic, that's just physics!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Now it's just another balloon."

Party Balloon- "How did he get the smaller balloons inside?"

Inflatable Vest- "If the bright colors don't attract some horrible creature, the squeaking will."

Balloon Hat- "The static does terrible things to my hair."

As curious as Wilson is about how the balloons work, I don't think he actually likes them and views them as annoying given how they mess up his hair (what a diva) and potentially attract "horrible creatures". In this animated short he also gives Wes quite the glare when he pops one, so I don't think he's a big fan of the balloons despite his mild curiosity.

There's also this quote:

Second-hand Dentures- "They've quickly become Wes' favorite prop."

I'm not sure of the tone it's supposed to be read in, but given the lack of enthusiasm for Wes's clown acts that Wilson has shown, I'd have to guess he's making a snarky remark on how unamusing Wes' use of props are.

Wilson's opinion is mostly neutral. Although he is not entertained by Wes' clown antics, and may even view his mime act as impractical given their circumstances, he doesn't seem to harbor hostility towards Wes in spite of this.

Willow

Generic- "Hi %s!"

Attacker- "That mime punch was really convincing! Haha, ow!"

Murderer- "Your actions speak louder than words! Murderer!"

Reviver- "Who do ghosts call? %s!"

Ghost- "Just tell me whatcha need and I'll get it for you. Heheh!"

Firestarter- "Make it BURN!"

Willow has a very positive view on Wes. She gives him the benefit of the doubt when he attacks her, thinking he's just playing around and wouldn't actually hurt her, which implies she truly believes Wes doesn't have a mean bone in his body (she's right).

Pile o' Balloons- "I could fill them with flammable gas."

Balloon- "That's just asking to be popped."

Speedy Balloon- "Thanks! I'll be able to set fires twice as fast with this thing!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "No flying away!"

Party Balloon- "Hey, when are you gonna make a hot air balloon? I could help!"

Inflatable Vest- "Squeak-squeak-squeak! Ha ha where's Maxwell, this'll drive him crazy!"

Balloon Hat- "Hey, a rabbit! Not bad!"

In contrast to Wilson, she's actually a pretty big fan of the balloons. Also unlike others in this list, rather than simply examining the balloons, it's actually implied she's speaking directly TO Wes rather than just about him. At least the speedy, party, and hat ones imply this.

Cannon (Nothing to upload)- "Darn it, I'm out... hey Wes, you always wanted to try being a human cannonball right?"

Empty Elixir- "Hey Wes! Dare you to drink the last bit!"

Beaten Beater- "When I crank it Wes pretends to ride unicycle circles around me."

She also has a whopping THREE bonus quotes mentioning Wes, this is more than anyone else has. All three suggest they have a very playful relationship, which of course is in tune with both their natures. Although Willow may mean the cannon one literally, which suggests she wants to maim him, this is normal for her and does not imply hostility.

Overall Willow seems to get along with him great and trusts him a good deal.

Wolfgang

Generic- "Is tiny oddman, %s! Hello!"

Attacker- "Wolfgang does not trust your rosy cheeks, %s."

Murderer- "Ah! Is killer clown! %s!"

Reviver- "%s is nice, weird little man."

Ghost- "Wolfgang will go get heart for odd clownman!"

Firestarter- "You are looking very guilty, clownman."

Lmao Wolfgang thinks he's weird, straight up calls him weird and odd. Despite that he does get along with Wes.

He also thinks the balloons are fun and wants to share the experience with the others:

Pile o' Balloons- "Wolfgang will make balloon muscles."

Balloon- "Is full of clown breath!"

Speedy Balloon- "Clownman has mighty lungs to make balloon so big!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Balloon has gotten scrawny and weak!"

Party Balloon- "Come, friends! Is party!"

Inflatable Vest- "Wolfgang will try not to pop little vest with his mighty muscles."

Balloon Hat- "Haha! Tiny clownman make funny rabbit hat!"

Bonus Quote:

Wire Hanger- "Is skinny and bendy, like clownman Wes."

Wolfgang probably means bendy as a compliment considering the context that Wolfgang is from a circus group.

Wolfgang has a positive opinion on Wes. Despite thinking Wes is strange, he does not let that hinder his friendship with Wes and treats him the same as the other survivors.

Wendy

Generic- "How do you do, %s?"

Attacker- "There's something you're not telling us..."

Murderer- "%s, this is the end... for you!"

Reviver- "Abigail says she understands you, %s."

Ghost- "You won't leave us if I get you a heart, right?"

Firestarter- "There are other ways to express yourself, %s."

Wendy is overall neutral, but Abigail seems to understand him somehow, which probably gets him points in Wendy's favor. She does seem sad when he's dead and doesn't want him to leave her, so she does care for him.

Pile o' Balloons- "These look as deflated as I feel..."

Balloon- "A colorful reminder that my childhood is no more."

Speedy Balloon- "Will it make me swift enough to outrun my problems?"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Sail far away from here, little balloon."

Party Balloon- "What is the point of celebrating in a place such as this?"

Inflatable Vest- "Why try to prolong the inevitable?"

Balloon Hat- "Can he make one for Abigail?"

She's emo as usual when inspecting the balloons, but I think she gets joy out of it and won't admit it. She wants Abigail to have a balloon hat after all so she must like them to some extent.

Wendy seems neutral towards him on the surface, but she does like him given that he makes her, or at least Abby, happy.

WX-78

Generic- "DETECTING... %s!"

Attacker- "ENOUGH CLOWNING AROUND, %s"

Murderer- "YOUR INVISIBLE MATTER SHIELD CANNOT STOP ME, %s"

Reviver- "THE QUIET FLESHLING %s MAY BE WORTH KEEPING AROUND"

Ghost- "I DON'T THINK THE FLESHLING IS SUPPOSED TO LOOK LIKE THAT"

Firestarter- "%s WILL DESTROY ALL FLESHLINGS WITH FIRE"

Yeah typical Wx. They don't like him, but not for any fault on Wes' part, it's simply because he's a fleshling.

Pile o' Balloons- "USELESS RUBBER SACKS"

Balloon- "WX-78 CANNOT BE FOOLED. THESE ANIMALS ARE NOT REAL"

Speedy Balloon- "IT DEFIES ALL LOGIC"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "I DON'T TRUST IT"

Party Balloon- "I WILL POP IT. NO. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT HE WANTS..."

Inflatable Vest- "THIS ONE MIGHT NOT BE ENTIRELY WORTHLESS"

Balloon Hat- "IT SERVES NO PURPOSE OTHER THAN BEING UGLY"

Not a fan of the balloons either, they think they're useless. The party balloon implies they have no problem popping Wes' balloons and probably do it regularly, but refrain from doing so with the party balloons because they know Wes purposed them to be popped and would be pleased, which Wx doesn't want.

In short, WX doesn't like him, but that's also WX's default, so maybe they're neutral?

Wickerbottom

Generic- "Ah, the mime lad. Greetings, dear %s!"

Attacker- "His body language says everything."

Murderer- "They'll tell tales of your defeat, %s!"

Reviver- "You're a fine young man, %s."

Ghost- "Poor dear. %s needs a heart to anchor him to this plane."

Firestarter- "Don't cry to me when you burn yourself, dear."

Nothing too notable, Ms Wickerbottom is a polite woman and remains so with Wes.

Pile o' Balloons- "These seem frivolous."

Balloon- "Could serve as a suitable diversion."

Speedy Balloon- "The chemical composition of the young man's breath must be fascinating."

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Probably not enough air left to analyze its composition..."

Party Balloon- "A reasonable amount of cheer every so often would do us good."

Inflatable Vest- "I applaud your attempt at practicality, dear."

Balloon Hat- "I believe it's meant to evoke the image of a Lagomorph."

She thinks the balloons are frivolous, but she can also appreciate that Wes is spreading cheer.

Wickerbottom is neutral towards Wes, however she does value Wes and how he can boost morale even if she herself is not a big fan of his act.

Woodie

Generic- "%s! How ya doin', buddy?"

Attacker- "%s could learn some manners..."

Murderer- "You're MIME now, %s!"

Reviver- "%s, you're an alright guy."

Ghost- "First we'll get you a heart, then we'll get you some bacon, eh %s?"

Firestarter- "Keep those flames away from my trees!"

I know it looks like they're buddies, but this is just Woodie being Canadian, he calls everyone buddy and is a polite guy. He does seem to coddle him though, wanting to get him bacon after he's back from the dead.

Pile o' Balloons- "Are those balloons?"

Balloon- "It's squeaky. Just like a real woodland creature."

Speedy Balloon- "Now how do you figure that works, Luce?"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Just a regular balloon now, eh?"

Party Balloon- "Uh oh, I didn't forget someone's birthday did I?"

Inflatable Vest- "It beats drowning, I guess..."

Balloon Hat- "We can all appreciate nature in our own way."

Indifferent towards the balloons, which makes me think he doesn't care too much for clowns, but I also don't think he dislikes them.

Woodie is neutral towards Wes but leans more on the friendly side. No comment on Lucy's part.

Maxwell

Generic- "Greetings, Mr. %s."

Attacker- "%s is giving me the creeps..."

Murderer- "Murderous fiend! You cannot escape!"

Reviver- "%s is an effective ally."

Ghost- "I could get you a heart, %s... for a price."

Firestarter- "Stop burning things, mime."

I don't know what to make of this honestly. Maxwell finds him creepy, but he's not resistant to calling him an ally. Buuut he also doesn't revive Wes, instead opting to ask for something in return. I'm inclined to say he is most likely just teasing Wes though, cuz he does tease a lot of the others when they die.

Pile o' Balloons- "Those look much too jovial for my liking."

Balloon- "This seems out of place here. Too cheery."

Speedy Balloon- "The mime's power unsettles me."

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Its power is spent. Now it's just garishly cheery."

Party Balloon- "Oh no... he's managed to make them even more cheerful."

Inflatable Vest- "I think I'd rather drown."

Balloon Hat- "Would I really stoop so low as to wear such a thing?"

Doesn't like his balloons. (Interesting thing to note is that Wes seems to have some sort of "power" and it unsettles Maxwell.)

Maxwell is largely indifferent towards Wes, maybe slightly leaning towards dislike because Maxy's not a fan of the mime stuff or Wes' power.

Wigfrid

Generic- "Gööd health tö yöu, %s!"

Attacker- "Dö yöu bite yöur thumb at me, mime?"

Murderer- "May we meet again in Valhalla!"

Reviver- "%s has Höenir's blessing."

Ghost- "Meditate ön Höenir's blessings, %s. I'll find a heart."

Firestarter- "Dön't ruin yöur fair makeup with ashes, %s."

Only good things to say to Wes, she also likes his makeup. (If you're wondering, Hœnir is the god of silence, spirituality, poetry, and of passion. So she respects him enough to say he has a God's blessing, but this isn't out of the ordinary for Wigrid to say about her allies.)

Pile o' Balloons- "Such cölörs! I cöuld sing!"

Balloon- "Fie! Föul beast!"

Speedy Balloon- "Grant me the speed öf Hermöd!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Its strange pöwer hath faded."

Party Balloon- "It hath swallöwed the wee önes whöle!"

Inflatable Vest- "Tis önly gööd för flöating, nöt fighting."

Balloon Hat- "A rubbery möckery öf life."

She has mixed feelings about Wes' craft. She loves the colors and the speedy balloon, but otherwise finds them useless.

Wigrid gets along with Wes, they're probably friends.

Webber

Generic- "Hey! Hi %s!"

Attacker- "Maybe we can talk this out?"

Murderer- "You're supposed to play nice!"

Reviver- "%s is super nice. And his makeup's cool!"

Ghost- "We'll help you get back on your feet, %s!"

Firestarter- "You were just supposed to mime lighting it!"

This dweeb thinks the mime is cool.

Pile o' Balloons- "Is there going to be a party?!"

Balloon- "Balloon animals! Balloon animals!!"

Speedy Balloon- "Circles must be the speediest shape."

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "We have to hold on tight or it'll fly away!"

Party Balloon- "Yay! It's a party!"

Inflatable Vest- "We should take it on our boat trips."

Balloon Hat- "It looks like a bunny!"

He loves the balloons, of course, he is a kiddo living in a nightmare world, the balloons probably give him some comfort.

Webber likes Wes. he thinks Wes is super nice and kinda cool.

Winona

Generic- "Don't worry %s, I can talk enough for two. Ha!"

Attacker- "Didn't know ya had it in ya, %s!"

Murderer- "Killer mime! I'll have nightmares tonight!"

Reviver- "Thanks for the assist, %s."

Ghost- "Let's getcha back on your feet, %s."

Firestarter- "You responsible for that fire there, %s?"

She doesn't mind that he doesn't speak and may even find him endearing. Judging by how she doesn't seem at all offended by him attacking her, she actually seems more proud than hurt, which is reminiscent of her big sister personality type.

Pile o' Balloons- "No fun without Wes."

Balloon- "Oh! A balloon."

Speedy Balloon- "It's full of get up and go!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Better not leave that unattended."

Party Balloon- "We can celebrate once the work is done."

Inflatable Vest- "I think he's trying to be helpful... in his own way."

Balloon Hat- "Cute, but it won't protect your noggin' from much."

She thinks Wes is fun and encourages the use of his balloons (not without getting the work done first of course). Those last two quotes are vaguely patronizing, but in an older sister kinda way and not in a "I'm better than you" kind of way.

She likes him, they're friends, she treats him like a little brother almost.

Wortox

Generic- "%s, let's practice our routine!"

Attacker- "Those punches weren't part of the bit!"

Murderer- "Don't hurt me, %s!"

Reviver- "Thank-you, thank-you, funny friend!"

Ghost- "%s, did you get more delicious?"

Firestarter- "Ooohoohoo, what have you been up to?"

Wortox seems to be friends with Wes! They practice routines together, probably very frequently too because he thinks Wes is playing into one of their bits when he gets attacked by him.

Pile o' Balloons- "Stores one's breath for later spells."

Balloon- "I often feel like I might float away. Hyuyu!"

Speedy Balloon- "With this gift, I'll be more swift!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Its magic is spent."

Party Balloon- "A party! Am I invited?"

Inflatable Vest- "A bright balloon vest to wear across my chest."

Balloon Hat- "I'm likely to get lightheaded from wearing it, hyuyuyu!"

Nothing too special to say about Wes' crafts but he seems to enjoy them.

Wortox and Wes are friends that seem to bond over their mutual interest for pranks and all things alike. This makes sense given that Wortox is a little jokester and it is literally Wes' livelihood to be one as well.

Wormwood

Generic- "%s is quiet friend"

Attacker- "Bad %s! Don't hurt!"

Murderer- "%s is silent dead maker"

Reviver- "%s is a good friend"

Ghost- "%s is a quiet floaty"

Firestarter- "Aggh! %s made too much fire!"

Pile o' Balloons- "Needs air"

Balloon- "Boop"

Speedy Balloon- "Run run run!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Boop"

Party Balloon- "Fun!"

Inflatable Vest- "Safe?"

Balloon Hat- "Squee Hopper? Hm. No"

Wormwood is as neutral as they come. If this whole thing was a graph then Wormwood would be right smack dab in the middle. He has no bad things, but also nothing special, to say about Wes.

Warly

Generic- "Bonjour, %s!"

Attacker- "I didn't expect him to be the violent sort."

Murderer- "What a terrible act you've committed."

Reviver- "I love your act, by the way."

Ghost- "Is there a medic on this island?"

Firestarter- "Watch where you light those fires, %s."

Nothing too out of the ordinary, Warly does go out of his way to say he likes Wes' act though.

Pile o' Balloons- "It's been left completely breathless."

Balloon- "How colorful!"

Speedy Balloon- "What a kind gift!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Quite an odd design. Then again, it was made by an odd fellow."

Party Balloon- "Ah! A celebration!"

Inflatable Vest- "I'm not sure how safe that is."

Balloon Hat- "It's... not exactly my style."

Here's another person that thinks Wes is weird, but he mostly has positive things to say about his balloons.

Warly is neutral. Based on the fact that Warly thinks he's weird, and that the most substantial thing he has to say about Wes is regarding his act, I don't think they interact much. Warly just sees him as the resident mime and nothing more. (Which honestly surprises me, I would've thought they'd at least bond over their mutual understanding of the French language.)

Wurt

Generic- "Hello clown man."

Attacker- "Glorph, go away!"

Murderer- "Scale-less bad, never shoulda left swamp!"

Reviver- "Oh... thanks, flort."

Ghost- "Look paler than usual, florp."

Firestarter- "You a strange man, flort."

I know it seems like she is neutral, but if you compare these quotes with how she speaks with the others, then you would be able to see that she likes him less than the others. She says "Hello." rather than "Hello!" The only other survivor she greets this way is WX, who she believes doesn't like her. I think she also believes that Wes does not like her and in turn she does not like him. because she seems surprised/confused when he revives her. She also calls him strange, and unlike Wolfgang, she means this negatively.

Pile o' Balloons- "Look chewy, florp."

Balloon- "Want one!!"

Speedy Balloon- "That a big one, flurp!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Awww, got all small."

Party Balloon- "Huh? There stuff inside!"

Inflatable Vest- "Ooooh, water floaty!"

Balloon Hat- "Squeaky hat."

She likes the balloons tho. I mean, she is a kid after all.

Wurt finds Wes weird and does not appear to like/trust him. (My hypothesis is that she may find his silence and makeup creepy, cuz I can't figure out any other reason as to why she dislikes him.)

Walter

Generic- "Uh... hi %s."

Attacker- "This is why I don't trust clowns!"

Murderer- "%s is a killer clown!"

Reviver- "I guess some clowns are okay."

Ghost- "A Pinetree Pioneer leaves no one behind! Even if they're a clown!"

Firestarter- "That's not a proper campfire, %s!"

Walter spells it out for us very clearly: he does not trust Wes. He is scared of clowns, and therefore keeps his distance. Despite this, Walter is still a good kid who does not stray from his own code of ethics. Walter will happily revive Wes and still greet him (even if he does so unenthusiastically) just like he would for anyone else.

Pile o' Balloons- "Someone left litter here!"

Balloon- "My keen tracking senses are telling me there's a clown nearby."

Speedy Balloon- "Clowns have strange and mysterious ways..."

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "It's pretty much just a regular balloon now."

Party Balloon- "Is someone having a party?"

Inflatable Vest- "I guess it's better than not having a life jacket at all..."

Balloon Hat- "I'm a bit too old for this kind of thing."

Walter doesn't like clowns so of course he isn't gonna like his props either. He thinks Wes has a "mysterious", probably sinister, use for the speedy balloon and is reluctant to use the vest.

Walter distrusts Wes and is not a fan at all of his mime antics.

Wanda

Generic- "Sorry %s, I have no time for charades!"

Attacker- "Now hold on just one minute, I don't think that's part of the act!"

Murderer- "Murderer! Do you have nothing to say for yourself?!"

Reviver- "%s's actions speak louder than his words."

Ghost- "Don't you fret, soon it'll be like this never even happened!"

Firestarter- "Ah... it looks like I'm in the bad timeline again."

Wanda is pretty neutral, but I don't think she's too fond of socializing with Wes considering he can only communicate in "charades", and maybe by writing, which she doesn't have time for.

Pile o' Balloons- "Everyone has their forte. Some bend time, others bend balloons."

Balloon- "Balloons have such a short lifespan."

Speedy Balloon- "Just the extra bit of speed I've been looking for!"

Speedy Balloon (deflated)- "Well, that was short-lived."

Party Balloon- "Balloons within balloons."

Inflatable Vest- "If it keeps me from drowning, I'll wear it."

Balloon Hat- "Ha, I'd look ridiculous in that! Let me try it on."

Saying that "Some bend time, others bend balloons." sounds pretty condescending. But again, we can't hear the tone she is saying this in so we can't tell for sure how she means it. My interpretation is that she may look down on Wes for not having much to offer in terms of survival or prowess, but she will give him credit where credit is due; he's good at balloons. After all, she does seem to like Wes' balloons, actually appreciating the usefulness of his balloons in some situations.

Overall, she is neutral towards Wes, but mostly just sees him as a clown. Wanda is actually a pretty silly woman, she is not averse to having fun, even if she is all "I don't have time for this and that". I think if she did have the spare time, she would not mind hanging around Wes, but I don't see her making the time to do so.

Conclusion

Most of the survivors like Wes. A lot of the survivors though, including the some of the ones that like him, seem to view him as just "the mime" rather than anything else. Not being able to see past his gimmick does makes sense for a lot of the survivors because they aren't able to communicate with Wes in the way they're used to: talking. The mime thing is also a hit or miss with the survivors, some are not big fans of clowns while others love it.

Wes' biggest allies: Willow, Wortox, Winona

Wes' biggest haters: Walter, Wurt, WX-78

[unseededtoast]

Take My Hand | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Part Two to I Stayed There

Inspired by “Right Where You Left Me” by Taylor Swift

Summary: In which almost a decade later unlikely paths cross again, with little time to make big decisions. What once was broken can be mended, and the past can be forgiven. Frozen hearts can be reignited and destined souls can become one again. But only if given the chance.

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

wc: 10.3k

warnings: a lot of angst, pining, men begging on their knees, emotional turmoil

a/n: howdy folks, back at it again with part two. I want to thank everyone for the overwhelming support on part one, and I really hope part two lives up to your expectations. It got a little lengthy, but I hope you all enjoy it. And as always, thank you so very much for taking the time to read my stories, I appreciate each and every one of you.

"I knew if I told you that there was someone else that you wouldn't push the issue. I knew you loved me too much to interfere with my happiness. I used your own love against you and I am so sorry." He sniffles and pushes tears from his eyes.

His words feel like someone has punched you square in the stomach. Spencer had never found anyone else, he just wanted to protect you. He loved you too much to let you be harmed. Realizing his actions were done out of pure love, and not betrayal, a sob bubbles up from your chest.

Years upon years you had spent every night in envy of the other woman who was receiving Spencer's love. Months had been dedicated to wondering what you could've done differently to keep him from leaving. Countless weeks spent in agonizing misery, mourning and yearning for the love of your life.

Eight years, eleven months, and twenty-eight days. That's how much time has passed since Spencer had walked out, and every day that passes and another day is added to the count, his heart grows heavier.

Sure, he's able to get up in the mornings and do his job thoroughly, but the joy life once had has faded. He's become jaded, and everyone has noticed. They've all just accepted that it's who he is now. He no longer tries to go out of his way to inquire about his teammates and their lives, he stopped practicing his magic tricks when there was downtime. Instead, he keeps to himself for the most part. The only time the team really hears from him is when there's an active case.

The first year or so the team had given him some grace, they understood how badly the break up had affected him; they assumed he'd bounce back eventually, but more and more time passed with no indication of returning to his former self.

And after a while they stopped trying to set him up with dates, they quit teasing him about being disinterested in getting back out there. Spencer had never told them exactly what happened, but after they stopped, he suspected Derek filled in the blanks for them.

Truthfully, the rest of the team had taken pity on him; they understood all too well why he had initiated the breakup. But even with their knowledge and insight, they are still saddened by what Spencer has become, and they wish every day that his old personality will resurface. But until that day comes, if it ever does, they will remain supportive from a distance with which he is comfortable with.

"You ready for the next case?" Derek asks Spencer as he stirs the sugar into his coffee. Spencer stares at the rising steam before answering.

"Yeah, I'm ready." He replies and grabs the cup, following Derek to the briefing room where JJ and the rest are awaiting them.

Spencer takes his usual spot and listens to JJ explain the case. It's a local case, a wife gone missing in the middle of the day yesterday. From the photos, it looks like it could've been a burglary gone bad. Spencer zones out a little while JJ is explaining, instead focusing on his coffee, which he wishes he would've put more sugar into. After JJ has completed the brief, the team heads out to start working, and like usual, Spencer is tasked with the geographical profile.

Derek works alongside him under the order of Hotch while the rest go explore leads. The two of them work silently and efficiently, singling out places of interest to investigate and narrowing down a perimeter for officers to search.

"What do you think about it?" Derek breaks the silence, earning a sigh from Spencer. He steps away from the board and crosses his arms, studying what they have so far.

"I think it's weird that nothing of value was really missing, just the wife. You'd think if it were a burglary gone bad the unsub would've taken something else." Spencer's eyes dance across the crime scene photos, mind working a hundred miles a minute to make sense of this.

"Well maybe it wasn't a burglary." Derek says, eyes trained on a photo of the husband who reported his wife missing.

"Maybe not." Spencer agrees, and the two of them delve back into the work.

-----

You stir your tea around in your cup, settling on the couch for some morning television before you start your day. There's a laundry list of things you need to get done, only you lack the necessary motivation to get started on it all. Your hand finds the remote and turns the volume up, the woman on the screen piquing your interest and distracting you from your responsibilities.

"Mrs. Greene was reported missing late last night by her husband. At this time, her whereabouts are still unknown, and the authorities urge you to contact them if you have any information." The news reporter speaks with clarity and urgency. A photo of the missing woman pops onto the screen, but you don't recognize her. You hope they find her alive, but you know cases like this usually don't end well.

Thinking about what might have happened to the woman, your mind drifts to Spencer, and you wonder how he would approach the case. Would he immediately suspect the husband? Or would he hold off on judgment until he got the facts straight? Running your hand over his blanket, you wish he was here to talk about it.

Though it's been almost nine years at this point, there isn't a day that goes by that you don't think of him. You hope he's doing well, you hope he's found happiness. And at this point, you even think he might have a family of his own. But you try not to dwell on that thought too long, for it still makes you sick to your stomach to imagine him having a family with anyone other than you.

Of course, you could always ask Derek, but you think that a part of you would prefer not to know. Because if you don't know for sure, then there's always a chance that you're wrong. In order to stay functional you need the plausible deniability. While you want him to be happy, and you want him to live his life to the fullest, his absence is still very prominent and noticeable to you.

After you finish your tea, you place your cup on the white tablecloth adorning the dining room table, red stain having faded to pink from time and wear. And while the stain may fade, you know for a fact your memory about that morning will always be in your mind. And if the stain wasn't enough of a reminder, the scars on the bottoms of your feet are. It still hurts to step a certain way after all this time, the glass had embedded itself deeply into your skin, causing lasting damage.

Once you get ready for the day, you embark on the errands you have to run. A small part inside of you is excited about this new journey; it'll be like a fresh start and you think that's exactly what you need. You don't really want to move away, you love this city, but it houses memories that will forever hold you prisoner if you let them; and you've let them for the past nine years. The other part of you, the part that still clings to Spencer, is suffering and it makes this decision ten times harder. The guilt slowly, but surely, eats away at you with each step you take down the street but you try to convince yourself that this is the right move to be making.

Ignoring your emotional turmoil, you walk into the leasing agent's building and find her office easily, having already been here once last week to start the process of relisting the apartment. She welcomes you in and explains the paperwork as you sit across from her. The agent tells you where to sign and when you will need to be out of the apartment once you've submitted the paperwork. She said that since Spencer had taken his name off the lease years ago, that this process is a hundred times easier since there's no permission needed from him anymore. It's a bittersweet statement you realize.

You take the papers from the agent's office and tell her that you'll be back soon with everything signed. She had wanted you to fill everything out right there, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. After all, this apartment holds so much sentimental value and the thought of it being someone else's makes your heart ache. You'll have to build yourself up to sign them, once you've fully convinced yourself that this is the right thing to do. And you know that once you sign those papers, the tiny part of Spencer you still have, will be yours no longer.

After the leasing agent's office, you take a trip to a moving company to get a quote on how much it would cost to move your things from Virginia to Colorado. The price they gave you was a little steeper than you had hoped for, but you thank them nonetheless and try to figure out how to foot that bill while also finding a new place to live. There are a few places in your sights, but you had yet to decide on one.

You return to your apartment after you had completed the last few errands on your list, dropping the stack of papers onto the dining table and unloading the groceries you had picked up on your way back home. The sun had started to set and so you turned on a few lamps and lit a candle, wanting to try to soothe your anxieties after today and have a relaxing evening.

A glass of wine finds its way into your hand after dinner, you kick your feet up on the coffee table and sip while staring at the screen in front of you. They're running another story on the missing woman, but it seems they have more details. Intrigued, you turn the volume up.

"Authorities are now saying that the scene looks like it could have been a robbery gone bad. Informants on the scene noted that there were signs of a struggle inside the residence. If you noticed any suspicious activity, contact the sheriff's office immediately." The reporter switches to a different story, and you change the channel, wanting to know more about the missing woman. And you know there's always one channel that seems to be ahead of the news.

The reporter is a fiery blonde-haired lady who makes her opinions well-known to the public. And you know her persona is probably partially to generate views and interest value, but you can't deny that she's able to get insider information quicker than the traditional news channels. Sure enough, the woman's face is on the center of the screen, and she's going on about Mrs. Greene's disappearance in a very animated manner.

"You're telling me that a husband reports his wife missing hours after he was aware of her absence? He knew that she was gone since at least the afternoon, and he didn't report it to police until almost the next day? Not only that, but there's been a disturbance in the house! From the photos I've seen so far, the ottoman in the living room was knocked over, the coffee table was shattered, and the dining room chairs were all sorts of disheveled. And to top it all off, I've got someone on the scene there, and they just told us that police are reporting a positive luminol test. There was blood on the scene that's been cleaned up. Now I'm no expert, but I think that certainly casts suspicion on Mr. Greene." Her voice drones on and on about her theory that Mr. Greene was most definitely involved in the disappearance of his wife, but something about the details is oddly familiar, you just can't quite put your finger on it.

You go to bed that night trying to recall why those details sound so familiar. Tossing and turning, you struggle to pinpoint where you've heard something like that before and it's beginning to drive you insane. The plots of movies and shows run through your mind, trying to piece things together, but to no avail. You eventually drift off to sleep, and for the first night in nine years, your dreams are full of something other than Spencer; your mind finally has something compelling enough to mull over to distract you from the cold, empty spot beside you.

The morning comes and your hand ghosts over the spot next to you, like it does every morning. You had hoped that by now your unconscious would understand that he's not here to hold close in the morning anymore, but you wake up the same way every day; full of sorrow and longing. With a sigh, you push yourself out of bed, the air feeling crisp against your skin. What you wouldn't give for five minutes of Spencer's warmth.

Your morning routine comes and goes, and you find yourself staring at a stack of cardboard boxes, waiting to be filled. Hands on your hips, you look around at everything that needs to be packed. Things are either coming with you, or they're being returned to their rightful owner. You still had no idea how you're going to get everything back to Spencer, but you figure you'll work it out when the time comes. For now, you'll start boxing things up.

With a box beside you, your heart constricts as you reach for a stack of Spencer's books to be put away indefinitely. The empty shelf is reflective of the emptiness in your soul, and you're not sure if it'll ever fill back in. Truthfully, you don't know what could possibly mend the brokenness as your heart only has one desire.

You pack up two bookcases before you're unable to handle it anymore. With each empty shelf the reality sets in more and more; he's not coming back here. Your Spencer isn't going to knock on the door and come back to you. You turn your head to look at the door, not sure what you're expecting, but your eyes land on his coat that still hangs from the rack. It lost its signature Spencer scent about three years ago, but you don't have it in you to take it down, not yet at least.

You're keenly aware that eventually you'll have to pack up the stained tablecloth, Spencer's clothes that remain in the dressers, his favorite blanket, and give them away forever, never to be seen or touched by you again. Then all you'll have left of him are the memories, and after all this time some of them have already faded entirely. You're no longer able to remember many of the small moments shared together, you can't recall how his lips felt against your forehead as he bid you goodbye in the mornings before work. You fear that in another nine years you won't remember anything except his name and the moment he walked out of the door.

You fold the top of the box down and slide it across the room to join the others. When you return to the shelf to assess what size box you need next, your eyes land on a very specific book. It's one you had recommended to Spencer. You told him it was a compelling story and though it's not a literary classic, he should give it a try and broaden his horizons. Of course, it took you a week to finish it and it took him a casual afternoon.

The details of the book flood your mind and you realize why the disappearance of Mrs. Greene seemed so familiar. Your hands open the book and flip through the pages, finding exactly what you were looking for. In a frenzy, your eyes scan over the words and they grow wide with realization. Either this is one of the biggest delusions you've convinced yourself of, or you might just be onto something.

You reread the words over and over again, wrestling with yourself about whether this is worthy of submitting a tip. From the perspective of an investigator, it may seem absolutely ridiculous. I mean after all, you're using a piece of fiction to explain a real-life situation. But a small voice in the back of your head reminds you of something Spencer had said several times,

"Sometimes what seems like an insignificant detail ends up cracking the case."

Youwrestle with what to do, placing the book on the coffee table and pacing around, the television providing low background noise as your mind goes through different reasonings. You stop pacing around once you see a familiar blonde-haired woman on the screen, her FBI credentials hanging from her blazer pocket.

Sitting on the edge of the couch, you turn the volume up and listen to her intently. She announces that the BAU is actively working the case and that they hope to find Mrs. Greene soon. She also implores the public for any information. Your phone on the dining room table seems to call your name, and before you can think through what you're doing, the phone is ringing.

"What's up sweet thing?" Derek's voice greets you through the phone. You trust that even if your speculation is wildly ridiculous that he won't make fun of you. You explain to him your theory but he cuts you off in the middle of your sentence.

"Come by the office in the morning and explain it to the team. It might just be something." He asks, and you sigh.

"Derek I don't-" You begin making your excuse of why you can't go to their office, but he cuts you off for a second time.

"He won't be there, just come on by." Before you can get another word in, he hangs the phone up. It seems you have no choice, really.

Anxiety blooms within you, you haven't been to the BAU office in a decade. And the last time you were there was under much better and happier circumstances. But if Derek promised Spencer wouldn't be there, you figure it's worth going if your theory can help find Mrs. Greene. You just hope that the others don't bring him up in any capacity; you don't think you could handle hearing how happy he is with her while you suffer every single day without him.

-----

Nine years. It's been nine years today since Spencer left you. He stares up at the ceiling when his eyes open in the morning, heavy with sleep. There's an uncomfortable emptiness within him, fueled by his thoughts of what today signifies. He's sure the only thing he'll be able to do is replay that fateful night over and over again in his mind today, he's not sure how he's going to stay focused on the case.

Eventually, he gets himself out of bed and begins his morning routine. He buttons his shirt, puts a tie on, and shrugs a sweater overtop. Spencer stares at himself in the mirror, his reflection showing him the grim reality that is the dark circles under his eyes and his unkempt hair. His eyes trail down to see that his tie is crooked, and his fingers fix it; but he can never fix it like you used to.

Breakfasts don't seem to be as tasty as the ones you made, heading off to work without a goodbye kiss gives him no ambition for the day, and there's nothing to look forward to after he's off the clock for you aren't eagerly awaiting his return with a smile on your face. In the nine years that have passed, the vibrant world has devolved into grayscale.

The clock on the wall tells him he still has two hours before he's supposed to be in. Derek told him to take a few hours this morning, he knows how hard today was bound to be for Spencer, and he was right. But Spencer is restless, he knows if he stays in this apartment for another hour and a half that he's going to let his mind take him to sorrowful places; and that's sure to affect the team dynamic.

After three years, Derek had confronted Spencer. He said that while he understands the pain, that Spencer can't let it affect his job performance. And that if he did, there's a chance he'd have to be let go. So after that day, Spencer made an effort to keep up his appearances and performance. He couldn't bear to lose you and the job. If he lost the job then it means he left you for nothing. It had to be for something, for something good and meaningful.

Spencer ties his shoelaces and finds his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder. The team isn't expecting him for a while, but he's got nothing better to do and he doesn't want to be left alone with his thoughts any longer than he has to. And surely the team won't mind him coming in sooner than scheduled, besides there's just something about this case that seems so oddly familiar to him.

-----

The elevator door dings and you find yourself in front of familiar doors, the FBI logo cleanly shining on the glass doors into the BAU's office space. Readjusting the bag on your shoulder, you go to open the doors to find lots of agents buzzing about, carrying folders and talking to others. You're really just looking for one agent in particular, but you can't seem to find him. Feeling anxious about being here, you contemplate just turning around and going back home. As you go to make your quick escape, you hear Derek's voice behind you.

"There she is!" He says and you swear you can hear the smile on his face. His arm wraps around your shoulders, bringing you in for a brief hug. So much for your escape plan. You plaster the best smile that you can manage on your face and return his hug, his embrace is familiar and warm.

"Here I am." You say, nerves twisting your stomach around. Derek leads you through the craziness of the bullpen into a smaller room, where people are already waiting. You recognize the blonde from the TV, and you remember Garcia and Hotch, but you don't know who the dark haired lady is, nor the older man. But you're thankful that there's one missing agent from the table. Feeling like you're under heavy scrutiny, you give everyone a polite smile and wait for Derek to take the lead like you know he will.

After a few moments of silence, Derek claps his hands together to gain everyone's attention and then introduces you to the team. Once again, you give your politest smile and listen to Derek explain why you're here. The team all looks to you with interest, and you pull the book from the bag on your shoulder.

"So, I know this may sound silly, but I couldn't help but notice all the similarities, just from what I've gathered from the news. If you look where I put the bookmarks, you'll see what I mean." You tell them in rushed words, anxious to see their reactions, expecting ridicule.

"Gone Girl, huh?" The older man Derek introduced as Rossi questions, leaning in closer to the book to read the marked pages. You nod, chewing on your bottom lip as their eyes scan the pages.

"It is oddly similar. The picture frames on the mantle, the ottoman, the blood in the kitchen. I wonder if there are more similarities that we just haven't noticed." The dark-haired woman, Emily, speaks up first. Her words of interest makes it feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, they're not going to ridicule you after all. In fact, it seems like they may be entertaining the idea.

While you're engrossed in the team's blooming discussion about what this might mean, you hadn't heard the door to the room open, and you hadn't noticed who stepped through that door. No, your attention is solely on the lively debate about what the team's next step should be. Emily thinks that this might be a path worth pursuing, but Rossi urges her to keep an open mind. It's not until the discussion has died down, and the team all thanks you for coming in, do you turn to leave. Immediately your eyes land on his tall frame, standing right in the doorway.

Spencer is standing right in front of you.

It feels like the air has been kicked out of your lungs, your limbs feel like they've turned to jelly. The blood in your veins turns to ice and you're frozen to the floor. Ringing sounds off in your ears, unable to hear anything around you. The only thing you can focus on is his honeyed eyes staring right back into yours. It's like the rest of the world has dissolved, and he is the only thing that remains.

In his eyes you can see your Spencer, you remember so clearly the first time his eyes met yours, and how you were enamored from the very beginning. The first time you laid eyes on him you felt your heart race and you just knew you had to go up to him and say something, or else you'd regret it. You remember how soft spoken and polite he was, and how he stumbled over his words when he asked you on your first date. His hazel eyes dazzled under the warm lights that night and you knew you were hooked. His eyes hold so many precious memories, and they all flash right after another in your mind, even the memories that had faded with time come back.

Derek's hand on your elbow knocks you out of your trance and you realize then that the whole team is staring at the two of you, but you don't care. You come back to your senses and look over Spencer, taking note of how his hair is longer, curlier, and how his tie is still crooked. He's even grown out his facial hair a little. He looks so much like the Spencer you knew but nothing alike at the same time. This Spencer looks tired, worn down, and just plainly miserable. It deeply pains you to see him in such a condition.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth to say something, but he stays silent. You see his hands clench beside him and your face flushes with heat, your eyes begin to sting, and you feel like it's becoming harder to breathe.

"Come on, I'll walk you out." Derek says into your ear and he gently tugs you towards the door, where your eyes stay locked onto Spencer as you follow Derek. Spencer takes a step to the side to let you and Derek out of the room, and your arm just barely brushes against his, sending a tingling feeling throughout your body. You feel a tear drip down your cheek, and you swear you can see tears in his eyes too.

Derek gets you down to the parking lot where your car awaits you and he opens the door for you and helps you in. He can tell that you're going through something. You haven't said a word, you have a far away look in your eye, and you're crying without bothering to wipe away the tears. It's almost like you're in shock, and in a way, you are.

"He wasn't supposed to be here for another hour, I'm sorry. If I had known I would've just come over or something." Derek apologizes, but you shake your head, slowly coming back to reality.

"It's not your fault, Derek. Maybe this was the universe's way of letting me say goodbye, get some closure." You speak, voice hoarse. Derek's eyebrows furrow together,

"What do you mean?" He asks, not understanding what your words imply. He'll never admit it to you, but he's concerned about how you're going to handle this run-in. From experience, he knows that you're likely to spiral after this, and that's the last thing he wants for you. After all the progress you've made lately and your personality finally beginning to come back, he fears this may cause a relapse of sorts.

"I'm moving to Colorado." You tell him for the first time. His mouth falls agape in surprise.

-----

After Derek comes back into the office from seeing you out, he can tell that the atmosphere has changed in the room. Glances are being thrown Spencer's way, and Spencer looks more pale than usual, like he had just seen a ghost. He's lost in his own mind, oblivious to the looks everyone is giving him.

"Let's head to the scene one more time to see if this theory holds up. Morgan, Reid, you can meet us there." Hotch announces and stands from the table, the rest of the team following closely behind. Once everyone has dispersed, Derek sits across from Spencer.

"You okay?" He asks, not knowing where  Spencer is at mentally. His watery eyes glance from the tabletop to Derek, and he swallows hard.

"Today is the nine year anniversary of when I left." He says, and Derek's heart breaks for the two of you. Sure, it would've been hard on any given day for the two of you to see each other, but on a day with so much significance? It has to be gut wrenching. And to put the cherry on top, Derek knows the news he has to break to Spencer.

"Listen man. She told me something before she left and I think you should know." Derek's hand finds its way to Spencer's shoulder.

"What is it?" Spencer's mind is running through dozens of scenarios, trying to predict what you possibly could've said. Derek lips his lips and sighs,

"She told me she's moving to Colorado." Spencer feels as if the entire world has stopped spinning.

"What? When?" His voice is breathy and desperate. He has to know where you're going, when you're going, and why. He can't stand the thought of you being out there alone without being able to make sure you're okay. Derek's hand squeezes Spencer's shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"She said within the next few weeks, but she's got some loose ends to tie up here first." Spencer nods, understanding he still has some time to figure out how to approach this situation. He can't see anything clearly right now, for his mind is self-destructing from the thought of losing you for good.

"Maybe I can find a way to delay her trip somehow, or find out where she's going and set up some sort of periodic welfare check. Or maybe I set up a fake social media profile to follow her and make sure she's still okay." Spencer begins rattling off different ways he can make sure that you'll be okay if he can't be there. And he's well aware that his suggestions sound like borderline stalking, but he doesn't care, his love for you knows no boundaries and he would go to the ends of the Earth to make sure you're okay.

He needs to know that you are okay, no matter how many miles are put between the two of you. If he can't know that you're okay then he doesn't know what he's going to do; he even considers relocating to a field office out in Colorado just in case you need help.

"I've watched the two of you destroy yourselves over the past nine years. Neither of you have actually been able to recover, and you know it. She still thinks that you're with another woman. You're still in love with her, and now it's time to make your decision on whether you can let her go or not." Derek's voice speaks reason into Spencer's racing mind and he realizes that Derek is right. He's got a decision to make, and he has to make it soon.

-----

Rain patters against the window, providing some white noise for you while you tape the top of a box down. At this point, you've managed to pack up all of Spencer's books and every bookcase now sits barren. You swear the absence of his books causes the apartment to drop a few degrees, it feels empty and lifeless. You told the leasing agent that you would be by in the morning to drop off the paperwork, finally gaining the courage to sign them last night.

It had taken you about ten days after seeing Spencer before you could push yourself to sign them. A tiny part of you was still clinging to hope that he would come by. But he didn't. And he's not going to, you have to remind yourself. Constantly you have to remind yourself that you were able to see him one last time, and that's going to have to be enough closure, for it's all you're going to receive. But still, you can't help but feel the hole in your soul ache with desire for him.

Standing in the middle of an almost barren apartment, you're haunted by memories of happier days. You can remember the first time you and Spencer had walked through the front door, excited for your future together. Little by little, the two of you decorated and furnished the apartment to make it your own private haven where the two of you could seek refuge in each other.

Your hands find Spencer's blanket draped over the back of the couch, and you hold it close one last time, trying to commit the feeling to memory. It lost Spencer's scent long, long ago, but you still cherish it. After you've made peace with it, you fold it and place it in the bottom of a box, and go to the bedroom. Pulling out drawers of the dresser, Spencer's clothes are still neatly folded, just as he had left them. His clothes find their place on top of the blanket, and soon enough, the drawers are empty and more boxes are taped shut.

Evening comes around and you zip up a familiar dress, ready to spend one last night in a familiar restaurant. Today would've been your twelfth anniversary. Just like every year, you had made a very specific reservation, only this year will be the last. Applying mascara to your eyelashes, you give yourself one last look in the mirror. You can still see the young woman you once were in your reflection.

Your phone buzzing on the counter tears your gaze away from the mirror. You see that Derek is trying to call you, and so you pick up without a second thought.

"Hey sweet thing, what are you doing tonight? How about you come over and we have a farewell drink?" He offers and you smile at his generosity, knowing that any other day you would've taken him up on it.

"Sorry Derek, I can't tonight. I've got a reservation." You tell him, knowing that he will understand what you mean. He doesn't keep track of the days like you do, but he's familiar with your annual tradition.

"Okay, another night then, enjoy yourself." His voice is warm as he hangs up the phone. You're grateful that Derek has been a reliable friend throughout the years, and you know you're going to miss him when you move. Of course you'll make the effort to stay in contact, it just won't be the same as having him nearby.

The waitress shows you to your seat and you order the same wine you get every year. It doesn't matter if your tastes have changed, that's not the point. By now the rain is coming down harder, and you can't help but wonder if the Earth is mourning the end of things like you are. Your lipstick leaves faint marks around the rim of the glass and you stare at the empty chair in front of you.

Each year, you try your best to remember what it was like when Spencer was here, but each year your memory becomes more and more hazy on the details. Until one year you couldn't even remember what color tie he was wearing. Instead, all you can recall is the way he made you feel. You intend to drag this dinner out as long as you possibly can, knowing once you leave here that it's just one more piece of Spencer you've had to say farewell to for the final time.

There's a couple sitting at the table next to you, sharing smiles and clinking their glasses together. You try not to stare, but they remind you so much of who you used to be. The woman's eyes have a hopeful spark in them, hopelessly in love with the man who sits across from her who is obviously just as in love with her. When the waitress comes around to ask if you need anything else, you ask if you can pay for their tab.

An hour later, you're swirling around the remnants of wine in your glass. You had finished dinner and consumed enough wine for the night, so now you're just stalling. You can't yet pry yourself up from this spot, still clinging dearly to this part of Spencer you still have. Once you stand up, it'll make this reality all too real, and you can't face it quite yet. So you give yourself a few more minutes to mourn the way you need to and to make your peace here.

You hear the front door open, but your sights are set outside the window, watching the rain pelt the sidewalk. There's some sort of rushed conversation happening by the hostess' stand, but you can't make out the words, not that you're trying to anyways. The couple that you paid for gets up and leaves the restaurant, and that gains your attention. You offer them a weak smile as they giddily exit the restaurant; their happiness only emphasizes your sorrows.

Before you can turn back to resume watching the rain, someone stands in front of you. Your eyes trail up the person's body, only to find Spencer in front of you, hair wet from the rain, hands occupied with a bouquet of pastel-colored tulips. Your heart drops into your stomach and you have to blink a few times to make sure that he's actually real and standing right in front of you.

"Spencer." His name falls from your mouth effortlessly and breathily, shocked to see him here. He licks his lips and looks over you once before meeting your eyes, a familiar look within them.

-----

Spencer paces around his apartment, hair disheveled from raking nervous fingers through it. His mind has been consumed with nothing except for you since he saw you at the BAU. Derek's words keep repeating themselves in his head,

"She still thinks that you're with another woman...make your decision on whether you can let her go or not."

He knows his time is running out and yet he's conflicted as to what is the right thing to do. The logical and rational part of him is quick to remind himself that he left for a reason, for your safety. The photographs in the unsub's room flash before his eyes, vividly reminding him of what kind of danger his presence puts you in.

But the aching in his chest yearns for your touch, to hear your laugh. For years he's been able to make sure that you're taken care of from a distance. Some years he would anonymously send tulips to your apartment, and other times he would pay the leasing agent half of your rent so it would be one less thing for you to worry about. Of course, it had taken some convincing to ensure the agent would keep his donations a secret, and as far as he knows the agent kept good on the agreement.

Nervously, Spencer bites the skin around his nails, a battle of reason and emotion waging itself inside his mind. He turns to pace again, but this time his eyes catch a picture that sits on a side table. It's a small photo, taken in the early days of your relationship. Spencer picks up the picture that he's committed to memory, seeing the bright smile on your face, your eyes wrinkles at the sides from happiness, his lips pressed to your cheek and his arms around your waist.

His mind morphs his own body into another man. And now he's seeing that man's arms around your waist, another man's lips on your cheek, and it's almost enough to bring Spencer to his knees. Abandoning the photo, he moves quickly to put his shoes on with newfound purpose.

He's made his decision.

With rushed movements, Spencer makes his way to the florist he frequents for your flowers. It's a race against the clock, he only has five minutes to spare and he hopes that the florist is still there. The rain makes it hard to see the road, it slows traffic and the anxiety bubbles up in his chest.

With one minute to spare, Spencer enters the florist to see the sweet older lady packing up for the day. His entrance startles her, and she jumps.

"Spencer?" She questions, knowing he's not due back for another month at least. He nods his head frantically,

"Yes ma'am, sorry to come by like this but I'm hoping you can help me." He swallows hard, heart pounding in his chest from the adrenaline flowing in his veins. The woman sees his distraught demeanor and gives him a small smile. Of course she'll help him. After all, Spencer is one of her favorite customers; he always leaves her generous tips.

After fifteen minutes, the florist has constructed a beautiful arrangement with all of your favorite colors, tied up with a bow around the stems.

"Good luck." The florist gives him a knowing smile, and he thanks her before rushing over to your apartment. Spencer's fingers tap anxiously on the steering wheel and his chest heaves with nervousness.

He parks his car along the curb and hops out, practically running into the building. There's a small line for the elevators, and he doesn't have time for that. Not when a lifetime with you is at stake. He takes the stairs at record speed and takes a moment to compose himself once he stands at the door.

With a rush of courage, he knocks on the door and waits to hear your footsteps. But instead he's met with silence. He knocks again, a little harder this time and waits. He's met with silence again. Fearing the worst, he digs his phone out of his pocket and calls Derek, who answers on the third ring.

"Listen she isn't here. I'm at the apartment and she's gone. Did she leave already?" Spencer's voice cracks as he asks the dreaded question, but he needs to know. If Derek tells him that you've left, he won't hesitate to take the first flight to Colorado to find you.

"No, she didn't move yet. I called her earlier, she has a reservation. Remember the restaurant you two went to for your first date?" Spencer rushes out a thank you before hanging up, knowing exactly the restaurant. How could he forget?

You were wearing the most beautiful dress that complimented your body well, your hair was loose around your shoulders, and your eyes held the depths of your love. He knew from that exact moment that he would never find a love like yours again.

He parks and haphazardly shoves his keys into his pockets, instead taking care to handle your flowers with the utmost care. His heart thumps heavily in his chest with each step he takes towards the front door.

He runs a hand through his hair as he approaches the hostess stand, and his words come out very rushed. He asks if there's a woman here matching your description, but the hostess is hesitant to answer. He begs her to tell him, insisting that you'll be here waiting for him. The hostess glances between him and the flowers in his hand before nodding and pointing to where you are.

Spencer swallows hard and thanks her, eyes scanning the dimly lit restaurant for you. A couple laughing gains his attention and he can't help but look. And he's thankful he did, for you're sitting right across from them, a sad smile on your face and sorrow in your eyes.

His feet carry him over to you before he can process what he's doing. As if time moves in slow motion, he watches your eyes move up his body before landing on his face. Your eyes grow wide, your jaw goes slack.

He only hopes that you'll listen to what he has to say.

-----

"What are you doing here?" You ask, eyeballing the flowers in his hand; they're oddly reminiscent of the ones you receive on your doorstep every few months.

Of course, he's probably here to meet his girlfriend, or fiancée, or perhaps even wife. A mixture of nausea and confusion hit you like a brick wall but you try your best to maintain your composure while you feel like your insides are melting. Spencer takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours and he finally speaks to you.

"Without you and your love, your touch, your warmth, life is entirely meaningless. Ever since I made the biggest mistake of my life, every day has been like walking through hell. There hasn't been a single day that's gone by that I didn't wish to have you back in my arms or to spend just one more evening with you. And I know this doesn't make up for any of it and I am undeserving of your forgiveness. But, I couldn't let you go without letting you know that I've never stopped loving you." His voice cracks with his confession, and a lone tear rolls down his cheek.

His words sends chills down your spine. What he said just doesn't make any sense. Hadn't he left for someone else? Or perhaps he did and he left her as well, or maybe they're still together and he's just doing this to break your heart one last time. You're conflicted with what you should be thinking and feeling. You had waited for this day for nine years, and now that it's here it doesn't make sense.

"But what about her?" You finally muster up the courage to ask, knowing very well that his answer could break your heart. Spencer shakes his head,

"There was never anyone else." His words sting. Had he left because he fell out of love? Or perhaps he grew bored of you and used a newfound love as an excuse for an easy departure.

The more he speaks, the less you understand. Your eyebrows draw close together in pure confusion, your head shakes and your eyes move from him to the flowers in his hand, another mystery about this situation.

"But you said that you had fallen in love with someone else." You point out, desperately needing some explanation to all of this. Spencer nods his head with a solemn expression.

Instead of answering, he digs some cash out of his pocket and throws it on the table before extending his hand to you, to help you from your seat. The gesture sends your heart soaring, having missed the simplest of touches from him. And no matter how confused you are, you've missed him too much to pass this up. He helps you out of the seat and guides you to the front door with a hand on the small of your back.

A familiar fire within you blooms, one that could only be ignited by Spencer's touch. And with just the slightest contact with him, you feel your frozen heart begin to warm.

Thankfully it appears the rain has stopped, for now at least. The two of you walk slowly beside one another towards the parking lot, something that was once so familiar seems so foreign now. After a few steps you hear Spencer suck in a breath,

"I owe you an explanation." His voice is even, but you can hear his apprehension. You swallow your nerves and agree, wanting to hear every last word he has to say.

-----

By the time you both arrive at the apartment, the sun has fully set and the wind carries a bitter chill with it, piercing through the fabric of your dress. The tension is palpable between the two of you on the elevator ride up, your arms brushing against each other with every little movement.

Your hands tremble as you unlock the door, nervous about being so close to him and what he may tell you. The two of you step through the door and for the first time you see how empty it is, boxes stacked on top of each other throughout the apartment.

Turning around, you watch as Spencer takes in the scene of what his former home now is. Guilt washes over you, but you stay quiet, unsure of what to say. Once he's taken in the apartment, his full attention turns back towards you, his eyes flickering between you and the flowers.

"These are for you." His voice is soft as he hands the flowers to you. You take them, fingers brushing against his as you do.

"Did you- were you the one sending me flowers?" You see the familiar color combinations and arrangement style as the ones you've received off and on for nine years. You had never expected Spencer was the one sending these to you, you had always assumed it was Derek trying to brighten your day. And you had always wondered how Derek knew what your favorite flowers were, but you chalked it up to his profiling skills.

A smile small appears on Spencer's face and he nods. Your heart swells with emotion as it hits you that maybe some of what he said is true, maybe he never has stopped loving you. Not prepared to face all of that just yet, you turn and find a vase to put the flowers in, thankful you hadn't packed them up yet and let them decorate the kitchen counter.

Silence washes over the two of you, but it's short lived as Spencer clears his throat and pulls out a chair at the dining room table. You join him and your blood runs cold as you realize you're sitting in the same places as that day he left. Spencer starts picking at the skin around his nails, opening and closing his mouth as if he can't find the words he's looking for. But you've waited nine years so what's a few more minutes?

"The case I came back from was one of the worst we've ever seen, even to this day." He starts and you nod, leaning forward to soak in every word.

"The unsub had printed out pictures of you hanging from his walls along with the rest of the team. He had a plan to torture each and every one of us, and he was going to use you to hurt me. He had plans to torture you to death." He continues, voice wavering towards the end. Your eyes are glued to Spencer's face as he speaks, never having heard the details of that last case. Derek would never tell you.

"Oh, Spencer." You whisper, wanting so desperately to reach out and comfort him but respecting that he might not want your touch. His eyes glance up to yours, and you see his jaw tense.

"I knew then that my job puts you in too much danger. It was clear that while you were with me that you could be a target for anyone who wanted to get back at us. I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't let someone hurt you because of me." Tears spill down his face and he bites his bottom lip to try and keep his composure. You feel your own lip start to quiver, but you hold it together.

"And I knew if I told you that there was someone else that you wouldn't push the issue. I knew you loved me too much to interfere with my happiness. I used your own love against you and I am so sorry." He sniffles and pushes tears from his eyes.

His words feel like someone has punched you square in the stomach. Spencer had never found anyone else, he just wanted to protect you. He loved you too much to let you be harmed. Realizing his actions were done out of pure love, and not betrayal, a sob bubbles up from your chest.

Years upon years you had spent every night in envy of the other woman who was receiving Spencer's love. Months had been dedicated to wondering what you could've done differently to keep him from leaving. Countless weeks spent in agonizing misery, mourning and yearning for the love of your life.

The two of you cry together, and while you want to be angry because he had lied, you only find yourself feeling overjoyed that he's back; that he wants you back and never fell in love with another. And now knowing that he was still showing his love for you by sending you flowers solidifies that what he's telling you is factual. You only wonder what else he's done that you're unaware of.

Spencer's love runs deep, that much you do know. You're keenly aware that if he went through the trouble of sending you flowers that he was also likely up to other things. But you're okay not knowing, as far as you're concerned, you're just happy he's here.

"I'm so sorry." He cries out again, moving out of his chair and getting on his knees in front of you. You wipe tears from your eyes so you can see him clearly, his glistening eyes beautifully reflecting the light as he envelopes your hands in his.

"I will spend every second of every day earning your love back if that's what it takes. I cannot bear to live this life without you any more, I will do whatever it takes. I love you with every fiber of my being, and I will love you for as many days as there are stars in the sky. As long as the sun rises in the morning and sets every night I will continue to love you. You're the one that completes my soul, you're the one who my heart beats for." Spencer pours his heart out to you as he grips your hands tightly and looks into the depths of your eyes. Your lip trembles as tears continue to stream down your face, unable to contain your overflowing love for the man who kneels in front of you.

Taking your hands back from his, your fingertips graze the soft skin of his cheeks. The familiar warmth brings a smile to your face, one that you never would have thought would come back. You hold the sides of his face, so that you can look at him, really look at him.

His parted lips are wet from tears, his face blushed from crying. Even while he cries on the floor in front of you, he's still the most beautiful man you've ever seen. Unable to hold yourself back, you bring his face to yours and your lips reunite.

It's like the two of you were made for each other, and feeling his lips on yours is like falling back into a familiar rhythm. Spencer stands from the floor and brings you up from your seat, one of his hands wrapping around your waist while the other holds your cheek, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

Your frozen heart warms with a heat long forgotten, and when your lungs burn for air, you pull away and rest your forehead against his. The two of you catch your breath, each unable to keep your hands off of one another. Your eyes meet and you can see the love he holds for you plainly.

This is your Spencer, and he finally came back home. After all these years he finally came back to the place where he left you, the place you had stayed.

-----

"Is that the last one?" You ask, placing books neatly on a shelf. It was a no-brainer that after Spencer came back that you weren't going to move. With him here, there's no place you'd rather be. And so after you had halted your plans, you and Spencer began repiecing your life together. 

Turns out, a lot happens in nine years and the two of you spend every moment possible catching up on lost time together. He tells you about some of the most memorable cases, and you tell him about how you made it through in one piece. You both agreed not to spare each other any details, and have agreed to work through whatever issues arise one step at a time and with honesty. And you made Spencer promise that no matter what happens at work, that the two of you will talk and plan together; there's no more running, except for towards each other.

"I think there's one more." He says, showing you the book in his hand before he slides it in the open spot on the shelf. It's the copy of Gone Girl that you had brought into the BAU. Spencer had told you that your theory ended up being right. They found Mrs. Greene as she was staging her alleged kidnapping getaway. And while it wasn't your favorite book, it has a special place in your heart now; without it there's a chance you and Spencer never would have crossed paths again.

You feel Spencer's hands wrap around your waist from behind as he comes back from the shelf, and he hugs you tightly against him, burying his head in the curve of your neck and gently kissing you. Showing affection at every given opportunity has been Spencer's modus operandi. After having lived so long without you, he never wants to stop touching you, or kissing you, or showing you love in any way that he can. 

Your eyes flutter shut, soaking in all the love he gives you, placing your hands atop of his and just letting yourself be held by him. Even the smallest moments are cherished now, for you understand their true value. 

"I love you." He whispers into your ear before letting you go, and a smile makes its way onto your face while your cheeks heat. Even after nine years he's still able to make you blush like a highschooler with a crush. 

"And I love you more." You say, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before moving to pack up the empty boxes that are scattered everywhere. 

The two of you stand in the front doorway of your apartment, looking at how everything has come together. Spencer's books are back on their shelves, his blanket is draped over the back of the couch, his clothes back in the dresser, and he's right beside of you. Like it should have always been. Your eyes find one last thing to get rid of alongside the boxes. 

Walking over to the dining room table, you rip the stained tablecloth off and crumple it in your hands. This tablecloth holds too many bad, heartbreaking memories to keep it in the place where you two are rebuilding your lives together. Without a second thought, you toss the tablecloth into the trash and you're relieved. Only a short time ago you dreaded the thought of getting rid of it, but now you can't stand the thought of keeping it.

Now it's as if a new light and a fresh breath of life has been given to the apartment. For so long it was representative of all that you had lost, but now it shows you how much you've gained and how far you've come, both of you. Rays of bright sunshine filter in through the sheer curtains, and you take in a deep breath, soul full, content, and at peace. 

"We really did it." You breathe out quietly. 

"There's only one more thing I can think of that would really make this all come together." Spencer speaks up, and you scrunch your eyebrows together, not seeing anything that you two had forgotten. As you turn to him, you see him kneeling down in front of you on one knee, a small velvet box in his hand. 

Your mouth falls open as he opens the box, revealing the most perfect ring you've ever seen. Spencer has a wide smile on his face and a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"My life will never be complete without you by my side, there's nobody on this Earth that can even begin to compare. When I look inside my heart, I can only see you. May I have the honor to take your hand in marriage, will you make me the luckiest man in the world and marry me?" He asks and you nod your head enthusiastically before he can finish the question. Rushing up from the ground, Spencer envelopes you in a hug, lifting your feet off the ground and spinning you around. 

As your feet make contact with the ground again, he takes your hand and slides the ring onto your finger. It's a perfect fit. Tears of elation well up in your eyes, and you pull Spencer in for a kiss that's full of love, desire, and passion for him. You both smile into the kiss and only break away to confess your undying love for each other. 

"Spencer Reid, you are the love of my life." You say with tears of happiness rolling down your cheek, a wide smile on your face. 

"And future Mrs. Reid, you are the reason I wake up every morning, you are the breath in my lungs, and you are the love of my life." He brings you in for another kiss, and you know that you're going to spend every day for the rest of your lives together. No force of man, nor nature, can drive you apart for the love shared between you two runs deep, your souls intertwined with one another for the rest of eternity. 

Looking down at the shiny gemstone on your finger, you feel the once fragmented pieces of your heart tie themselves back together, the million pieces seemingly repairable after all. With a smile on your face, you can't wait to marry your soulmate and you're hopeful and grateful for the life you will share together. 

- -

Taglist: @spenciesprincess @reedmurdock

[leonawriter]

To add to "Hakuba wasn't the one throwing the most shade at Hattori," I'm heading into the case itself, since I didn't last time.

Let's start with the fact that Hattori found blood on the doorknob and instantly tried to knock the door down. Hakuba, Junya, and Natsuki all look shocked, Natsuki even saying "Hey, wait a-"

Shinichi's the only one who isn't shown protesting, but he's also not shown actively helping to break down the door. He's right there, yes, but going just by the manga alone, we don't see him in action.

Later on, we get this-

Once Hakuba's said about how the "producer" was still alive, Hattori unties him.

Closely followed by...

First Junya, then Hakuba, saying that he's done things wrong. That he's incompetent.

In fact, Junya says "Even if [Hattori] is a very incompetent detective" while Hakuba says "I'll admit that your actions were unacceptable."

Of the two statements, Junya's is the more offensive to me - there's a difference between "unacceptable actions" and calling someone "incompetent." For instance, Detective Yamamura of the Gunma police is "incompetent" because he barely meets the base criteria to be a police officer, let alone someone in charge of a crime scene. Hattori isn't on that level. His actions were, however, unacceptable.

Moving on, and we see Hakuba point out, in detail, why they should have taken their time.

It's Junya, again, who goes on the offensive, assuming that Hattori was "[eager] to reach the crime scene before anyone else" and "not suited for being a detective." Hakuba says neither of these things. He's judgemental, yes, but he doesn't make things personal.

Funnily enough, Shinichi has a damn good point here. It ISN'T that Hattori is unsuited to being a detective! He is, however, hot-blooded, which does affect how he goes about things.

That isn't a bad thing, all of the time, and if it was, then Shinichi would have been joining the others in criticising Hattori. Thing is, Shinichi knows Hattori, and neither overly defends him (they're kinda right, after all) nor attacks him further (he knows why Hattori is how he is).

Later-

By this point, Hakuba has already seen Hattori acting "rashly" and "not thinking things through" so he feels he has a good reason to make remarks like these.

After that, however, when they do find the person they're after, he's visible from the outside, leaning against the window, bleeding.

This time, it's Hakuba who suggests going back inside and busting the door open, but before he can, Hattori is jumping up to bust through the window.

We're shown him breaking the glass, then unlocking the bolt on the window, in order to get in - unlike the first time, where it's just "bust open, get in."

In other words, we're shown his process.

What's important, to me at least?

Once the investigation gets underway, and now that Junya (rest in fucking pieces, dipshit) is out of the way, Hattori and Hakuba are... able to talk to each other with far more civility.

Sure, there's some checking of "you didn't mess something up again, did you?" but that's a valid question that one of them would ask during any other investigation as well, at some point or other.

That said...

It's only after they've done their preliminary investigation and the actual suspects are mostly out of the way that Hakuba suggests that Hattori be kept away from the crime scenes, since when he's been involved, the crime scene has been messed up, damaged, and... he's basically made a mess of it.

Thing is, this is where it's viable for them to have come to loggerheads with each other!

Hakuba is cool-headed and logical, while Hattori is hot-blooded and emotional.

I've even said before about how they're written as narrative foils to one another, being the rivals and closest male friends of their respective protagonists!

That said... for all that they butt heads here, they're back to collaborating not long after.

And when one of them brings up a point, the other listens. Hakuba doesn't discredit what Hattori's saying just because he's hot-blooded, and Hattori doesn't ignore what Hakuba's saying just because he doesn't like the guy/has bias against him.

On to the finale, and each of our detective protagonists has a different conclusion.

Hattori explains his idea of who the culprit is, only to be cut off by Hakuba, who comes in with his own, in a very disparaging way - "How many more times must you disappoint me," he says, only to be proven wrong and realise that he'd been letting his own bias (that a thief must be the culprit) get in the way of his deductions. Hattori continues with his explanation, which Shinichi tries to say "no, you're wrong!" about... only to prove that he knew exactly what he was doing and catch the real killer trying to hide evidence.

Effectively, this all proves that Hattori is just as good of a detective as any of the rest of them, especially so given the culprit's words at the end:

In other words: those things were done on purpose, knowing what kind of person Hattori is, and she respects him for being the kind of person who hopes that the victim is alive until proven dead. Who hopes for life, more than just another mystery to solve.

In this point here, as well as in assuming that the culprit had to be the same person as the thief, Hakuba is wrong, because he assumed that acting in a "hot-blooded" way was wrong since doing so would disrupt the crime scene.

What he should have been worrying about - and I wonder if this was a minor lesson for him - was "is the person inside still hanging onto life, and if they are, will taking the long route around take too long, and cause them to die?"

So, in these later parts, we do see that:

1 - It isn't even Hakuba, even after Hattori has said things that would legitimately upset him, who throws the first stone in antagonising him.

2 - It's only after seeing behaviour that could be seen as "rash" that Hattori hadn't thought through (unfitting of a detective) that he starts to bite back.

3 - They still work together with respect whenever it's about the actual investigation, and at no point do they get in each other's way, and-

4 - When Hakuba makes a mistake about his deductions, as well as when admitting no one knows where he is, for one thing he accepts his mistakes with grace, and for another thing Hattori doesn't gloat about it.

I wouldn't say that things are mended between them - first impressions count for a lot, and they didn't have a good one no matter how you look at it - but I'd hardly say that they have a non-functioning working relationship, or that they'd constantly be at each other's throats.

[fungifanart]

Romantically Bankrupt

Characters: Male reader, Yuu!reader, Ruggie Bucchi

CW: Blood/fatal injury, death, heavy angst/whump, hurt/no comfort, angst with a sad ending

Word count: 2.8k

Notes: Happy Pride Month, my fellow queers! Sorry it took me so long to get this done, but I promise it's worth the wait! Also, props to you if you get the reference to a certain other Ruggie fic of mine! ( @lemonchuu / @leichor pspspspspsps) ( And @nemisisnemi pull up a chair)

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

Ruggie genuinely can't remember a time when he's felt happier than he does now.

Living comfortably with a stable, high-paying job at the Sunset Savanna palace, thanks to Leona.

Being able to move his grandma into a nicer, safer part of the kingdom and work with government officials to slowly but surely close the gap between the rich and the poor.

And last, but not least: Doing this and so much more with his beloved husband by his side. The man who came to this world with nothing, but still rose from the title of Janitor to the Prefect of Ramshackle dorm and then eventually to the Headmaster of NRC itself.

Y/n.

His handsome, loving Y/n.

The man whom he's sworn his heart and soul to for the rest of their lives.

The man for whom he's used all of his built-up PTO to spend a whole week with starting today, their five year anniversary.

Ruggie flops down into a chair at the kitchen table after finally finishing making his and Y/n's anniversary dinner and waits patiently for his love's return.

Fifteen minutes later, Ruggie's ears perk up at the sound of footsteps approaching and then the front door to his and Y/n's shared living space opening.

"Ruggie, I'm home! Sorry I'm late, I had a phone call that--" Y/n's sentence ends abruptly as Ruggie runs up and surprises him with a tight hug while he's still in the doorway.

"Shihihi! Welcome home!" Ruggie exclaims while nuzzling his face into his husband's neck, "I'll forgive you for being late just this once, seeing as how it's our anniversary! Not to mention how I'd hate for the special dinner I made to go to waste!" He finishes lightheartedly while motioning towards the kitchen.

"Like I'd let that happen! But first, I got something for-" Y/n moves his hand from behind his back only to just realize that it's empty and looks back at Ruggie to see him happily sniffing the bouquet of rhododendrons, begonias and chrysanthemums he'd bought for him.

"Shihihi! You know old habits die hard!" Ruggie quips before placing a tender kiss on his husband's lips, "I love them, dear. Thank you so much."

This tender moment continues in the kitchen where the two men eat their dinner while discussing all manner of things, from how their days were to how their friends are keeping up to how Grim will do as Acting Headmaster while Y/n is away, until the food is finished and they fall into a comfortable silence. A silence which Ruggie breaks upon seeing Y/n begin to fidget nervously.

"Is something wrong, love?" Ruggie asks while placing his hand on the other man's in comfort.

"N-no! It's just that I got some amazing news earlier and it's getting harder and harder to contain myself!" He says with excitement rising up in his voice.

"Well, don't keep me waiting, then! Lay it on me!" Ruggie urges, his curiosity at it's peak.

"Ok ok! So do you remember that phone call I mentioned that made me late?" The other man begins before taking both of Ruggie's hands in his own with a big smile, "It was from the adoption agency! The papers were accepted!! We can adopt a child!!!"

All time seems to stop in the moment it takes Ruggie to process this information before resuming as his face breaks into the biggest smile he's worn all day and he reaches across the table to wrap his husband in a tight hug.

The two remain like this for several minutes, hugging and crying from happiness until they've calmed down enough to separate and look at each other with eyes full of love and adoration.

"I'm so happy that I get to adopt a child with you, Y/n!" Ruggie says elatedly.

"Me too, Ruggie!" The other man responds, "Now, all that's left to do is--"

"W......... ...p..."

Ruggie blinks for a second, unsure of what he'd just heard, "Uh, what was that last part, Y/n?"

"Huh? Well, I was just saying how we need to--"

"W...KE U..."

'There it is again. It sounds far away, but close at the same time...and what is it trying to tell me?' Ruggie thinks as he attempts to clear out his ears with his finger to hear better, "Sorry, my ears are acting weird suddenly, could you say that again?"

The confusion on Y/n's face is quickly accompanied by concern as he reaches forward to check Ruggie for a fever, "Dear, are you feeling alright? Maybe you should--"

"PLEASE, RUGGIE!!! WAKE UP!!!"

The hyena's surroundings begin to melt away into darkness as he hears the voice loud and clear, that of the real Y/n begging him to wake up from this apparent dream, the last thing he sees before doing so being dream Y/n's concerned face dissolving into the darkness.

Ruggie floats in the void of unconsciousness briefly before he feels a pair of hands shaking his shoulders frantically and his eyes flutter open to see the real Y/n's face looking back at him, contorted in desperation that turns into immense relief upon his awakening.

"Ruggie! Oh my god... oh my god. Thank goodness, you're okay!" The Prefect says while pulling the hyena into a tight hug with shaking hands.

"Y-yeah...sorry for worrying you! I'm okay now, though!" Ruggie says while shaking off the drowsiness caused by Malleus's spell and returning his boyfriend's hug.

Ruggie would've preferred that this nice moment go on for a bit longer, but it's instead ruined by the sound of a spell being launched at the two of them and the Prefect instinctively rolling them out of the way.

"Crap, I was so relieved that I almost forgot." The other man says while helping Ruggie stand up and staying close to him protectively, "We managed to severely weaken Malleus in the dream world, but he's not down just yet. Will you help us finish him off?"

And here Ruggie was just getting used to being awake again and suddenly he needs to fight. Typical.

"Shihihi, anything for you, Y/n!" Ruggie says while shaking off the last of the drowsiness, "And besides, I need to pay that guy back for teasing me with something that hasn't happened yet!"

And so, the fight continues as Ruggie and the others lob spell after spell at the weakened fae prince until Malleus's stamina is seeming to reach its limits, which his dormmates and the Prefect use as an opportunity to try to reason with him again.

"MALLEUS-SAMA, PLEASE YOU MUST UNDERSTAND--"

"Malleus, it hurts me too, but this isn't the way to--"

"Malleus, just give it up! This can't go on forever--"

"Lostie, please! This isn't who you are--"

"SILENCE!!!" Malleus yells in one last fit of rage that sends a barrage of thick and sharp thorn vines out in all directions, one of which speeds towards Ruggie faster than he can dodge.

Ruggie closes his eyes and braces for the feeling of the vine tearing into his flesh, when suddenly--

"RUGGIE!!!"

He instead feels a hand pushing him away, hears the Prefect’s voice calling his name in sheer desperation and opens his eyes just in time to see the thorn vine drive itself directly through the other man's stomach as he lets out a blood-curdling scream in pain.

Ruggie's vision turns red at this and the next moments go by in a blur until he comes out of it to the sight of an unconscious and now normal Malleus at his feet.

He has no time to wonder how that happened as he whips his head around to find where his boyfriend is and sees him collapsed on his back in a growing pool of blood with Grim crying his name next to him.

"Y/N!!! No no no no no no--" Ruggie says as he sprints over and slides on his knees to a halt next to him and holds him in his arms, uncaring to how much blood would get on him, "Y/N! Hey!! Talk to me!!! Grim! Go find Professor Crewel or Riddle or someone who can help!"

The direbeast sprints away as the Prefect stirs in Ruggie's arms.

"...*cough* R-Ruggie? You're alright?" He looks at Ruggie with barely focused eyes and coughs up blood on top of the blood already gushing from the gaping hole in his stomach.

"Forget about me! Why'd you do that?!" He practically screams as he shoves his scarf into the wound in a desperate, but vain attempt to stop the bleeding, all survival knowledge having left his brain due to panic.

"S-sorry...*cough* when I saw the vine coming at you, my body moved on its own. I just couldn't bear the thought of you getting hurt..." Y/n says with a small, pathetic smile.

"I-- That's-- Y-you shouldn't-- I-I'm not--" Ruggie tries to argue, to say ANYTHING, but, looking at the ever growing pool of blood around them and hearing the sound of the Prefect’s breathing becoming more labored, all words die in his throat and all he can do is look into his love's eyes while tears pool around his own.

Just as the tears begin to fall, the Prefect reaches up his hand to caress the hyena's cheek, which he takes in his own trembling grasp.

He's scared. So scared.

Ruggie's finally found something, someONE, that his childhood self could only dream of finding and now here he is, slowly but surely slipping away.

His spiraling is interrupted by the Prefect’s weakening voice, "R-Ruggie, there's actually-*cough* s-something I need to tell you in case I-*cough* don't make it..." He says as his words grow more forced.

Ruggie's eyes widen, "H-hey! Don't talk like that! Grim's gonna get Professor Crewel here and you'll be patched up in no--"

"Ruggie...please just listen..." The Prefect says in a weak tone that overpowers the rest of Ruggie's sentence, "If I don't make it, I want you-*cough* to go to my room-*huff* at Ramshackle. T-there's *huff* s-something in the very back of the drawer in my desk that I-*cough* want you to have, ok...?"

Ruggie nods nervously as his grip on his boyfriend's hand tightens, "S-sure, but that's only if you don't make it! Which you will! I mean it!" He says, unsure whether he's trying to convince the Prefect or himself.

"Y-yeah...of course..." The other man responds while turning his gaze straight upwards, "Hey...would you mind-*cough* telling me what you dreamt about...?"

Ruggie blushes in embarrassment thinking about it, "Uuhh...w-well...you and me, we were...uh...living together. I was working at the palace and you were the Headmaster here and...we were...really happy. I'd really like it if that could be our reality someday."

The Prefect continues to stare upwards as his eyes glisten with tears, "That-*cough* sounds wonderful...*huff*...I'd like that too." He rasps as Ruggie can see the tears threatening to spill over, "H-hey, Ruggie?"

"Yeah...?" The hyena responds.

"You k-know I love you, r-right?" He says with a weak, but geniune smile causing Ruggie's heart to skip a beat.

"O-of course! I love you too!" Ruggie responds plainly with no hint of sarcasm or false bravado, just the honest truth.

However, this one statement is what makes the Prefect's tears finally spill over, "Th-that-*sniff*-makes me-*cough* so happy to hear. I love you, Ruggie." The next part, he says in a barely audible whisper, "I wish I could’ve...*huff*...shown you how much..."

Time slows down to a crawl in this moment as Ruggie watches the love of his life close his eyes and feels his hand go limp in his grasp, seemingly at peace.

But not Ruggie.

Ruggie is anything but at peace.

All sound is cut off in this moment to the point that he can't even hear his own voice as he desperately calls out Y/n's name and shakes his shoulders, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

He only stops upon being pushed away by someone he vaguely recognizes who tells him something he can't hear before putting their ear to the Prefect’s chest and trying all manner of tactics to resuscitate him.

But it's too late.

Ruggie had already guessed this, but the confirmation saps the color from the world around him as the person and a small animal still work feverishly for several minutes.

But it doesn't work.

The end of those several minutes of fruitless work is marked by the person placing their fur coat on top of the Prefect's body.

Ruggie goes fully numb at this, his brain barely registering anything about the world around him and even his own actions as he only realizes he's started walking away upon seeing the faces of people he's pretty sure he knows as they either are only just waking up or nursing their own injuries.

How lucky they are to walk away with their lives, unlike a certain someone. Unlike the one person who mattered.

Ignoring the questions of his peers, Ruggie exits Diasomnia and continues walking.

To where? He doesn't know or care anymore. It's not like Y/n will be there to greet him after all.

The minutes pass by in a blur as Ruggie walks until he finds himself at the gates to Ramshackle, 'Oh yeah, that thing Y/n wanted me to have.' He thinks numbly to himself before entering his boyfriend's dorm.

Walking into the Lounge, the hyena's mind clears enough to see the faces of the dorm's three ghostly residents in front of him who look ready to fire a barrage of questions, but settle on one upon seeing his expression.

"He didn't make it, did he?" The middle ghost asks, all three of their expressions turning crestfallen as Ruggie nods silently, "That's...unfortunate. He probably already told you about his gift for you, so go on up to his room, lad. We won't keep you."

'Like I needed your permission.' Ruggie thinks bitterly to himself.

Upon reaching the room he's been to countless times at this point, Ruggie hesitates, but pushes forward and opens the door, already regretting it as he's bombarded with Y/n's scent and every memory he's made with him rushes through his head relentlessly.

Fighting back the tears and forcing each foot in front of the other, Ruggie eventually makes it to Y/n's desk and opens the drawer, finding it empty save for a single envelope with his name on it leaning against the very back.

Snatching up the envelope, Ruggie opens it and immediately recognizes his boyfriend's handwriting on the paper contained inside.

"Dear Ruggie,

If you're reading this, then it means I'm no longer alive. With how dangerous things have become, I've suspected my death as a possibility for quite some time now, so I wanted to be prepared for this outcome.

As I'm writing, you're currently out working one of your jobs and I still find myself marveling at how hardworking you are. It's one of the qualities that I love and respect the most about you. Just before you left, you mentioned how you'll need to hit the grind harder than ever to provide for your 'darling future husband.' which you probably meant as a joke, but it still made my heart skip a beat to imagine that kind of future for us.

But...regarding the future, I really need to apologize. It seems like I won't be able to fulfill the promise we made before we officially started dating.

I'm sorry. I really and truly am. I don't know how I died, but I can one hundred percent assure you that it was never my intention to leave you like this, because the time we've spent together, however brief, was easily the happiest I've ever been and I sincerely hope that you can say the same.

You may have already noticed a certain something I've left behind this letter, which I had hoped to give to you in person later down the line, but seeing as how that's no longer possible...

It's probably cruel to ask this of you now, but:

Ruggie Bucchi, I love you with all of my heart,

Will you marry me?

Forever yours,

Y/n"

Shoving his hand back into the drawer, Ruggie pulls out one more thing like the letter said, a very small box that he opens to reveal a circle of metal adorned by an even smaller glittering jewel on the top.

A ring.

An engagement ring.

The Prefect was going to stay and he was going to propose to him.

With this revelation, Ruggie's legs finally give out and he drops to his knees, tears falling freely down his face as he tightly clutches the letter and ring box to his chest.

"Yes, Y/n...I will marry you…”

[rodolfoparras]

So in SSKTJL, the suicide squad gets infected with Fear Gas because of Batman

For context, Fear Gas is a gas created by Scarecrow or Johnathan Crane, and when inhaled, you live through your worst fears until worn off.

And Digger's worst fear is everyone leaving him behind, being unwanted and forgotten. In the scene, George talks to himself, saying they've probably already left him. Calling himself a loser and and a coward and shit. He sees "NOT WANTED" posters of himself hung up around

(I can't do this anymore, bro)

What if Reader's worst fear was watching all of his friends/teammates die and losing them all🥰

Running around trying to listen to Harley's advice (because she knows Scarecrow and the toxin) but he just keeps hearing his friends scream for help and their bodies everywhere but he's literally unable to help them, because they're not fucking real but it's scary asf

And once it's all over, Reader is all over Digger the rest of the night. They're the closest, so it's already not that weird, but he's literally not giving Digger a MOMENT of peace. a hand on that man the entire time, following him everywhere, fucking sleeps on top of him to try and keep him safe

Mumbles to him all night about being scared of losing him and how much he cares about him and Digger's just "🧍‍♂️wut?" Because he genuinely believes that despite working with the team, he's very easily disposable and they could all replace him but don't because of Waller

Reader ramping up his affection for Digger after that because he's not gonna let him think that shit??

Idk where I'm going with this but I love him so much. Just wanna play with his hair and kiss his face 😞

-🐧

Cw: tooth rotting fluff, x male reader

Okay but thinking about you being unable to calm down even though the gas has long stopped having effect, even though you’re back in your current reality with all your friends where they’re all very much alive and doing well but no matter what they say or do you just can’t calm down

It’s like you’re still stuck in that place, watching all your friends die in front of you without being able to do anything, and Digger being Digger starts joking around, telling the rest of the team how they should just knock you out to make sure you get to sleep through the night.

But his words turn into squeaks as you pull him into a bruising grip, his head shoved into your chest, and your arms locked in an iron grip around his waist.

Unintelligible sounds escape his lips as he tries to push you away from him but you don’t budge an inch, if anything you hold him tighter, nuzzling your face into his honey blonde locks and inhaling his scent, and for once you actually seem to relax.

“Uh hello big guy? cant breathe here,” the sound of Digger’s strained voice sends the whole squad into fits of laughter, with them even making comments about how you’re his responsibility for the night before splitting up to get some rest.

“Alright alright that’s enough” digger says as he finally breaks out of your embrace “jeez I know I’m a lovable guy but even that was a bit too much eh?” Digger says, clearly being sarcastic as he proceeds to prepare his make shift bed.

He doesn’t even get to lay down properly before you’re on top of him, your body weight pinning him in place an arm once again locked around his waist.

“God dammit,” Digger grunts out as his back meets the harsh impact of the ground. “What’s with you tonight eh? Gas scared you that bad? What did you even see?”

And maybe it’s the hint of concern in his voice or it’s the exhaustion from todays events, but you decide to tell you him what you saw earlier today.

Surprisingly enough, Digger listens intently to every word you have to say, at some point you think he’s fallen asleep or spaced out because it’s so unusual for him to not interrupt but when you look up, you see the very much focused look on his face as he continues to listen to you.

Once you’re done speaking you peer up at him - only to be met with the sight of his furrowed brows as he worries his bottom lip.

This time it’s your turn to ask what’s on his mind, digger doesn’t waste a second before he starts to explain, telling you how he can understand why you’d be worried about losing king shark- he was a great asset to the team - or Harley - she was a smart cookie or dead shot - look at his name! who wouldn’t want a guy like that on his team ? but he can’t understand why you’d be worried about losing him.

He doesn’t say it in a self deprecating way, but rather as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, as if he’s speaking of the way the sun is bound to rise tomorrow and maybe that hurts more than if he were to say it in a self deprecating tone.

You’re swift to rise up, knocking the air out of his lungs as you go on a tangent about how of course he’s an important part of the team, promptly mentioning the many times he’s saved your ass or saved another member of the team, the many times he’d been the reason as to why they succeeded in whatever mission you were doing.

By the time you’re done you’re all out of breath, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace hands still hanging in the air and staring wide eyed at the Aussie man.

“Alright alright big guy I get it,” he says, now sporting a blush on his face and avoiding your gaze while bashfully rubbing at the back of his neck. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have a crush on the ol’ captain” Digger say with somewhat of a forced chuckle , and peers up at you beneath soft blonde lashes.

“Maybe I do,” you shrug.

“Wha-“

“Sleep digger, we have a long day tomorrow no?” You say, suddenly laying down again and pulling him into your arms before he can protest. You can hear him cursing under his breath but he doesn’t do anything to try and get out of your embrace. “Goodnight captain” you say with a smile on your face.

“Goodnight” he grumbles back as he tightens his hold on your waist.

[bi-bard]

Gracie Abrams Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Nick Burkhardt - Nick Burkhardt Imagine [Grimm]

Title: Gracie Abrams Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Nick Burkhardt

Pairing: Nick Burkhardt X Reader

Word Count: 2,197 words

Warning(s): brief mention of past trauma (non-specific), fear of commitment, fear of death/injury, Wesen racism

Summary: Three songs by Gracie Abrams that would describe a relationship with Nick Burkhardt.

Author's Note: I hope this will somewhat make up for the fact that I haven't been able to do a writing challenge for Gracie's newest album.

I could've put Tough Love in here to talk about (Y/n) and Monroe, but I only do three at a time, y'know?

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Let It Happen

No, I know I'm a walking contradiction and it shows Got a history of being in control I'm aware that I could end up here alone

-- third person p.o.v --

Usually when Nick found himself sitting in Monroe's house, it was to find out the truth about some kind of Wesen that was attacking people.

This conversation was something different entirely. Somehow less serious but more tense. A feeling that Nick would be happy to never experience again.

Monroe called him over, saying that they needed to talk about something important. There wasn't much more said on the phone except for the preface that the talk was going to be focused on (Y/n), which was enough to get Nick to go over as fast as possible.

Monroe and Nick sat at Monroe's table for what felt like hours. A strange silence settled over them. For Nick, it was tense. He was worried that (Y/n) had gotten hurt or that he had done something to upset them. For Monroe, it was awkward. He wasn't sure that this conversation was his to have but felt like he should. He saw (Y/n) as a sibling and siblings were supposed to protect each other.

Monroe nervously cleared his throat before finally speaking up, "I... I have a question to ask."

"Okay," Nick replied, feeling his leg shaking as he tried to stop overthinking how this conversation was going to go.

"And it might be a weird question," Monroe added. "I don't even know if it's my business and you don't need to tell me anything. I would like if you did because the rest of the conversation kinda relies on that-"

"Monroe," Nick cut him off. "What is it?"

"Do you... have feelings for (Y/n)?"

There was a brief moment where it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. So much for thinking he had been subtle. "Uh, yeah. Lucky guess."

"Well... it was Rosalee's guess more than mine," Monroe admitted.

"Great, so everyone just knows?"

"I didn't say that. The two of us had been talking about it and I got worried."

"Worried?" Nick could've scoffed. "You don't think that I'd do something-"

"No, no, of course not." Monroe shook his head. "It's just that I've (Y/n) for a while now. They've been through... a lot."

"Okay." Nick nodded slowly.

"They don't trust a lot of people. I mean, even getting them to trust me was a long process. I mean, seriously, years. But... that's not important right now. What is important is that I care about them. I've seen them get through a lot of crap and I want to see them happy. They deserve it.

"And I can see it when you two talk sometimes. They want... something. Maybe it's just to open up. Maybe it's something more. I'm not sure, but I can see it. I just..."

"What," Nick asked.

"I don't want you to get (Y/n) to trust you just for something to happen that'll screw that up."

"Monroe," Nick leaned forward on the table. "I care about (Y/n) a lot. I know that you do too. I don't know what I'm gonna do. I don't know how they feel yet or if it would be safe. But I promise, if something happens, I'll do everything in my power to make sure that I never let them down."

"Thank you."

"There's nothing to thank me for-"

Monroe held his hand up. "You gave me a little peace of mind... that's enough."

There was a pause between them before Nick spoke up again, "So, when do I get threatened that you'll kill me if I hurt them?"

"Was that not implied," Monroe asked. He woged quickly.

"Message received."

The Blue

You came out of the blue like that I never could've seen you coming I think you're everything I've wanted

Rosalee's shop was a place of comfort. Maybe it was because it was more often filled with the few people that I considered to be my friends. Or maybe it was simply because it catered mostly to Wesen.

No matter what the reason. It felt natural to find my way there after I had almost been killed.

"How are you feeling," Rosalee asked as she handed me a mug of tea.

"Fine," I muttered. "I... I don't know if it's really hit me yet."

"That's understandable," she replied. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you need. Let me know if you need me, okay? I'll just be out front."

"Thank you," I said. "For all of this."

"You're welcome." she grinned.

As she turned around to walk to the front, I heard the bell above the door ringing. A few seconds later, Nick was rushing into the room.

"Are you okay," he asked. "I told you to get checked by the paramedics."

"I'm fine," I insisted. "It was just a little shock. Those assholes didn't get a chance to hurt me. How did you even find out I was here?"

"It doesn't matter-"

"Did Rosalee call you?"

"(Y/n), it doesn't matter," he said. "You were almost killed."

"They wish that they could get that close."

He ran his hands over his face.

"Nick, look at me." I stood up, walking over to him. "I'm fine. Might have a bruise or two but other than that, I'm perfectly fine. I'm healthy and safe."

I watched his eyes scan over me.

"You've been in much worse shape than I am right now." I shrugged.

I tensed when he stepped forward and hugged me. My face felt warm. My thoughts were going at a hundred miles an hour. I had spent a long time avoiding my feelings and a major part of that was avoiding any physical touch when I could. I awkwardly hugged him back.

"I'm happy that you're okay," he mumbled. I closed my eyes for a moment.

"Thanks," I replied before abruptly stepping back.

I felt like I could've been knocked over by how he was looking at me. There was just so much worry and care. I hadn't seen that look in a very long time. Even then, it wasn't nearly as intense as this.

I don't know what came over me. I don't think that I even thought about my actions before I had committed to them. All I knew was that one moment I was looking at Nick and the next moment I was leaning forward and kissing him.

I was going to pull away a second after I had done it. But I couldn't before Nick had the chance to pull me closer to him.

I had never experienced a time where something felt so tense yet so correct. Like this was going to happen no matter what. A question of when instead of if. It was all depending on how long it took me to do something about it.

Nick pulled back a few moments later, slowly grinning at me.

It felt like it took ages for my mind to catch up to what had happened.

"Sorry," I mumbled, not fully convinced that I had caught my breath. "I... I don't know what came over me-"

"Don't apologize," he cut me off. "I'm glad that you did."

"Oh," I replied, slowly nodding. "I... I really like you, Nick."

"I'd be a bit confused if you didn't."

I felt my face warm up again as I looked away from him. "I'm telling you how I feel about you and you're being a smartass."

He chuckled. "I'm sorry. Let me make it up to you."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"Over dinner. If you'd like."

I grinned. "That sounds nice."

He leaned forward and kissed me again. Suddenly, I felt like I was completely certain of a choice that I had made.

The Bottom

You could do better You should walk out It's now or never I took the most that you could offer I'm gonna drag you right down to the bottom

I let out a huff as I tossed the unopened envelope on the counter.

All it took was the lack of information on the outside for me to know what it was. I was simply too tired to deal with it today.

"That sigh rattled the house."

I jumped when I heard Nick's voice. "Holy shit!"

He held his hands up. "Sorry, sorry! Didn't mean to spook you."

"Why aren't you at work? It's 2 in the afternoon."

"Case got solved this morning, took the rest of the day off," he said simply. "What was that sigh about?"

"Nothing important," I replied.

"It's not that unmarked envelope?"

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? I'm a detective, I see things." he shrugged. "Let me see it."

"Nick-"

He reached over and grabbed it before I had a chance to stop him. If I didn't trust him so much, I would have been a little bit quicker.

I watched his face change from when he opened the letter to when he finished reading it. It wasn't a long note. None of them had been. They were only ever a few lines about the purity of Wesen and how sorry I would be if I didn't listen to them. At first, they churned my stomach, but after a while, they just became a nuisance. Whoever was giving them to me was a coward anyway; they never fulfilled their threats.

"Is this the first note that you've gotten like this," Nick asked after a moment.

"No," I admitted. "I've gotten a few of them. I just throw them out."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why worry you with them? Whoever sent them hasn't actually done anything besides send the notes. Not much we could do about it."

"I could have," he argued. "I'm a cop. I could've... I could've tried to do something."

There was a long pause. I watched Nick's eyes scan over the note over and over again. As if he was looking for the identity of the writer to just pop out at him. I sighed, snatching it from his hands. I did what I had done with the rest of those notes: threw it in the trash to never be looked at again.

"Maybe you should go," Nick muttered.

"What?"

"I think that you should go," he repeated.

"Go where?"

"I think it would be for the best if we separated," he explained.

I scoffed. "Bullshit!"

"(Y/n)..."

"Nick, I'm not going to leave because of a few vague threats-"

"And what happens when I get you killed?" he cut me off. I furrowed my eyebrows. "We've... We've seen what's happening with Rosalee and Monroe. Rosalee had a brick thrown through the shop window! And that's just because they're two different kinds of Wesen! Imagine what they would do to someone who's with a Grimm!"

I ran my hands over my face. I understood that he was scared but this all seemed crazy.

"I... I won't be the reason that you get hurt. I'm already putting you in enough danger because of the keys and the royals and all of the other crap that comes with this life. And maybe it's too late to protect you from that. Maybe they know too much about you already and that's my fault. But this... I could protect you fully from this if I let you go."

"Nick..." I stepped forward. "If... If you want me to go, then I will. But only if you want me to. I'm not going to leave you just because some idiots think that I should be with 'my own kind'. I... I love you, Nick. I'm not going to let someone chase me away from that."

He didn't respond for a moment. He just stared at me. As if he was testing me. Testing how long I would stand there without him saying whether or not he wanted me there.

"Tell me what you want-"

My words were cut short by him pulling me forward and kissing me. I froze for a moment before touching the sides of his face. He pulled back a few seconds later, not moving very far away from me. My arms moved around his neck.

"I don't want you to leave," he muttered to me.

"Good," I replied. "I didn't want to leave. Plus, I'm pretty sure that I'd be safer with you than on my own."

He leaned his forehead against mine, closing his eyes.

"We'll be okay," I almost whispered. "No matter what."

He grinned at me as his eyes opened again.

"I don't care what danger I'm in when I'm with you," I promised. "I just care that I'm with you."

"I'm sorry. God, I'm an idiot."

"Sometimes." I nodded. I kissed his cheek. "But that's okay."

"Thanks," he mumbled sarcastically before pulling into a hug.

I closed my eyes, hiding my face in his shoulder.

"I love you too," he muttered. As if he was keeping it a secret from someone even though we were the only people in the house. "Didn't say it earlier."

I smiled to myself. I had never doubted that for a second.

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

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[queen-of-deans-booty]

Baby: Part Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, feeling broken and utterly helpless to the point of depression, wanting to die, being shot

Summary: You're trying to prove to Sam and Dean that after two months of having your soul restored, you're all better. You'll gladly play the part if it means they don't worry about you. However, that facade is slowly being stripped away from you the longer you go without facing up to those feelings. You're not okay and you need to stop pretending like you are.

Season Eleven Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

You, Sam, and Dean have a calming and nice lunch before the valet returns with his car. Dean looks inside of it in suspicion but doesn't see anything out of order. Dean takes out the extra cash and tips her.

"Strong work, Jessie. Strong work."

"Thanks."

You three get inside the car and Dean pulls away.

"So, what's next?"

"I want to talk to the sheriff's widow, Lily Markham. Maybe she knows something about why her husband was out in the woods in the first place."

"I'll drop you off. Y/N and I will go back to the woods where they found the body. Something wasn't right about those crime scene photos."

After dropping Sam off, Dean heads into the woods and parks in a clearing next to some run-down cabins. He takes out the file containing the crime scene photos and studies them, and you take out your notebook having more you want to say.

I realized that as the Scarlet Witch, I unlocked new sides to my power. Sides that I could never access as the Sapphire Witch. I was able to pull spells from people's bodies, suck their power for myself. I was able to siphon their power to make myself stronger. As the Sapphire Witch, I know I can connect to people's minds and influence them to a degree. As the Scarlet Witch, I was able to take over their minds completely. No one was a match for me. I was too powerful. I've done things I'm not proud of and I have a lot of making up to do, but I'm writing this journal for one purpose only. If you ever see yourself in this situation, just know you're not alone. I felt alone. I feel alone. I don't want you going through it alone.

You pause and tap the end of your pen on the paper in thought. Dean's phone rings and he answers Castiel's call.

"Cas, are you okay?"

"I'm mostly confused. I'm not sure how orange correlates with black in a way that's new."

You snicker and look away from Dean to hide your smile.

"Step away from Netflix."

"Sorry."

"It's okay. We've all had a binge. Did you find anything in the lore?"

"I did find one that feeds on hearts and blood."

"A were-pyre, you might say? Come on, I know you wanna say it," Dean grins.

"In the lore, it's referred to as a 'Whisper'. Silver will kill it but you may want to decapitate it just to be sure."

"Alright, sounds good. Y/N and I are at the crime scene now. It looks staged. The body was dragged and there were no signs of struggle."

"The body was moved there to look more like an animal attack?"

"Yeah, maybe. It was pretty sloppy. What else can you find on these things?"

"Whispers have a fascinating history, actually."

"Hang on."

You look up and notice the Deputy parking a yard away from Dean. You stay seated while Dean gets out of the car to greet him.

"I'm here, Castiel. What is it?"

"They were once believed to be in the bloodline of werewolves but in fact, they are more similar to demons. They got their nickname from how quiet their attacks are. Because of their stealthiness, they've lived on the fringes for centuries. Although, there were several that were hunted and killed during the Salem Witch... Wait a minute. Okay, according to this, Whispers only feed during the solar eclipse. Y/N, I don't think you're hunting a Whisper."

You look up and see the deputy attack Dean from behind. You curse and leave Castiel on speakerphone while jumping out of the car. You rush at the two men who are wrestling for dominance. The deputy is attacking to kill and Dean is attacking to protect himself. You grab the deputy's collar, yank him off your husband, and toss him on the ground next to the car. He crashes into the open door which causes it to slam shut, and you can barely hear Castiel's voice of concern for the noise.

You take out your gun just as Dean does, and he walks over to the deputy. He grabs your husband and yanks him down, apparently not finished with his attack. You shoot the deputy twice in the chest and once more for good measure. The entire passenger side of Baby is covered with blood.

So much for that wash Dean gave her.

Dean steps over the body and slides back into the car while you stand beside the car.

"Dean? Y/N? Are you both alright? I hear gunshots. Dean! Y/N!"

"It turns out she did shoot the deputy," Dean chuckles.

"Wait, Dean, is everything--"

"The deputy was a were-pyre. It's alright. Silver bullets worked."

"No, Dean, listen. According to the lore, the timing is off. The next solar eclipse in North America is years away. It can't be a--"

Deputy Donnelly springs up and slaps his hand on the bloody window which causes you to scream in shock.

"Hang on," Dean groans.

Dean gets out of the car and goes around to the trunk where he pulls one of his machetes from it. You keep your gun trained on the deputy until Dean quickly slices his head right off. The head topples onto the front of the car and the body crumbles to the ground. You sigh and sit in the passenger seat while Dean leans against the car.

"Scratch that. You gotta cut off their--"

The Deputy's eyes spring open and he growls as if he's still alive. He bares his fangs and you stare right into his eyes. You grab the keys from Dean and put them in so you can turn the windshield wipers on. The head has no choice but to be swept off the car by the motion.

"Dean, it's not a Whisper."

"Yeah, we're starting to get that," you say. Dean points his gun at the body of the deputy and shoots him four more times. Maybe that will do the trick. You think it does until you hear him growling from the other side of the car. "This bitch won't die."

"Alright, that's it."

Dean grabs the empty cooler where the beers were and pours the water and ice onto the ground. He grips the deputy's hair and places him inside the box for safekeeping. He takes his phone, which is still connected to Castiel, and snaps a few photos of the man's fangs.

"Castiel, you still there?"

"Of course. What's going on?"

"Whatever it is, silver slows it down. I'm sending you a picture right now of its fangs. I've never seen anything like it. See if there's a match in the lore, would ya?"

"I'm on it."

Dean hangs up with Castiel and sends the photo to him. He sees there is a missed call from Sam and calls him back right away.

"Dean, I got jumped."

"You okay?"

"For now. I'm pretty sure we're dealing with a pack here. Two of these things were attacking Mrs. Markham when I arrived. I filled them with silver but it only slowed them down."

"Yeah, well, Deputy Dumbass is one of them as well. He's in two pieces and still alive. Where are you now?"

"Mrs. Markham was knocked out. I carried her to the house nearby. I'll text you the address now."

"Sit tight. We're on our way." Dean hangs up the phone. "Everybody's getting jumped."

Dean looks at you as he peels out of the wooded clearing. Mrs. Markham is still knocked out when Dean arrives, and Sam places her in the back with you. She has bruises and cuts on her face, and you wish more than anything that you can heal her of that.

"The door was open when I got to the house. By the time I searched through it, they'd already beaten her unconscious," Sam says.

"Maybe she knew something about what happened to her husband."

"You're saying they tried to take her out while the deputy went back to the scene?"

"Yeah, he went to fix it up and found Y/N and I."

Castiel calls Dean back and he places him on speakerphone.

"Hey, Cas, tell me you got something that doesn't involve chicks in prison."

"It's a Nachzehrer. A ghoul and a vampire-like creature."

"A ghoul-pyre! Right?" Dean grins.

When Sam doesn't react, he rolls his eyes and focuses on the road.

"Some breeds feed on the flesh of the dead. Others feed on the blood and hearts of the living. They run in small packs but they usually keep an extremely low profile."

"How do we kill them?"

"They're already dead. In a manner of speaking, they just need to be reminded that they're dead. You need a Charon's obol."

"Of course." Sam nods. "In ancient Greece, when a person died, some people believed you had to put an obol or a coin in their mouth so they could use it as currency to be taken across the river to the underworld."

"Right. Place a coin in a Nachzehrer's mouth then sever their head, and that will kill them. According to the lore, if you kill the pack's alpha, everyone they've turned will revert back to human form."

"Awesome. Where do we find an obol?"

"According to the Men of Letters' records, you're gonna need a copper coin. They used to use pennies, so you'll need one of those."

"Yeah, but one minted pre-1982. Before 1982, pennies were ninety-five percent copper. Since then, they're only copper-plated zinc," Sam explains.

"Wow. Your nerdiness knows no bounds."

"You're welcome," Sam says.

"Thanks, Cas. Way to come off the bench."

"What bench?"

"Just get back to getting better, okay?" Dean hangs up and Sam reaches into his pocket to see if he has any change, and if there are the pennies he needs if he does. "I got nothing."

"There's a shocker. Who carries pennies these days anyway?"

"Get gas. I can get change there."

Dean pulls up to a gas station and thankfully, the pump hides most of the blood from the public. There's not a lot of people around here anyway but you don't want to stick around when someone calls the police because a car is covered in blood. Sam heads inside the gas station while Dean gets out of the car to put gas in the car. Mrs. Markham gasps awake and looks around until her eyes land on you.

"Where am I?"

"My name is Y/N and he's my husband, Dean. His brother, Sam is inside the--"

"What happened? Where am I?"

"You were attacked by the same people that killed your husband."

"My husband..."

"Do you know something about what happened to him? Maybe that's why these people attacked you?" She doesn't say anything. "Okay. Well, we're gonna take you someplace safe, and then we're gonna kill these sons of bitches."

She looks to the right and sees the container with the head. She gets curious and opens it, only to scream when she sees the Deputy's head. You slam the container shut and chuckle nervously.

"I can explain that. It's a," you can't believe you're saying this, "ghoul-pyre. The point is, it can't hurt you anymore. At least I don't think it... You know what? Let's just get rid of it. Dean!" He opens the back door. "Put this in the trunk, okay?"

"Yeah," he nods, having heard her scream.

"Your family. You do anything for them, don't you?" she asks after a pause.

"Absolutely. No questions asked."

"Yes, you do everything for them. Everything else is meaningless. I did it wrong. Now I've ruined everything."

"This isn't your fault."

"I put my family at risk. They were right to attack me, but I know how to make it right."

Suddenly, Mrs. Markham leaps at you and wraps both hands around your throat. She starts squeezing tightly and you full-blown panic. You slap her hands as you try to fight her off but she won't budge. No matter how hard you try, you can't tap into your magic to fight her. You know if you could, you'd be able to overtake her easily. You reach up and scratch her face, anything to get her to loosen her grip. You dig your thumb into her eye and she screams just as she loosens enough for you to suck in a breath.

"DEAN!"

The back door is yanked open and Dean grabs the collar of the woman. He yanks her out of the car, and you cough violently as the pain spreads from your neck down to the rest of your body. Mrs. Markham punches Dean twice and slams him into the side of the car, and she reaches into his jacket when she sees his gun. She slams the butt of the gun into the side of his head and shoves him into the back seat with you. You gather enough strength to fight back but she points the gun at you and shoots.

Time slows down to a stop and for a moment, you're not sure what was shot if who. Pain explodes from your side and you look down to see blood pouring out from your body. You've been shot. She shot you. Sam hears the shot and looks out the window to see Mrs. Markham behind the wheel. She peels out of the gas station just as Sam runs out of the station with his gun in hand. He shoots the back window which shatters the glass but she is too fast for him

"Where is it?! What did you do with the maker's body?! You're gonna tell me or I will end you!" she screams and points the gun at you.

You look down to see Dean passed out from the blow to his head, and you lean your head back on the seat.

"Forrest where your husband was found," you cry in pain.

x

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[martianbugsbunny]

ngl I think Sam should've been more involved in Civil War

abject utter rambling under the cut, this is not one of my clean posts this is brain spaghetti on the wall

mostly because it's hard for me to separate Steve and Bucky from Sam, they're hopelessly tangled up in each other thank you very much and I needed more of that from canon

I mean yes I think the final fight between Steve, Bucky, and Tony is beyond my skill to rewrite with Sam in it bc there's something powerful about Steve choosing Bucky over Tony as completely and irrevocably as he did, but on the other hand while it used to be Steve and Bucky against the world now it's Steve, Bucky, and Sam against the world, Sam literally shows up for Steve days after meeting him for the first time, lets him in his house when he's being chased by the government and does some illegal stuff to help him on his mission, but then he also dedicates himself to finding Bucky (assuming I'm remembering that right ??? I hope I am and that's not just fandom brain lmao)

and as moving as it is to see again that Steve still trusts Bucky with himself, I could've done with more of Sam learning to trust Bucky, more of a journey from he's not the kind you save, he's the kind you stop to really understanding what Bucky's been through, how it messes with his mind when the code words are used on him, and maybe Sam doesn't rest at quite the level of trust Steve does but this is the guy that pulled Steve out of a river, this is a guy whose autonomy is fragile, who's trying to rebuild some kind of life for himself, and they keep bickering but we get to see a deeper emotional bond forming between them

maybe Sam wonders where his place is with them, they've known each other longer than most people have been alive and literally nothing can come between them, but he's not between them he's with them, maybe Bucky shields him from an attack with his metal arm, puts his body between Sam and danger like he would with Steve, and Sam starts to realize that he's not a third wheel at all, he already knows Steve trusts and respects him and will turn to him for help before anyone else but he also catches a glimpse of Bucky's feelings for him, what are those feelings? even Bucky's not sure, is it just wanting to protect this person because Steve cares about him, is it just gratitude for being a facilitator in him and Steve starting to knit back together, is it abject wonder at the knowledge that this man has put himself on the line for Bucky (is that just wanting to protect this person because Steve cares about him? is it just repaying the favor from when Bucky pulled Steve out of the river when Sam couldn't get to him?) because nobody but Steve has ever really risked themself for him

just imagine how much sicker the shot would be of them sharing the shield if it was the three of them

imagine instead of Bucky trying to parkour his way out of the facility, Sam tried to fly him out, holding his hands or clutching his waist and maybe griping about how heavy he is a little bit a la Michiru and Haruka but trying so hard to get him out of there before he's killed, and it's not just the roof Tony breaks it's also Sam's wings, he and Bucky spiral back to the ground and Bucky twists them in the air to take the brunt of the landing because he knows he's better able to handle that kind of an impact

when they walk away, they're supporting Bucky between them, Steve has chosen him over the rest of his life except Sam and Sam has fully decided that wherever it goes, he's cashing his chips in with the two of them, he's choosing to stand by Steve in his love of Bucky and he's choosing to stand by Bucky for his own sake

because this movie was never just about the Avengers tearing themselves apart, it was always about Steve and Bucky coming back together, trying to find a way their lives still fit, choosing each other over pain and self-doubt and the government and the Avengers, and it could be about Steve and Bucky and Sam figuring out their places in each other's lives, where do I belong when they've been together since childhood, where do I belong when he's made a new connection without me, where do I belong except with the love I've had all my life and the love I've found lately, where does any one of them belong if not with the other two

it's Steve's undying love for Bucky and his wonder if Bucky still loves him, he knows Bucky remembers him but does he still feel anything? balanced with his new relationship with Sam, a little less hard-won but strong and so precious to him, he trusts this man with his life and the life of the other person he loves most

it's Sam's wholehearted love for Steve and his gradual understanding that loving Bucky has made Steve who he is, that Bucky and Steve are too entwined to separate them into different boxes, it's his realization that you can't love one and not the other, not these two, because they're already holding parts of each other inside of them, and his willingness to defend Bucky because there's a bit of Steve in him that leads to the genesis of loving Bucky for his own merits

it's Bucky's journey back to himself, anchored by the one person he loved when he was himself last, dragged and helped by the person Steve loves now, not knowing if he still belongs but wanting so badly to try, ready to put his life on the line for either of them because they've done the same for him when he doesn't feel he deserves it and yet desperate to live because he has them to do it with

that's the Civil War I've got in my brain, idk

[thedarlingdearestdead]

Locked up with Anakin:

Summary: Enemies to lovers (almost). You're locked up with Anakin Skywalker and ~tension~ happens.

Warnings: None just fluff and banter.

Word count: 1,330

"It's no use." He says uninterestedly, watching you pull at the door. "I already tried that."

You bristled at his unhelpfulness. Anakin Skywalker was seated in the far corner of the dark cell, under the light of the only small window, a tiny rectangle high up on the wall. The light outside was dying, the suns setting, illuminating the cell only slightly in an orange glow.

"How long have we been in here?" You asked, having only awoken moments ago. Cold, tired, and terribly confused. 

"I don't know for sure. I only gained consciousness a couple of hours ago. Hopefully this is the first sunset and we were only out for a few hours but there's no way to know for sure."

You groaned and wiped your face with your hands. A four day offensive on Ryloff, you just arrive back into orbit before your ship was pulled in via a tractor beam. Some kind of gas must have knocked the two of you out because now you were most certainly on a planet somewhere. 

"I sent out a distress signal before we were cut off. I'm sure they've already sent someone to come get us." He says lazily, arms crossed on his chest as he watched you try to think. 

You roll your eyes and take stock of what you had on you. No saber, obviously, no... anything. Frustration bubbled up inside of you, finding outlet in Anakin's bored features. 

Here you were, stuck in a cell with no way out, and he was acting like it was no big deal. You took a deep breath to calm yourself before turning to him.

"Can't you at least try and help me think of a way out?" you asked, trying to keep the anger out of your voice.

Anakin shrugged. "I've been trying, but it's not like I have my lightsaber or any of my other tools."

You knew he had a point, but you couldn't just sit there and wait for rescue. You looked around the cell, taking note of the stone walls and the metal door. There was a small vent near the ceiling, but it was too small for either of you to fit through.

You paced back and forth in the cramped space, "Ok fine. forget escaping - for now. Do you have any idea where we are? Who took us?" 

Anakin let out a sigh, his face twisted in a scowl. "I have no idea. This place is unfamiliar to me, and whoever took us must have jammed our senses somehow. I can't even use the Force to sense anything outside of this cell."

You nodded, glad he had some understanding the gravity of your situation. "So, what now?"

Anakin's eyes flickered to the metal door, his mind working. "We wait for our captors to show themselves. When they do, we take them by surprise and make our escape."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "And how do you propose we do that?"

Anakin smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I have my ways."

"Force, I hate you." You sit down in the opposite corner of his room and he looks at you with complete amusement. 

"What have I done?"

"Nothing. That's the problem." You say to his increasing agitation. “I’m sure you used to this by now but I don’t want to be locked up here!”

"Hey - what’s that supposed to mean?! Look, I can't magic us out of here! And I don't see you being very productive either!”

“Oh come on, this is not your first time locked up like this! You must be able to do something!” You say exasperated. 

He was getting wound up now. “I got nothing! I’m stuck here, same as you. We just have to sit here and wait.”

You huff, annoyed. 

Silence falls between you as you both settle in for the long wait ahead. The orange glow of the suns outside fades to darkness, leaving the cell in complete blackness. You're left to your thoughts and fears, wondering what fate awaits you at the hands of your captors. Wondering if Anakins eyes will ever leave your face. He has been staring at you for what feels like hours. Glaring, or gloating, something horrible. He always drove you crazy, it was supposed to be the quickest of missions otherwise you were sure to have put up more of a fight when the council paired you two up for it. 

So you sat here, frozen, feeling helpless as he stared, waiting for him to look away so he could think of some way to free you from your predicament. You didn't want his attention. So you simply sat quietly, trying to ignore him as best you could. 

 If Anakin kept looking at you like that, you might end up killing him, or worse, you might just go crazy under his gaze, lose your nerve and start kissing him.

No. Stop thinking about that. Just focus on the mission. You let your head lean back against the wall and let out a weary sigh, shivering slightly in the cold. 

As the moments dragged on in the dark cell, the tension between you and Anakin only seemed to grow. His intense gaze remained fixed on you, and you could practically feel the waves of irritation radiating from him. It was infuriating how he managed to push your buttons even in the direst of situations.

"Listen, I know we don't always see eye to eye, but if we're going to get out of here, we need to work together. Can you promise me that we'll put our differences aside for now? We need to be ready to face whoever has us, and I don’t want you using me as a human shield if it comes to it.”

You look up from your brooding and softened slightly, noticing for the first time some signs of agitation and fidgeting from you cell-mate, you nodded. “Fine. I'll do what it takes to get out of here safely. We can argue later."

He grins at that, posture relaxing slightly. “Ok then.” 

The two of you sat in silence once again, but this time it was a more peaceful one. You could hear each other's breathing, the rustling of clothes as you shifted your weight, and the occasional creaking of the cell door. It was in this stillness that Anakin spoke up once more.

"You know, I've been thinking," he began.

"Dangerous." You quip, and he rolls his eyes. 

"Fine, don't worry about it."

"No- No, come on please. I'm sorry!" You laugh at him a bit to ease the tension in the room.

"It's just- It's pretty cold in here."

"Yes"

"And it's going to get worse."

Oh. "Oh. Right well... You're right." Before you could think too much of it you stand up and go to sit beside him. Still leaving about a foot of space between you, much to his amusement. 

"I don't bite. Well... I won't" He seems to find this all too funny, patting the space right next to himself rather condescendingly. You had half a mind to go back to where you were before but you shuffle over, huffing again, choosing practicality instead of pettiness. At least you could be the bigger person.

Your shoulders were touching now and as the sky grew ever darker you legs found their way to each other as well. It was unconsciously done, minuscule movements over the hours drawing you together. 

You couldn't help but notice the way Anakin's body seemed to fit so perfectly against yours, as if it was meant to be there.

You could feel the heat emanating from Anakin's body, and it was a welcome relief from the cold stone walls. As fatigue won you over your head sunk with heaviness, ever closer to his shoulder. Until eventually the two of you were asleep, tangled together in the corner of the cell. 

And that's exactly how Obi Wan found you in the small hours of the morning…

[natti-ice]

Would You Have Me?- Sirius Black.

Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N is the only person in Sirius’ life he truly cares about, he wouldn’t mind if it was only them

Warnings: modern high school au!, written in third person (she/her pronouns) (1.6k words)

Author's note: this is a reupload, I wrote this a while ago!

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

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The final bell rang, it was Friday hundreds of students poured out of the school doors ready for the weekend. Y/N was among the swarm of kids, headed toward her bus. Thankful it was the weekend, this week had been a lot on her. Off in the distance, she could hear her name over the loud voices. Looking around shielding her eyes from the sun, she could see a tall boy headed her way. 

It was Sirius

"There you are," he said when he reached her, throwing his arm around her shoulder "Where are you off to?" he asked

"My bus" she pointed to the big yellow vehicle

"C'mon, I'll take you home" he offered

"Really?" she asked

"Yeah, you can tell me all about your day"

They walked to the student parking lot, Sirius drove a black '89 Dodge charger. It was a little squeaky, but he loves that car. 

He opens the passenger door for Y/N, closing it once she was in. Sirius Drove the long way to her house so they could talk longer.

"How was your day, dear?" he asks pulling out of the campus

"It was fine, I'm glad the week is over. Everything has been a lot lately" 

It was their junior year, everyone is starting to worry about their futures. Their career, college, exams, everything stressful. 

"I know what you mean, it feels like we have to know everything about the future before it happens" he replies

They continue their conversation all the way to Y/N's house. They've always been able to tell each other everything without feeling judged. Nowadays, it feels like you have to make sure everything is perfect because the whole world is watching, waiting for you to fall.

He was her safe place, and she was his. 

Sirius pulls up in front of her house, parking the car.

"Thanks for the ride, Sirius" she says opening the car door

"Of course, love. Hey, do you wanna hang out tomorrow?" he asks

"Yeah, sure I'll ask my parents. I'll text you" she answers

"Great, I'll see you soon then" He smiles

"Bye" she says closing the door.

He waits for her to go inside before driving off like he does every time. He sees her almost every day, but he still gets excited when they hang out. It's like a new experience every time, even when they've done it one hundred times before.

-

When he got home, he waited anxiously for her text. Her parents have never said no before, but it still made him a little nervous. He's made sure over the years that her parents liked him, he didn't want them to think he was just some guy who was only hanging out with their daughter to get in her pants.

He started his homework that probably won't get finished till Monday morning, checking his phone every few minutes.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, she texted him

parents said it's cool What did you have in mind?

 Movie? Wonka is still showing. Stay at my place after?

Timothee Chalamet? HELL YEAH! Definitely down for a sleepover

 Great! I'll pick u up at 4

See you then! <3

He was happy that she could come, he liked being able to get out of the house and escape with her. Everyone has family issues, his family was distant from each other. It was almost like they were roommates, not a family. His parents didn't care if he was gone or if he had someone over.

His brother stayed in his room most of the day when he got home from school. Their bond was limited to short interactions in the dining room on special occasions.

Y/N was his real family, she was always there for him whenever he needed her. At school, many people claimed to be his friend, they'd say hey in the hallway or talk about some game that happened the night before. None of them would actually have a real meaningful conversation with him.

He didn't get why he was so popular, he was sociable and easy on the eyes sure, but nobody knew the real him. It seemed like they had all made a false version of him in their heads. A mysterious ladies' man who could have anyone he wanted.

That wasn't true at all, he wasn't a mystery at all. He was very open once you got to know him, only Y/N had ever made the effort to do so. The whole 'ladies' man' thing was really funny to him. He'd never had a serious girlfriend, a few dates here and there but nothing real.

Many of those girls thought that him and Y/N had a thing going on so they would stop talking to him completely. At first he didn't know why they would think that, he thought their friendship seemed very platonic. Then he realized some of the things they would do seemed a little too friendly.

That didn't stop him. If he was honest, he didn't care about those girls at school. If there was only one girl in the world and he had to pick her. It would be Y/N. Always Y/N.

-

Saturday came around, Sirius waited all day for 4 o'clock. He didn't like to be late, he pulled up in front of her house a few minutes early so he could greet her parents.

Turning off his car, walking up to the front door. He rings the doorbell that has a little camera on it. A few seconds later, her mother opens the door

"Sirius, how are you, dear?" she asks bringing him in for a hug

'I'm great, Mrs. L/N. How's everything?"

"Everything's fine, Y/N should be ready by now." she told the boy "Y/N, Sirius is here!" she yelled up the stairs

She came down the stairs, a small bag in her hand. 

"Sorry, had to make sure I had everything, are you ready?" she asks Sirius

"Yeah, I'll see you later, Mrs. L/N" 

He and Y/N get in his car, driving to the local movie theater. 

That movie was almost 3 hours long, but that's okay. They didn't mind sitting in a dark room together in silence. It was much later, the sun was starting to set when they headed towards Sirius' house.

His parent's car wasn't in the driveway thankfully, awkward hellos are never fun. They realize they're starving and order take out.

Once it finally arrives, he takes her up to his room. Passing by Regulus' room, she could hear gunfire from some video game.

"Don't mind him, it's like he's married to the game. Hardly comes out the room" Sirius explains opening his bedroom door.

It was relatively clean, only because he knew she was coming over. His walls were lined with movie posters from the 80s and now, some of his favorite vinyls, and photo booth pictures of him and Y/N from various locations.

He made sure his space represented him. The real him. 

They spend the next couple of hours eating and watching random videos on youtube until they got bored of it. Putting on Evermore on as background music as they talked.

Both of them are sitting on the floor, Sirius leaning against the wall, Y/N against his bed

They jumped from topic to topic as the night progressed, getting into the more personal topics. A few weeks ago, Y/N started talking to a boy named Kevin. She seemed to have liked him until she stopped talking about him.

Sirius had been curious about that for a while, he thought it was a good time to ask

"Whatever happened to that Kevin guy? I thought you two were getting serious" he asks

"Oh him? That's long gone" she shrugged, "He said he just didn't feel anything for me" she explained, she didn't show it but she was a little hurt by the boy's words.

"Oh my god, he sucks. Anyone would be more than lucky to have you" He was mad that anyone would treat her like this. "Fuck that guy"

"It's alright, I didn't need him in my life" she wanted to get the topic off her "What about you? Anyone new in your life?"

"Nah" he smiles "I don't want anyone new, honestly"

"What do you mean?" she asks

"I'm happy just having you in my life, sometimes I wish it could always just be you and me" he says in a low voice

"That would be great, honestly. Just us against the world" she agrees

"Y/N?" his voice barely above a whisper, fidgeting with a ring on his hand

"Yeah?" 

He swallowed before replying, "I think I'm in love with you"

"What?" she laughed nervously, he got up and sat next to her

"When I think of my future, having a family and owning a house, you're there right next to me. I've tried to convince myself that it's only because there isn't anyone else in my life" He pauses searching her face for any sort of bad emotion "I know now, it's because I don't want anyone else in my life but you"

Y/N's brain was all over the place, trying to figure out what to say. Sirius has been her rock for so long, she had a small crush on him. She didn't think he would ever reciprocate it

"I don't know what to say" she admits

"That's alright, you don't have to say anything. If you're willing, maybe we could see if this goes anywhere?" 

She reaches down grabbing his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "I think we can make it work" she smiles "After all, we're still getting married at 30 right?" she laughed

"Right Right. A pact is a pact, dear" he smiles

She gives him a small kiss on the cheek, slowly pulling away. Their faces were dangerously close together, warm breath fanning against their skin. Y/N closes the distance. Their lips perfectly fitting each other, just like they were made for each other.

Sirius pulled away, not wanting things to get carried away. Y/N rest her head on his shoulder

"So, what color should our invitations be?"

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@thebiggestnaturaldisaster @madwcman @de-duchess @timbradfordisbae @mommymilkerfanclub @oatmilkriver @hisparentsgallerryy

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[teh-nos]

My Next Attempt At Long Fic (by which I mean more than 10000 words and it has chapters) Should Be...

Poll and the (actually quite long) gist of each option below le cut:

The Sylki Con Artists AU

This one I have a wee bit written of already but I go back and forth on this one because it's Alternative Universe - Modern Setting and I feel like there's already a lot of those (which I also complain about a lot), and I have to justify it to myself as an experiment in whether I can do a Sylki Modern AU that doesn't just end up as "two people called Loki and Sylvie do normal stuff together". That's why they are con artists in this! Because 1) MISCHIEF (or crime, or whatever) and 2) if they have the same 'job' for similar reasons and I go on about them being similar a lot then that's maybe as close as reality can get to selfcest. (The selfcest is not just a feature of sylki, I feel it is THE feature and to admit to being Bad At Shipping (again) I'm just not that interested in it if they're different people who aren't even aliens. The same alien.) (You can tell me they are gods all you want but I've seen enough Doctor Who to know that must be A LIE so I reject it as such.)

The plot is that they meet in a bar one night and shag (obviously!) and then the reader discovers that Loki is trying to buy a painting from an old woman (planning on ripping off both her and his own buyer) and Sylvie is an artist who is selling a forged painting to some posh twat on the internet who she knows is trying to rip off her fake old lady persona on the deal but she's selling him a fake painting anyway so at least he deserves to be conned. They meet up a few times before finally realising that they are in fact conning each other under fake names on the internet, and then I have to try and fix it when they inevitably get mad at each other because of it. Also, Thor works in a shop because the brodinsons are Downwardly Mobile (dad spent all their inheritance, oh no!) Plotwise Loki is going to actually need Sylvie's painting for reasons I have not yet entirely worked out so one way or another they will have to eventually forgive each other for being con artists as they themselves are and for having attempted to con each other.

Ideally I will be able to make this one funny in some way, as I think the concept can get absurd enough to make a rom-com out of it.

2. The Jotun Heat Fic (also sylki)

I was into this one for about a day and now I have second thoughts because I am not sure I care enough about Frost Giant Biology to have to write an entire fic about it. It would continue my tradition (I did it once, that's enough for it to be a tradition) of turning a tiny ficlet into a much longer thing. This one: The Opposite of Heat, in which Loki and Sylvie go into whatever the Jotun equivalent of the fandom fave 'mating cycles/in heat' trope is, having never done so before because (see if you can guess...) they've never previously spent enough time around another Jotun for the hormones to kick in properly. They have no idea this can happen, and what starts out as Fun Porno-Fic Times soon gets a bit worrying and then I suppose they have to Investigate and that's the bit I fear might end up boring me.

This is set in an AU where S2!Loki did not instantly demand that Sylvie help him with his cop friends' problems and instead just went to live in Oklahoma with her, so the other/'real' plot is them getting used to living together and the weird-but-sexy medical issue bringing them into conflict because of course the first place Loki wants to go for help is the TVA (this not unreasonable of him, as they have a lot of info in their archives and he has no other friends anyway), which Sylvie is not keen on as she would rather just avoid them for the rest of forever. Gosh, I hope nobody goes to the TVA for help behind anyone else's back!

I need a way to make this one stay interesting once it gets to the Find Out What Is Happening part and also it needs to not just immediately end with a sensible solution like just going to Jotunheim and asking someone there for a talk about the frost-birds and the frost-bees.

Also I think they should fuck in that McDonalds. Just because.

3. Jotunheim Rejects The Guy Who Cannot Possibly Be Its Rightful King, Because I'm Annoying Like That AU (not thorki)

Speaking of going to Jotunheim, you know all those fics where Loki goes to be the Rightful King Of Frostland, as Odin apparently planned all along? That but it doesn't work, because I am not at all convinced he can have been Laufey's heir (who the fuck infanticides their only male heir?!) and even if he was well it'd just look awful, wouldn't it? Crusty Old Odin, worst friend to Jotunheim for several years running, sends back your kingdom's heir having raised him as one of his own family. (I hope at least one of you is thinking "US-Backed Puppet Ruler Who Will Do Whatever The CIA Tells Them To" because I did too! Ooh, geopolitical barely-subtext!)

The problem with this one for me is it requires a fairly large cast of Original Jotun Characters, and I still fear writing OCs because of the constant 'Mary-Sue' complaints in my fannish youth. Also I would Controversially (LOL not really) make some of them women, including Angrboda the ambitious would-be consort and Laufey's tragically spurned lover who on finding out that her long-dead son is not dead makes the most of it by insisting everyone call her 'My Lady, the King's Mother' (yes, I stole that from History but I do that sort of thing now, for the LOLs). So I have a bit of an idea what happens in this one, though I'd need to think of more political type plot stuff and also I just finished writing a multichapter fic that involved the Jotun succession so maybe I'd be overdoing it if I did this one now as well.

The other problem is Jotuns are too fucking tall. I mean really. This doesn't seem to bother anyone else but they are Too Fucking Tall to interact with the shorter characters, to the point that it just seems accidentally comedic to me. Just imagine the totally-not-a-puppet king of Jotunheim sitting on a massive throne, swinging his wee legs in the air. And I don't know how to work around that other than just saying "they are Less Fucking Tall in this fic" and I don't know if that would just annoy people. Also it does feel a bit incendiary to go against the general fandom insistence that Loki Is Totally The Rightful King Of Jotunheim. Though I suppose in this he is, it's just that he attempts to become so in the sort of circumstances that make everyone start saying things like "are we really that keen on our monarchy?" or at least "surely there's a cousin or an uncle we could give the crown to instead? yeah, even a woman would do. no, she doesn't have to be alive if there are only dead ones available."

(It was a mistake to let me read books about the Wars of the Roses, wasn't it?)

Oh and this isn't a thorki fic, but Thor is going to go to Jotunheim with his bro to help him settle in and also he will be going back to rescue him from it at the end. Bros before snows!!!!

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

One Little Mistake

Week #10 Prompt: "I'm a great driver!" | Word Count: 791 | Rating: T | POV: Dustin | Characters: Dustin, Steve, Mike, Lucas | CW: Language | Tags: Steve & Dustin, Steve Teaches Dustin To Drive, And Mike, And Lucas, God Help Him

"No, no, no, stop, stop, stop!" Steve screams from the passenger seat, and Dustin slams on the brakes, sure he's about to run over a litter of puppies or plow into a field trip from the local preschool or old folks' home.

"What? Where?" Dustin asks, looking all around, as Steve clings to the dashboard of his BMW.

"A stop sign, right there!" he points, and well, Dustin for sure didn't see that. There was a bush in the way. Well, a bush near it. Behind it. 

Semantics.

It doesn't matter. There was nobody coming, so it's not like they were gonna die. They've been in way worse situations than this together. Steve's just being a little overdramatic. 

"Well, shit," Dustin says, "that'd cost me points if this was my actual test."

"It'll cost your life if you crash my car, Henderson, pay attention!" Steve scolds, and it just rolls right off Dustin's back. Nothing Steve says sticks very long. In one ear, and out the other.

"You're never gonna pass driver's ed, we may as well just get your bike serviced and call it a day," Mike says from the back, and Dustin whips around in his seat. 

Steve can pick on him. Mike can't.

"Shut up! You didn't do any better!"

"He did a little better," Lucas mumbles, and Dustin sees Steve smile out of the corner of his eyes.

"Steve! You're my friend. You're gonna take their side? I'm a great driver!"

"You are not a great driver. Only Max is worse," Steve says. 

Dustin lets out an annoyed huff of breath. "For one, false. For two, Max wasn't even old enough to drive back then. She could barely even reach the pedals. So, that's decidedly unfair and unjust, dickhead."

Steve lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Just. Get out. Lesson over for today. I've met my threshold," Steve snaps, holding his hand over the top of his head, and then gets out of the car. 

Dustin could drive off, leaving him, but figures Steve will just be pissier than ever if he does. 

Dude can't take a joke anymore. They've had one apocalypse too many. 

"Ten more minutes!" Dustin wheedles. 

"No, no, no. No more. Not today," Steve says, holding open the driver's door, waiting for Dustin to get out. 

Only after Dustin's gotten out, does he realize that he didn't put it in park, only neutral, which means the car tries to roll away into the intersection, forcing Steve to hurry up and hop in, slamming on the brakes. Mike and Lucas both screaming in the backseat, like they haven't faced literal monsters.

Steve gives him a withering stare as Dustin slumps into the passenger's seat, ready and willing to pout. It was one little mistake.

Maybe two.

Ten, at most.

They drop off Lucas and Mike, which is at least convenient, since they live next door to one another. 

And then it's just him and Steve driving him home in silence, before parking in the driveway. 

"Hey," Steve says, looking over at him, "you can do this. You're just overthinking it."

Dustin knows that's probably true. 

"Can we try again? Just you and me?"

"Sure, man," Steve says, and gets out to trade places. Dustin hadn't actually meant right now, assuming Steve was seriously done for the day, but Steve starts his spiel all over again.

And Dustin listens. Goes through the motions, the checklist, and then they ease back out onto the street. Dustin wants to learn how to drive, he just thought it'd be easier than it is. He's smart. He should be able to do this, easy.

But it's not easy. And that really pisses him off.

Steve is calmer this time around, just being the two of them is helpful for that, at least. Dustin knows Mike pushes Steve's buttons, even on the best of days. 

And today was not the best of days. 

But he eases up to the stop sign, rolling to a smooth stop this time. He doesn't mash the brakes, and they don't jerk in their seats. It's an improvement.

"That's it!" Steve says, reaching over to give him a high five. Then immediately shouts, "Both hands on the wheel!"

It makes them both laugh, erasing the tension from earlier.

Sure, he still makes mistakes, but they aren't as severe, or as stressful, one-on-one. 

This is how they should have done it from the start. Just them.

When they get back to the house, Steve adamant that he wasn't ready for after dark lessons, Dustin gets out and meets Steve around the front of the car.

He's getting older, maybe too old for this, but he quickly reaches up on his toes, hugging Steve tight, whispering, "Thanks, Steve."

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[auncyen]

me getting some work done for au act 5 (I WANNA CONTINUE IIIIIT it's just. ...I really need to decide what I'm doing with the House for act 5 is the real issue lol) I've talked about the group belatedly realizing Siffrin was throwing red flags during their journey recently mostly because THIS exchange was on my brain. now it is in text. hopefully it will survive to the fic.

-

Isabeau lifts his chin, glancing first at the door to the bedroom before looking at Madame Odile and you. "…Has Siffrin said anything about where they're from? To either of you? They were talking about all of us splitting up after we defeat the King, and sure, we were planning to, but…he's not doing well. I'm sure it'd help if we figure out how to stop this whole 'looping' business, but even then, I don't know if he'd be safe on his own, or able to deal with other people. I just…I'd like to help him get back home, somewhere he'd feel safe. If he'd let me."

Odile shakes her head. "I'd given up on trying to get anything out of them months ago."

Thinking back on the last few months of the journey, a terrible realization curdles in your gut.

"I…I don't think they have a home, actually, not one they'd go back to," you say. Both Isabeau and Odile look at you with alarm, and you stammer. Maybe you're wrong! You want to be wrong. But you need to say it, just in case. "I--they didn't say they didn't, but, uhm, once I asked them if they were really okay continuing on our journey, and he said it was more than okay. That he was the happiest he'd ever been."

"Oh," Madame Odile says, frowning for a moment before she holds up a hand. "Well--I understand why you'd be concerned, Mirabelle, but that may not have meant anything particularly. Siffrin did have a habit of not taking things seriously, especially before the incident--"

"No, Madame, you don't understand!" you object, though when you hear your own voice rising you try to rein it back in. You can't wake Bonnie and worry them more. "I asked him that--I think it was three weeks after they'd lost their eye." Siffrin had still been struggling with the loss of vision back then--even now they still bumped into things occasionally, but they've doing much better than when they'd regularly bump into things or trip themself up. "Because I thought, surely, after that, he'd want to go home, right? I wanted him to know I wouldn't blame him in the least. But he--they didn't even think about how to answer, just smiled and said they were the happiest they'd been, when they'd just lost an eye, when they could have died--and I don't. I don't think he was joking at all, or being insincere." He'd seemed so earnest, it had completely disarmed you. You'd thought so hard about how to approach the topic so that he wouldn't think you thought he was being troublesome, just that you wanted the best for them. But they'd claimed they liked being on your quest best and dried up all the words still lodged in your throat. "But if he was being honest, then…"

"…Then what was their life before, that that was the happiest?" Odile concludes, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looks tired, her expression sagging. "Gems alive, that one. I…I did wonder sometimes, how cavalier he was when he accidentally set off traps and nearly got himself…"

Isabeau's arms are still folded, one hand gripping the other arm's sleeve and bunching it up. "That can't be right. He's got to have somewhere he can go back to. Someone who can…"

Help him. After what he'd said in the afternoon, you're not sure you can be that help, or that he'd want your help even if you offered. But the thought of them being alone when they'd been happiest with others around, with that ugly anger brewing inside him, doesn't sit right either.

[asha-mage]

WoT Musing: Bits and Bobs from a book nerd

A few unsorted/random thoughts from a book mega nerd about various things in the show-

It's interesting to me that they changed Logain's innate talent from being able to see ta'veren to being able to see when a man can channel or not. This is practically probably because Mat was also in that scene, but I've also noticed that they've dialed back on the use of the term 'ta'veren' as a whole this season. Probably to avoid over cluttering all the concepts their having to introduce.

Elayne's desire to work with her hands/fascination with craftsmanship showing itself in her 'sparker trick' being a weave to make alcohol is very funny and on brand.

The show is continuing to walk out the small shifts in it's dynamics born of re-ordering things in a smart way. Everyone being slightly older was felt sharply in season 1: Mat's mischief and gambling is a whole lot less cute and a whole lot more worrying since he's no longer a teen, Perrin is married (like always intended to be) and settled as the most 'responsible' of the boys, etc. In season 2 Egwene arrived first instead of Elayne, and is the more experienced/knowing Novice, to Elayne's naive newcomer. As a result we get to see the slightly spoiled sweet girl she was before the Tower started to bust down her pride and teach her more about the world. She's a little more unsure, and a little more eager to make friends- both of which work in favor of showing off her strengths as a character, endearing her to both Egwene and the audience.

The choice to give Perrin the ability to see visions of the past with his wolf brother powers is interesting. I get that they need a visual way to express Perrin's wolf senses, and this is probably the most direct, since their's not a non-weird way to visually depict smell, but I hope we at least get a TAR related explanation from Elyas.

I find the use of the Crimson Thorn as a symbol of the Red Ajah and the cruel mercy that they grant to be fascinating. More over, I find Nynaeve's being pulled between the Red and Yellow Ajahs (something I suspect we are going to get more of) to be smartly done: Nynaeve has never been afraid of doing what needs to be done, but that doesn't make it easy, and Liandrin is right: to an extent that their always been a little bit of Red in her, a belief that the world would be better if everyone just followed her rules. And yet it is her compassion that defines her, that fuels her rage most of the time. Compassion for those hurt and sick and dying turns to rage against what caused it: a cruel world or a war or a sickness. Compassion for those she cares most for fuels her rage at those that would threaten, hurt, or control them. She left the Two Rivers to protect the EF5 and that remains her goal all the way to the series's end, her character arc is largely about accepting what that will mean, and learning not to be afraid to claim the power to do that.

I've said this in various other forms but it bares repeating: Lanfear really is winning right out the gate. She's got the hot new hardware LTT as her naive sugar baby, their is no one in sight to threaten her control over him with things like 'morals' and 'duty', and he's slowly succumbing to her influence. More then worth the price of having to run a small business in a slum I'm sure.

That said I want a 50k word fic that is just Lanfear's Adventures in Small Business Ownership. We know those drinks where over priced, but where they watered down? Did she have to pay a mortgage? Deal with uppity suppliers? Was their a Darkfriend Company Discount as Selene's Totally Normal And Not At All Evil Bed and Breakfast?

I have two nitpicks that are so minor they barely warrant discussion, and one is not even the show's fault. The first is that everyone keeps saying things like 'your powers' rather then 'strength in the power'. Jordan goes to so much trouble to make the point that people and objects don't have the power, they use it and strong in the power, and then Sanderson changed it to 'my powers' and 'how powerful he is' and *gargles*. This is like the peaches all over again.

The second is that as much as they nail the arches scene/ceremony, I wish they had gone the final mile and said 'Be steadfast'. It wasn't necessary exactly, but it's exclusion made me whisper under my breath, like a rhyme I just HAD to finish.

(This is completely normal and sane person behavior, stop looking at me like that internet stranger).

I don't have to much to say about Mat's story line beyond being VERY interested in where they are going tying him and Min together. I still needs to get off the ground for me to have more Thoughts.

Adeleas being Cringefail re: Lan is so funny to me in ways I can't quite explain.

I reiterate the point that since Rand's can't be Warder trained, giving him an old veteran blade master who is suffering from PTSD/Dementia was a VERY smart move that fits the feel of the books.

RIP Joshua's soft boy curls. You where a casualty of this war.