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flourgirl · 4 years ago

Text

Sleepyhead

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter will try just about anything to help out the very pretty insomniac from his math class.

Work Count: 11.2k

Warnings: Just some sweet, pure fluff with a few curse words every now and then.

A/N: Either the tags aren’t working for me or you guys just didn’t like it, but the final part of “Even If It’s a Lie” has been out for a few days now if anyone’s interested in reading it 🥺 Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this super long piece I’ve been working on to help me get through finals <3

“Touch you softly I call you up late at night No doubt it isn't right But you could be my one and only” -Softly, Clairo

Peter had seen you around campus a few times, but it wasn’t until you started sitting two rows ahead of him in his linear algebra class that he really started to notice you.

He thought you were really pretty, and he liked how cozy you always looked in the puffy winter coat you kept on in the perpetually freezing lecture hall. You took a lot of notes, which told him that you cared about the class, and never showed up without a giant cup of iced coffee.

You’re being a creep, Peter told himself. He had thought about switching seats to somewhere in front of you, so he could actually listen to his professor discuss permutations instead of staring at how you chewed on the end of your pen when you were thinking.

It was even worse when you started sleeping in class, your soft hair falling around your shoulders as you leaned your head against your desk. It seemed like all the coffee in the world couldn’t keep you awake, and Peter wondered if he should ask if you wanted to borrow his notes or something. But that would mean him admitting to looking at you way more than he needed to, and that was weird, so he quickly dropped the idea.

Still, he was worried about you. So when he came back from patrol in the middle of the night and bumped into you outside of the dorm kitchen, he figured it would be the perfect opportunity to introduce himself and maybe even find out why you were so tired all the time.

The only problem was that he had accidentally knocked your pan of banana bread out of your hands, and you were currently staring at it laying on the floor with your sleepy eyes, not saying anything.

“Shit, uh, I’m so sorry,” he told you, crouching down to scoop up the remnants of your late-night snack into the pan. “Were you really up baking at 3 a.m?”

You blushed a little, starstruck that the cute guy from your math class was talking to you. “Um, yeah. I couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d come down to the kitchen while nobody else was here and make something. Baking always helps me calm down, and so here I am. And here we are. And there’s my bread, all covered in whatever kind of dust the custodians refuse to sweep down here.”

He offered a soft smile, and it made you feel better about the fact that you were rambling way more than you wanted to.

“I’m Y/N,” you continued, gently taking the pan from his hands. “You’re in linear algebra with Professor Meyers, right?”

“Yeah, you, um, you sit right in front of me. Well, not right in front of me. Two rows in front of me. Shit. I’m not creepy, I promise. It’s just… uh… My name is Peter and I’m going to stop talking now.”

That couldn’t have possibly gone any worse, he thought. You were probably thinking he was a serial killer or something.

“It’s okay. I know you sit behind me,” you reassured him. “You answer a lot of questions.” He was cute and smart, and you hoped he couldn’t notice how flustered you were to be this close to him.

“What are you doing up so late?” he asked, which made you laugh at how ironic his concerns were, considering he was also wandering around the dorm basement at this hour.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, sitting on one of the benches that jutted out of the walls of the corridor. “I mean, you’re here too. At least I was baking. What’s up with you?”

You had a point. “I had an emergency… with my internship. I work for Stark Industries, and Mr. Stark rang me in the middle of the night to come to the lab immediately for something, so, yeah. That’s why I’m awake right now.”

“Okay,” you said, not buying his story. “So that’s why you have a black eye and you’re lurking in the basement hallway? Did Tony Stark punch you?”

Fuck. Did he really have a black eye and not notice? He didn’t think that Doc Oc’s stupid mechanical arm had punched him that hard, but apparently, he was wrong. And now he had to come up with some reason as to where it came from, although he could already tell that you were about to call his bluff.

The only solution he could think of was to change the subject. “Why are you always asleep during class?” he blurted out, causing you to give him a funny look before frowning down at your slippers.

“Isn’t it obvious,” you yawned, stretching your arms out in front of you. “I’m an insomniac. It’s actually kind of funny. I never really had any problems with falling asleep until I moved here. Maybe it’s the cold weather or the constant pressure to get good grades, but I just can’t sleep anymore. It sucks.”

Normally, you’d never tell this much about yourself to somebody, let alone a complete stranger. But somehow, you felt really comfortable around Peter. There was just something about him that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Peter caught himself staring at you again, your baby pink pajamas a far departure from how put together your usual outfits were. Even without your makeup or hair done, you were still the prettiest girl he had ever seen. For some reason, even the dark circles under your eyes were really cute to him.

“You never answered my question,” you reminded him, hoping that he’d say something to fill the awkward silence. “What’s with the black eye and wandering around in the middle of the night? Are you some kind of superhero?”

“What? No! That’s crazy. Me, a superhero,” he laughed awkwardly, wondering if you had somehow figured out his secret identity. Had you spotted him that one time he made sure that you and your friends got home safely from a late-night study session? Even so, you totally couldn’t have known it was him, right?

“Relax, I’m just joking,” you giggled, thinking about how cute he looked when he was flustered. “Although my friend did tell me she thought she saw Spider-Man a few weeks ago on her way back from a party.”

“Haha, yeah,” he breathed out, a wave of relief washing over him. It was times like these that he really started to appreciate how well-hidden his muscles were underneath all of his oversized sweaters.

“Does that hurt?” you asked, bringing your hand up to lightly brush his lip, which was bleeding. He flinched instinctively before settling under your touch, your eyes focused on the small cut. “I have a first aid kit in my room if you want some help cleaning it up.”

“Oh, no, it’s cool. I wouldn’t want to bother your roommate,” Peter told you, scooting further away on the bench, nearly falling off the edge of it. Ned hated it when he stumbled in at some ungodly hour after patrol and woke him up.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, standing up and gesturing for him to follow you. “I have a single.”

Peter looked at you in awe. Freshmen never got rooms to themselves, and yet somehow you had one. “Okay, fine. But only because I’ve never actually seen a single in this building before.”

“That’s cool with me,” you smiled, reaching for his hand so he could keep up with your pace. He noticed that you were chewing some of the banana bread, which he really hoped was from the part that didn’t fall on the floor. To be fair though, it did smell really good.

Not only did you have a single, but you lived on the first floor. Peter couldn’t believe how lucky you were, considering the building that the two of you lived in didn’t have any elevators to traverse its seven floors.

He was even more shocked when you opened your door, revealing the coziest dorm room he had ever seen. How on earth did you transform the glorified prison cell into something that felt so... comforting? From the twinkling lights that were wrapped around everything and the soft rug under his feet, Peter found it really hard to believe that you had trouble sleeping here.

“Sorry, it’s a bit messy,” you apologized, piling your many throw pillows and blankets into a basket to clear up some space on your bed. “You can sit here.”

If this was messy, then Peter and Ned’s room needed some serious help. “No worries,” he said, watching as you rummaged around your drawers in search of your first aid kit.

Eventually, you found it hidden under a bunch of graph paper and colored pencils, untouched ever since your overprotective grandparents had helped you move in. “Here we go,” you mused, now looking inside it for alcohol wipes and band-aids.

He winced as you rubbed the little cloth against his lips, and you made sure to be more gentle as you cleaned up the other cuts on his face. Thankfully, nothing was bad enough to require stitches, something you were seriously under-qualified to do.

All Peter could focus on the entire time was how close you were and what it would be like to just kiss you right then and there, but he knew that was way too forward of him. Plus, he didn’t even know if you liked him like that. Surely you were just being nice.

Still, the way he caught you staring into his brown eyes after smoothing a band-aid on his forehead made him think otherwise.

“You’re going to have to tell me eventually who beat you up,” you sighed, gathering up wrappers to throw away and tucking the first aid kit back into its place in your drawers.

“It’s a long story,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your stare.

“I’ve got time,” you replied, climbing onto your lofted bed to sit next to him, innocently brushing your bare leg against his jeans, which made his breath hitch. “Tell me about it.”

“Uh, how about another time?” he stammered, hopping off the bed and running his hand through his hair. “After class tomorrow, or something. It’s getting pretty late. We should, um, go to sleep.”

“You can stay here if you want,” you offered, his eyes widening at your invitation. “On the bean bag, I mean. It’s actually really comfortable. You mentioned something about bothering your roommate and I figured that maybe you’d like to avoid the trouble tonight.”

“Oh…” Peter hesitated, looking for a reason to say no. He knew he’d never be able to sleep knowing that you were in the same room as him. “I don’t have any pajamas.”

“True,” you agreed, a little disappointed that he wasn’t interested in sticking around.

“I don’t actually even wear pajamas to sleep,” he continued, making you look back up at him instead of playing with the hem of your shirt. “It’s just… I sleep in my boxers.”

“I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation,” you sighed, your face hot with embarrassment.

“It’s not that! I mean, I do want to stay here. But, uh, you… well, you make me really nervous, Y/N,” he muttered, his glance bouncing around the room.

“Why?” you asked, your brows furrowing. “Did I do something?”

“No, no! Nothing at all. I promise, okay?”

“Okay. You can, um, get ready for bed, I guess. I promise not to look,” you assured him, turning on your side to face the wall.

“Thanks. Yeah, alright.” You heard him fumbling with his clothes, his sneakers making a soft thud on your floor. You did your best to resist the urge to glance back at him.

“Can I just use any of these?” he asked, although you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Peter, I’m not looking, remember? You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“The blankets. Do I just pick one, or are you particular about them?”

“Oh. You can use whichever one you want to. But the coral one’s the softest and my personal favorite.” Peter stared at the basket in confusion. To him, they were all just pink. But based on touch alone, he pulled one out that he figured was a little more orange than the others.

He walked over to the light switch and flipped off the overhead fluorescents, letting the room be illuminated by the warm glow of your fairy lights, which weren’t too bright, but still twinkly and beautiful.

“Goodnight, Peter,” you whispered, snuggling into your comforter in the hopes that your heartbeat would slow down and let you fall asleep for once.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” In a matter of minutes, you could hear his soft snoring, and you figured that it would be okay just to take a quick peek since he’d probably be bundled up in one of your blankets.

His hair was perfectly messy, and he looked so cozy wrapped up in the blanket you had recommended. Still, as much as you could stare at his adorable face all night, you were exhausted. Burying your face under the covers, you did your best to calm your nerves and get some rest before class tomorrow.

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

“Peter,” you whispered, jostling him lightly by the shoulders in the hopes of waking him up. “Uh, we have an hour before class. I was thinking that it would be enough time for you to go shower and change, and then we could go get coffee or something.”

He blinked back up at you, amazed at how well he slept on your bean bag. You had already gotten ready for the day, doing your makeup and picking out one of your many fluffy sweaters to keep you warm in the New York snow.

“Thanks, that sounds awesome,” he yawned, accepting the hand you held out to help him up. The blanket fell, and you stared at each other in shock, having forgotten that Peter was in nothing but his underwear.

You dropped his hand as fast as you could, covering your eyes. “Oh my god! I’m sorry. Shit, I completely forgot, Peter. I’m so sorry. I’ll let you get dressed.”

Peter watched as you stumbled around the room, your eyes squeezed tightly as your hands attempted to guide you away from him.

“Y/N,” he started, catching your attention as you nearly ran into your bed frame. “You can open your eyes. Really, I don’t care if you see me like this if it means I can keep you from breaking your nose.”

You hesitantly opened your eyes, relieved that Peter had already managed to pull his pants back on. Still, he was completely shirtless, and you found yourself staring at the abs you would have never expected to be hiding underneath his clothes.

Moments later, you averted your gaze, although you knew that he probably noticed you looking at where was now covered by his plaid button-down and dark blue sweater.

“I’ll, um, be right back,” he muttered, before practically sprinting out of your room and up the stairs. You groaned in embarrassment, burying your face in a pillow before attempting to take a quick twenty-minute power nap.

Peter couldn’t believe it. Sure, he had thought one time about you seeing him without clothes on, but this wasn’t how he thought it would go at all. Still, the image of you staring at him shirtless, your face flushed, made him feel like he was going to have a heart attack.

“Dude! There you are,” Ned screamed, startled at his roommate’s unexpected entrance. Peter panted, having run up four flights of stairs as fast as he could. “Wait a second. Did you finally get laid? Is this a walk of shame?”

Before Ned could praise him any further, Peter was grabbing a change of clothes and sprinting towards the bathroom. Don’t think about her, he begged himself.

The memory of your leg touching his last night immediately came to mind, and Peter was so angry at himself for being this starved for physical intimacy. To be fair, though, you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and so he cut himself some slack.

Shit, he told himself, making sure the water was set to cold. He needed to calm down, but instead, his thoughts were stuck on how good you looked in your pajamas, but also how good you would look without them and—fuck it.

Peter liked you a lot, and if thinking about you like this in private kept him from being a complete weirdo in person, then maybe he just needed to get his feelings of desperation over with.

When he came back down to your room about thirty minutes later, you were still super tired. You trudged your way towards the door, your hair now noticeably messier than earlier, but at least that meant your nap had been a success.

His hair was still damp and this time he was wearing yet another blue sweater, which made you wonder if he ever wore any other color. He had his backpack slung over one of his shoulders and a nervous smile on his face as he locked eyes with you.

“Hey,” he said, pushing some of his hair out of his face. “Are you ready to go?”

You leaned against the doorway a little bit, letting out a yawn that was literally the cutest noise Peter had ever heard in his life. “Yeah, let me get my backpack.”

“It’s so heavy,” you continued, rightfully complaining as the weight of all its contents practically pulled you downwards. “I think it’s so stupid how almost every professor bans computers from class. Like, it’s not fair that I have to lug around three textbooks every day. I don’t have time to run back to my dorm in between classes like some people!”

Peter frowned. Three textbooks were nothing to him, but he knew that you didn’t have spidey-strength and that you were also pretty tiny compared to him. It must’ve been hell on your back to be carrying all that stuff around every day.

“I can carry it for you,” he offered, holding out his hand to switch with you. “Here, you can take my backpack if it’ll make you feel better. I have a lot of programming classes today, so I’ve only got my laptop and a notebook in there.”

You gave him a look of gratitude as he traded bags with you, literally taking the weight off your shoulders. He was right. His backpack was much more manageable for you, even if the dark grey contrasted with the light colors you always wore.

In contrast, it looked kind of odd for him to be walking around with a backpack that was covered in a soft pink floral pattern, much like everything else you owned, but the sight of him carrying your books brought a smile to your face.

It was one of the sweetest things a guy had ever done for you, and Peter wasn’t even your boyfriend. He probably didn’t even think of you in that way.

“Uh, where do you usually get coffee?” he asked, slowing his pace so you could keep up. He felt bad seeing how tired you were, no doubt due to the lack of sleep you got last night.

“The Starbucks next to Hendrie Hall,” you replied, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “You?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” he admitted. “I’m actually more of a tea person.”

“Oh,” you hesitated, wondering if it was worth it to walk all the way across campus just for a caramel ribbon crunch frappuccino. “We could go somewhere closer then.”

“It’s okay,” Peter reassured you, grabbing your hand and pulling you along to your destination. “I like walking.”

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

You hadn’t really talked to Peter since that morning before class, but sometimes you would peek behind you and catch him stealing glances at you. Eventually, he had started to feel brave enough to give you a little wave whenever you caught him looking at you. Well, at least the times when you were awake.

One day, not even the loud shuffling and growing chatter of your classmates exiting the lecture hall could wake you up, and Peter figured he better do something before you got chewed out by one of the TAs.

“Y/N?” he said, leaning closer so that you could hopefully hear him. “Y/N. You gotta wake up. Class ended three minutes ago.”

He shook you a little bit, nervously hoping that you wouldn’t mind him touching you. Your eyes fluttered open, and you smiled softly as soon as you realized it was Peter.

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, standing up to slide your empty notebook into your backpack. Your hand brushed the side of your mouth, making sure you hadn’t drooled onto yourself.

“You can borrow my notes,” he offered, glancing at you sheepishly as you gathered up your coat and fixed your hair. “If you want to.”

“That’d be great,” you sighed, wondering whether you should skip your next class and just go take a nap. At this point, you weren’t even bothering to put on makeup and you basically wore whatever clothes you had that weren’t already sprawled across your room.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked, walking close to you to make sure you didn’t fall over. He knew you were an insomniac, but you looked seriously sleep-deprived today. “Have you been sleeping at all lately?”

“Nope,” you huffed, lugging your perpetually heavy backpack along. “But I’m skipping the rest of my classes today. I’d rather lie that I’m sick through an e-mail than have to explain to my professors why I was sleeping during their classes.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, stopping you in your tracks to take your backpack from you. “I’ve actually got some time before my next class. I can walk you back to your room and give you my notebook if that’s okay with you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you told him, reaching to take your bag back from him, although he didn’t let you.

“Y/N. Come on, you’re exhausted. At least let me carry your stuff, alright?” He had such a kind look in his eyes, and you certainly didn’t have the energy to keep arguing for no reason.

“Okay.” You crossed your arms, the cold air slowly waking you up as the wind hit your face. Your ears were super cold, but you were glad you had pulled your hair into a quick braid to keep it from flying everywhere.

It wasn’t long before you were kicking your boots off in your dorm room, your teeth chattering as you wrapped yourself in a blanket.

“Do you want some tea?” you asked Peter, inviting him to sit down wherever.

“Sure, but I thought you drank coffee,” he reminded you, watching as you pulled an assortment of tea bags for him to choose from.

“I do,” you said, handing him the box and running to your bathroom to fill up the electric kettle. “But you drink tea.”

Peter’s ears suddenly felt hot. You had gotten tea just for him. Or maybe you were just a really good hostess and kept some around for all of your visitors. Probably the second option, he thought.

“Are you even allowed to have one of those?” he asked as the two of you waited for the water to boil.

“No,” you laughed, sitting next to him on your bed. For someone with so much space to themselves, you really needed to invest in more places to sit. “But you can’t have candles or fairy lights either, so I guess I’m just a rule breaker.”

“Guess I’ll just have to report you to the RA,” Peter teased, getting up to make himself a cup of earl grey. “Do you have any sugar?”

“Top drawer on the right,” you replied. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”

“Yes.” You watched as his lips blew on the tea to cool it down before remembering that it was weird to stare.

“You should let me bake something for you. What’s your favorite dessert?” You were kicking your dangling legs, suddenly feeling a lot more awake than this morning.

“Chocolate cake. With chocolate frosting,” he said in between sips, walking back over to you. With you on the tall bed and him standing, your faces were level with each other.

“I’ll have to make you one to thank you,” you smiled, peering into his eyes. Peter felt your heartbeat quicken, and the grin on your face as you stared at each other made him weak in the knees.

“Can I get those notes?” you asked, making him remember that people don’t just look at each other and say nothing like that.

“Oh! Yeah, definitely.” He quickly set the mug down on your nightstand to rummage through his backpack, flipping one of his notebooks open before handing it to you. “There are the ones from today, but all of the ones I’ve taken this semester are in there too.”

“Wow,” you laughed, making a worried expression form on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are they not good?”

“No, it’s not that. They’re just, uh, very thorough.” He had basically transcribed your professor’s lectures onto the pages. “You must write really fast. But thank you, Peter. I really appreciate it.”

Peter nodded before nervously gulping down the rest of his tea, not even noticing how hot the liquid still was as it nearly burned his throat.

“I should go now,” he started, looking around the room for his things. “I want you to get some rest, Y/N. Please.”

He had this look in his eyes that was so genuine—so full of care and concern—that it made you want to do whatever he asked you to.

“I’ll try,” you told him, awkwardly rubbing the top of your arm in the hopes that you could actually fall asleep after he left. “Have a nice day, Peter.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll stop by later,” he said, already halfway out the door. “For the notes, I mean! Uh, bye. Again. Okay. I’m going to go now.”

You giggled, giving him one last wave before he left. Like magic, the more you thought about how Peter was worried about you, the easier it was for you to drift off into a peaceful sleep, finally feeling at ease for the first time in weeks.

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

You woke up later that day to Peter knocking on your door, this time standing next to some guy in a brightly colored Hawaiian shirt.

“Hi, Y/N,” Peter greeted you. You looked a lot less tired than when he saw you this morning, which relieved him. “This is my roommate, Ned. He just wanted to know who I’ve been hanging out with, so I hope it’s okay that I brought him here to prove you’re real and not a figment of my imagination.”

Ned leaned closer to you, your hair still a little messy from your nap. “Blink twice if he’s paying you,” he whispered, causing you to giggle. Peter looked on nervously, unsure of what his best friend had just said to you.

“What did you say!?” he asked, lightly pushing Ned on the arm, knowing that it was probably something meant to embarrass him.

“Ow! Okay, now I’m really not telling you,” Ned replied, rubbing the spot where Peter had just hit him.

“Y/N, what did Ned say to you?” He turned to you, a worried look on his face as you and Ned held back your laughter. Peter’s face turned as red as a tomato, making you instantly feel a little bit bad.

“It was nothing, Peter. Really,” you said, pulling him into the room with you. “It was nice to meet you, Ned. I’ll make sure he’s back before curfew.”

Ned laughed, offering a quick thumbs up and mouthing “I like her” to Peter before you shut the door on him.

“I knew that was a mistake,” Peter sighed, his back against the door. You were still a bit giddy from the exchange, giggling softly as he slowed his breathing.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed around me,” you reassured him. “We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s just that…”

“What?” You could barely hear him as his voice trailed off.

“Well, uh, not all of my friends are, you know…”

“Spit it out, Peter,” you said, leaning closer so that you could hear him better.

“They’re not as pretty as you,” he muttered, making you blush at his words. Did he really think you were pretty?

“Oh. Thanks,” you smiled, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Peter lifted his head up, relieved that you didn’t think he was a creep or something.

“Your notebook’s on my desk,” you continued, stepping back a little to give him some space. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the distance between you and him grew. “I just took a bunch of pictures, so I can look at them on my computer whenever.”

“Alright, awesome,” he said, walking over to collect it before turning back to you. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty well, actually. The best I’ve slept in a while. I think you’re some kind of good luck charm.”

“Really?” he asked, a little surprised that he had been helpful.

“Really. You know, I’ve been thinking…”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’d be nice if we hung out somewhere that wasn’t my room all the time,” you said, a hopeful look in your eyes. “If you want.”

Peter had never noticed it before, but the two of you really did spend most of your time together in your room. It really was a nice room, but it made sense that you’d want to get out of it every once and a while.

“I’d like that. What did you have in mind?” Play it cool, Parker, he told himself. You can freak out with Ned later.

“How about ice cream on Friday?” you suggested, which came as a bit of a surprise to him.

“In the middle of winter?” As far as Peter could remember, you were always cold.

“Yeah. I really love ice cream,” you added, smiling up at him.

“Okay, then. Ice cream it is,” he agreed. There was absolutely no way he could ever say no to you when you looked at him like that.

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“May! No, it’s not a date. She’s just a friend. Yeah, I got it. Open the door, pay for her, don’t be an idiot!” Peter sighed into his phone, hoping his aunt’s unwarranted crash course on first dates would be over soon. “Yes, I’m wearing the green sweater. Thanks, love you. Bye!”

“I have no idea who told her I had a date tonight,” he groaned, slumping down onto the couch next to his best friend.

“I texted her,” Ned replied nonchalantly, not even looking away from whatever video game he was playing. “Knew you’d need some kind of pointers. Y/N is way out of your league.”

“Hey!” Was he right? Yes. Did Peter need to be reminded of it right before his not-a-date date with you? Definitely not.

“Come on, you know I’m right. It’s Liz Allan all over again. I have no idea how you keep pulling all of these pretty girls, but hey, credit where credit is due.”

“You’re so mean.”

“I keep it real and you love it. Good luck, man.”

“Bye,” Peter grumbled, slipping on his coat and walking out of their room. Four flights of stairs later, he was at your door.

“Hi!” you squeaked, wrapping your arms around him. This was the first time the two of you had ever hugged and Peter was not going to forget about it anytime soon. “Come in. I have a surprise for you!”

“Here,” you continued, holding out a blue and white beanie for him. “I made it for you. To match all those blue sweaters you wear all the time.” Except this time, he was wearing a forest green one, which brought out the slight hazel tinge in his eyes.

“You made this for me?” he asked, eyeing the different stitches you had used and fiddling with the pom-pom on top. It looked store-bought.

“Well, yeah, silly. I just said that,” you replied, hoping that he liked it. With all the time you didn’t sleep, you were knitting anyway, but this was a special present for him. “Try it on.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” he sighed, pulling the hat onto his head. He looked really cute, the ends of his wavy hair peeking out from underneath the brim.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, pulling him out of your room and towards the front of the dorm building. “Getting to hang out with you is good enough for me.”

“Where’d you learn how to knit?” Peter questioned, walking alongside you on the snow-lined sidewalks. With how cold it was, and considering he didn’t have a hood on his coat, it seemed like perfect timing that you had given him a hat.

“My grandma taught me,” you shared, taking in the twinkling of the streetlamps and how they bounced against the snow. In New York, that was practically the closest you could get to stargazing. “My, uh, grandparents actually raised me.”

“Oh. I was raised by my aunt and uncle,” Peter confided. It made you feel not so alone to find out that he didn’t grow up with his parents either, even though you knew firsthand just how hard it was.

“Do they live around here?” you asked, stealing glances at him and how rosy his cheeks were in the cold air.

“Yeah, my aunt lives in Queens,” he told you, staring at his feet to both avoid eye contact and make sure neither of you accidentally slipped. Not that he wouldn’t catch you, but he wanted to be safe. “My uncle actually passed away a couple of years ago.”

You stopped walking, immediately feeling a sense of regret. “I’m sorry, Peter. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. There was no way for you to have known that,” Peter reassured you, his warm breath coming out in clouds, and he reached for your hand to run his thumb across your knuckles. He gently pulled you along, keeping you from dying of embarrassment in the middle of campus.

“What about you? Are you from around here?” he asked, hoping to break the silence and make you feel a little bit better.

“No, I just moved up here for college. I grew up in Texas but moved to North Carolina when I was 13, so I finished school down there,” you explained, Peter suddenly noticing a slight Southern twang to your voice. “I just really wanted to go to school in a big city and not next to a farm for once in my life.”

“That makes sense,” he laughed, wondering what it would be like to live somewhere else. “I’ve only ever lived in New York City.”

“Do you like it here?”

“I love it. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, to be honest.”

“Me either,” you sighed, squeezing his hand tighter as the two of you enjoyed your walk in the snow.

It seemed like forever before you reached the ice cream shop, but you didn’t mind. That just gave you and Peter more time to get to know each other better. Turns out you both competed in academic decathlons, although you were more of a math person and he preferred science.

“Okay, you’re wrong. Night at the Museum 2 is so much better than the first one. I mean that kiss between Ben Stiller and Amy Adams? The Jonas Brothers as little cherub angels? Name one thing from the original that tops that,” you ranted in between spoonfuls of peppermint ice cream.

“I just really like when the little cowboy and gladiator are driving that toy car around,” he reasoned, subtly admitting defeat.

“Don’t even get me started on why the second Shrek movie—”

You were interrupted by the sound of Peter’s phone ringing, and you immediately recognized his ringtone as the Coconut Mall theme from Mario Kart. He peered down at his phone screen, sighing and mouthing an apology to you as he accepted the call.

“Uh, hey, Mr. Stark. Did you need something?” Well, at least you knew he wasn’t lying about his internship at Stark Industries. “Toronto? Tonight? I’m kind of busy.”

There was a long pause as Peter mentally kicked himself for talking back to Tony, resulting in an earful about how being an Avenger should always be at the top of his priorities.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be right over… but I need a favor. Could you send Happy to pick my friend up? Yeah, it’s the ice cream shop on 1st. Thank you so much, Mr. Stark. Bye.” He frowned at you, and you could tell from what you had heard that he had to go.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s just, something came up last minute and Mr. Stark really needs me to go on this business trip with him,” he apologized, pulling his coat on. “But, uh, he’s sending a car for you. So don’t worry about walking back alone, alright? I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get back, okay? Bye!”

“Oh, okay. Bye!” you managed to call out before he was running out the doors and down the street. Lots of customers were staring as you awkwardly gathered your things and went to go wait on the sidewalk.

A few minutes later, a shiny black car had pulled up to the curb in front of you, a man rolling down the window.

“Miss Y/N? I’m Happy Hogan. Mr. Stark sent me to drive you home,” he called from the driver’s seat, before getting out to open your door for you. You stepped in, a little starstruck at how nice the car was. You had never been in anything this expensive before.

The two of you were sitting in silence until you finally got the courage to speak up.

“Mr. Hogan,” you started, causing him to turn down the smooth jazz that had been playing on the radio. “Do you know why Peter has to go to Toronto?”

“Yes,” he replied, glancing at you in the rearview mirror. “But I can’t tell you that.”

“Oh, okay,” you accepted, shifting to look out the window at all of the places in the city that you hadn’t yet gotten the chance to explore.

Eventually, he was dropping you off in front of your dorm, and you were trudging inside to your room to sulk about how your not-a-date date with Peter had gotten interrupted. You stared at your ceiling all night, wondering when the next time you’d see each other would be, and whether or not he’d come back with the same cuts and bruises as when you had first met.

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

Peter had been gone for six days and counting, and you were starting to worry that he might never come back. You had already started missing him the night he left, and now it was just some agonizing waiting game for him to return.

You must have spent hours in the basement kitchen before deciding to visit the fourth floor where Peter lived. You knocked on the door and was quickly met with Ned’s shocked expression.

“Uh, hi, Y/N. Peter’s not here right now. Did you need something?”

“I know,” you acknowledged, holding up the plate in your hand. “It’s just, well, I’ve been baking a lot and I didn’t really know who to give all of these cookies to, so I was wondering if you wanted any.”

“Oh, in that case, sign me up!” You watched as his face lit up as he noticed the assortment of chocolate chip, sugar, and snickerdoodle cookies all still warm from the oven. He offered his hands out to take the plate from you, which you happily relinquished.

“These are really good,” he complimented, his mouth full of a sugar cookie. “Can I keep the rest of them?”

“Yeah, of course,” you answered, doing your best to smile despite how much you wished it had been Peter opening the door. “I’ll see you around, Ned.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he called out to you, making you turn around on the stairwell. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Peter’s going to be back any day now.” You nodded, offering him a wave and walking back down to your room.

Turns out Ned had been right. The strange noises outside of your window were masked by how loud you were jamming out to We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel, jumping around and listing off the lyrics that had never made much sense to you. Peter knocked louder on the glass, startling you as you quickly switched off the music to investigate.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, squinting your eyes to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “Spider-Man? Is that really you?”

You fumbled to push up your window, extremely confused as to why one of the Avengers was outside your bedroom this late at night.

“It’s me, Y/N,” he explained, his voice suddenly becoming extremely familiar. Your eyes widened as you realized who was behind the mask.

“Oh my god! PETER?” you screamed as he slipped through the window, pulling off his mask and clapping a hand over your mouth.

“Don’t freak out. It’s okay. It’s just me, okay?” he stammered in an attempt to get you to calm down before an RA heard. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I really wanted to tell you, but we were in public when I left, and I couldn’t risk it. And I didn’t want to text it or do it over the phone because it’s kind of a big deal, so I figured I’d just come to see you as soon as I got back and Mr. Stark said that you have to promise—”

“It’s okay, Peter,” you interrupted, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into the very weird material of his spider-suit. “I won’t tell anybody.”

He softened under your touch, resting his head on top of yours. “I like your dance moves,” he whispered, making you glare up at him, your face suddenly very red.

“How long were you watching?” you groaned, dramatically throwing yourself onto your bean bag, your face covered by your hands.

“Only for about a minute,” he answered, pulling your hands down so you could see him grinning at you. “I especially liked how you used your hairbrush as a microphone. Plus, I thought we agreed to stop being embarrassed around each other?”

“Well, that was before I knew you were freaking Spider-Man!”

“Okay, fair enough,” he agreed, nudging you to scoot over and make room for him.

“So, that’s what that whole Toronto thing was?” you asked as he sat next to you, your knee touching his.

“Yep. There was this thing about aliens and these guys that could shapeshift. It’s a lot to explain.”

“Are you going to keep that thing on all night?” you asked, gesturing at his outfit, which was very tight and very distracting from whatever alien story he had to tell.

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so,” he shrugged. “I don’t have anything on underneath it.”

“How scandalous,” you teased. “Not so family-friendly after all, huh, Spidey?”

“Oh, shut up,” he quipped, rolling his eyes as you let out a long yawn.

“Have you been sleeping much?” he continued, suddenly remembering the issue that had brought the two of you together in the first place.

“Of course not. I’ve been too busy worrying about my classes and, oh, just some idiot I know that abandoned me in the middle of an ice cream shop. Pretty sure he said he’d make that up to me, by the way.”

“Okay, okay. Message received. What would you like?” Please say a kiss. Please say a kiss. Please say a—

“Can I meet them? The Avengers, I mean. It’s not like anyone else really has a secret identity except for you.”

“Oh. I mean, I’d have to ask Mr. Stark and the rest of the team and see if they’re cool with it, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Awesome! You’re the best,” you chimed, wrapping your arms around him and planting a kiss on his cheek.

It was then that Peter decided he would just never be able to wash that side of his face again, his heart nearly skipping a beat.

“Peter,” you said, breaking the silence he had left the two of you in. “I’m tired.”

“Me too,” he sighed. “I should head up to my room. Gotta make sure Ned knows I’m still alive.”

“Yeah, of course,” you agreed, standing up to see him out. “Aren’t you worried somebody will see you, though?”

“Y/N, it’s 4 a.m. I’m pretty sure that you and I are the only people on campus that are awake right now.”

“Oh, right. Still, be careful, okay?” you told him, slightly worried at his secret identity being found out by some college kid that just couldn’t stay off Twitter.

“Will do,” he said, smiling and giving you a little salute before leaving.

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

A few days later, before you could even greet him, Peter was already walking into your room. It was 10 p.m., a little earlier than when he usually came over, but by now you were used to him showing up at your door unannounced.

He was already wearing his pajamas, a t-shirt with a science pun and some flannel pants that he had invested in to avoid any more awkward moments between the two of you. You were dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, the clothes you usually threw on after class just in case you fell asleep on accident. There had been more times where you had woken up sweaty with your jeans stuck to your legs than you were willing to admit.

“Okay, so I asked Mr. Stark about your request and he told me he doesn’t think now is a good time, but…” he grinned, holding out a giant cardboard box with some kind of minimalist home appliance on the front for you to look at.

“Am I supposed to know what that is?” you blinked back, trying to figure out what the hell you were staring at, considering that all of the text written on it was in a language you didn’t know how to read.

“It’s some fancy white noise machine from Japan. If I remember correctly, Mr. Stark said he made Pepper order it because I wouldn’t shut up about you, and it would be in everybody’s best interest if you got some sleep, so I could stop annoying him and the rest of the team.”

“Oh. That’s pretty thoughtful, I guess,” you said, gathering things off your floor to make space for it.

He set the box down on your rug and got to work opening it. Meanwhile, you were busy translating what exactly Tony Stark had so generously gifted to you.

“Peter, wait. This thing is like $300. Doesn’t he know that you can just look up whale noises on YouTube for free?”

“Yeah, but this one adjusts its volume based on the noises around it, has a light that simulates the sun rising, and has an alarm noise that’s supposed to support healthy cortisol levels.”

Peter peered up to see your arms crossed and brows furrowed, it suddenly becoming clear to him that the things he had just listed meant very little to you.

“Plus, he’s a literal billionaire, so I don’t think it was that big of a loss for him,” he added.

“Fine. Let’s just hope this thing works,” you sighed, watching as Peter leafed through the instruction manual before tossing it behind him. “It’s a little early to go to sleep, though.”

“Y/N, plenty of people go to sleep at 10. Not everybody is nocturnal like you.”

“I guess you have a point,” you agreed, kneeling down beside him as he fiddled with all the settings.

“I know,” he said with a smirk as you rested your chin on his shoulder to get a better look at what he was doing. “What time do you want to wake up? 7 a.m. would give us time to go get breakfast before class, but we could do 8 if you wanted to sleep in.”

“We?” you mused, liking the sound of that. “I guess that means you’re staying here tonight?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not letting you have all these overpriced rainforest noises to yourself.”

“Do 7. We can go get those blueberry muffins that you like,” you decided, standing up to get Peter’s makeshift bed on your bean bag ready. “Do you actually like sleeping on this thing, or were you just trying to be polite the first time I asked?”

“Dude, that thing is awesome. It’s like I’m on this little cuddly cloud, and then you add all those warm blankets and the twinkly lights and it’s the perfect recipe for me to fall asleep.”

“Wow,” you nodded, looking around your room to see all of the things that Peter was talking about. “I wish it worked that way for me.”

“Maybe it will, tonight.”

It didn’t. You were tossing and turning for nearly an hour to the agonizing sounds of birds cawing and the occasional monkey chatter, all set against the backdrop of a heavy thunderstorm. To be honest, it was something that would’ve given you nightmares when you were little.

“Y/N?” Peter whispered from the floor. “Are you sleeping?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

“Could you turn that thing off? It’s really distracting me.”

“Yeah, of course,” he said, leaning over to switch the noise machine off. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

He hesitated, not really sure if he should ask the question that he had been thinking about for a while now. “How old were you when your parents died?”

You had to think for a moment, not really sure about the answer. For as long as you could remember, you just lived with your grandparents. “Um, well my mom left when I was a baby. And I think my dad passed away when I was four.”

“Oh,” Peter mumbled. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a parent leave you, but he didn’t want to pry just in case it was a sensitive topic. “Are your grandparents from your mom or dad’s side?”

You rolled over to rest your head on the edge of your bed so that you could see him better. He looked so cute bundled up in all of your blankets, his hair already a bit messy. “They’re my mom’s parents. It’s weird. I see a lot of pictures of her from when she was growing up, and I look so much like her, but she’s basically a stranger to me.”

Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a long pause and he decided not to.

“What about you? How old were you when your parents passed away?”

“Five or six. They met while working at the C.I.A. together, but most of my memories are from the stories my aunt and uncle told me when I was growing up.”

For a moment, neither of you could find the right words to say to each other.

“Peter,” you spoke up, interrupting his thoughts. “I’m really glad I met you.”

“I’m really glad I met you too.”

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

Peter’s next plan of action involved even more advice from his fellow Avengers, and you were not looking forward to trying out any of their suggestions.

“Okay, so, Steve—I mean Captain America—said that when he was little, you know, in the 1940s, all he had to do was drink a glass of warm milk before bed.”

“I’m lactose intolerant,” you groaned, crossing your arms.

“I just saw you eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one sitting the other day.”

“Regular milk has almost 15 times more lactose than ice cream. You’d think a science nerd like you would know that.”

“I’m a geek,” he scoffed, clearly a little bit offended. “Not a nerd.”

“Yeah, I can see that now. It’s okay, though. At least you’re pretty,” you said, pinching his cheek.

“Just try it,” he grumbled, handing you the warm glass and waiting impatiently for you to take a sip. If anything, the milk did a better job at keeping you up that night than putting you to sleep. Not even thirty minutes after you had gone to bed, you were feeling sick to your stomach.

“I hate milk,” you gagged, Peter holding your hair back as you kneeled over the toilet bowl. “My grandpa could never get me to drink it as a kid.”

“Is that why you’re so short?” he laughed, helping you up. You glared at him as you moved to the sink to wash the acidic taste out of your mouth.

“Shut up, Parker,” you quipped, tired and grumpy from how terrible you felt. “Let’s just go back to sleep.”

“Alright, munchkin,” he smiled, pulling you out of the bathroom and back towards your bed.

Somehow, the warm milk wasn’t even the worst of Peter’s ideas, because a few days later, he was standing at your door with a bottle of some Asgardian sleep aid from the lightning god himself.

“Are you sure this is safe for me to drink?” you asked, your eyes widening as you stared at the silvery liquid that was almost shimmering.

“Uh, I’m about 87% confident you’ll live,” he said, “But I’m 100% sure that it’ll work.”

“Gee, thanks. Now I really want to drink this weird alien potion,” you sighed, looking at him nervously.

“Just drink a little bit and see if you feel anything,” Peter encouraged, leaning over your shoulder. You nodded, hesitantly bringing the drink up to your lips to take a sip.

“This stuff tastes amazing,” you mused, taking a bigger gulp this time. “Like a blue raspberry slushie.”

“Whoa, that’s enough,” he warned, taking the bottle from your hands before you could drink any more of it. “We don’t want you to go into a coma.”

“I don’t feel anything,” you shrugged, frowning back at him. “Maybe I should—”

You stopped mid-sentence to let out a loud yawn, the potion starting to take effect. Peter caught you as you slumped down in your chair, helping you into bed.

“Okay. I definitely feel it now,” you admitted, already half asleep. Peter tucked you under your blankets, placing a kiss on your forehead as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he whispered, turning off your lights and softly closing the door behind him.

For a moment, Peter had thought he had finally found a solution to your insomnia. At least before you slept through class the next morning. And then the day after that. But it wasn’t until the third day that he really started to freak out.

“Where’s Thor!?” he panted, having run all the way from his class over to the Avengers Tower. Wanda and Vision stared back at him from the kitchen, very confused at what he was so panicked about.

“He’s in his room,” Bucky called from the couch, his mouth full of popcorn as 13 Going on 30 played on the big screen. “What’s going on, kid?”

“No time to explain. Gotta go!” Peter called, sprinting up the stairs towards Thor’s room. He knocked frantically until the door finally swung open.

“Greetings, young Spiderling. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Thor smiled, his long, golden hair shiny as ever.

“I think I killed my almost-girlfriend!” Peter blurted out, practically sweating from how stressed out he was. “She drank that stuff you gave me and she hasn’t woken up in three days now!”

Thor chuckled, patting Peter on the head. “Do not worry, my brother. I’m sure she will wake up given time. It was a very potent drink, after all. Calm yourself.”

“Okay,” he sighed, relieved to know that he hadn’t poisoned you to death. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. She’s fine. Everything’s fine. Thanks, man. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.”

“Farewell, Peter. May we meet again soon,” he grinned before closing the door in Peter’s face.

On the way back down the stairs, Peter figured he’d give you a call and see if you were still sleeping.

“Hello?” you groaned, your throat dry from just waking up. “Peter, what the hell happened to me?”

“THANK GOD YOU’RE ALIVE!” Peter yelled into the phone, making you recoil from the volume of his excitement. “You’ve been asleep for three days, Y/N. I thought you were dead.”

“I am very much alive,” you laughed, slowly feeling the potion wearing off. “Where are you?”

“Uh. I may have run all the way to Midtown to ask Thor if I had killed you,” he admitted, feeling you roll your eyes through the screen. “I was worried, okay?”

“Now you know how I feel whenever you leave for a mission,” you countered, glad that Peter couldn’t see how much you were blushing. “Hurry up and get your butt back over here. I have the weirdest dream to tell you about.”

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

Even if you still weren’t getting a full eight hours of rest at night, it was obvious that all of Peter’s efforts had vastly improved your sleep schedule. Over the past few months, you had gone from staring at your ceiling all night to actually being able to stay asleep for small periods of time.

“Your eyelashes are so long,” you mused, playing with Peter’s hair. He was sitting in between your legs and How the Grinch Stole Christmas was playing on your TV.

“Really?” He tilted his head back to look at you, batting his eyelashes and making you giggle.

“Yes. It’s not fair that boys get all of the pretty eyelashes,” you pouted, watching as the Grinch explained his plan to steal all of Whoville’s presents to his dog.

“I think yours are pretty,” he replied, a soft smile on his face. “But there’s a rogue one just hanging out on your face right now.”

“Can you get it?” you asked, your eyes still glued on the TV screen. Peter nodded, twisting around to gently brush the eyelash from your cheek.

“Do you want to make a wish?” he laughed, holding the little eyelash on the tip of his finger in front of you.

“Okay,” you agreed, squeezing your eyes shut and blowing it away. When you opened them, Peter’s face was only inches away from yours.

“What did you wish for?” His gaze shifted downwards to look at your lips for a split second, before returning to look into your eyes.

“I can’t tell you, dummy. Then it won’t come true.” You weren’t about to tell your best friend that you wished for him to kiss you. At least not now, while the two of you were stuck in this really weird “not dating, but more than just friends” limbo.

“Fine,” he frowned, crossing his arms and pouting in a way that you recognized had been mimicked after you.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you said, mirroring his stance. Your puppy dog eyes were definitely a lot more convincing than his.

“I’m not.”

“Uh-huh, sure. You smell really good, by the way. Well, your hoodie does. I could just wrap myself up in it and fall asleep.”

“How come you’ve never mentioned that before? You could’ve been out cold every night months ago!”

“Guess I was just too distracted by your dreamy face,” you teased, causing Peter to blush.

“Whatever. Seriously, though. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know. I think it took me a while to realize how sleepy I got whenever you were really close to me,” you shrugged. “You’re not mad at me, right?”

“Of course not. But if I had known sooner I would’ve just given you one,” he said, slipping the hoodie over his head and handing it to you. “Here, put it on. You better fall asleep instantly or I’m calling bullshit.”

“You caught me, Peter. This was all some elaborate plan for me to steal one of your hoodies.”

“Just put it on. The suspense is killing me.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled his hoodie on. Just from looking at Peter and how slim he was, you never would have guessed that it would be this oversized on you.

“How do I look?” you asked, striking silly poses in front of him. Peter involuntarily licked his lips and he knew he’d be replaying this image of you in his head for the next few weeks.

“You’re going to have to keep that,” he stammered, doing his best to hide how much he really liked seeing you in his clothes. “It looks a lot better on you. I, um, have to go do my homework. And call my aunt. And walk my roommate.”

Peter stumbled to his feet, staring at his wristwatch to maintain his act that he was late for something before grabbing his things and heading out the door, making sure to hold his backpack in front of him. “Let me know if the hoodie thing works. Bye!”

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

Brushing off Peter’s strangely abrupt departure from last night, you nuzzled into your pillow, the warm morning light spilling through your curtains. Last night had probably been your best sleep in months, and you even got to wake up late since it was Saturday. Things probably couldn’t have gone any better.

Before you knew it, you were running up to Peter’s room and banging on his door. He opened the door on your fourth knock, right after Ned had chucked a pillow at him, and you were met with his sleepy eyes and messy hair.

“It worked!” you yelped in excitement, twirling around and still wearing his hoodie. “Well, kind of. I fell asleep after about an hour, and then I slept for maybe three after that. But I had to pee in the middle of the night, and when I got back into bed I couldn’t fall back asleep until 6 a.m.”

“That’s some good progress,” he yawned, stepping out into the hallway to keep your little celebration from bothering Ned too much. “If only we could get you to sleep the entire night.”

“I know right. But I’m so happy!” you cheered, wrapping your arms around him. “We finally did something right!”

“We need to celebrate!” you continued, grabbing Peter’s hand and dragging him down the stairs. “Come on. We’re making you a chocolate cake!”

You stopped by your room on the way to the kitchen, piling a bunch of ingredients into Peter’s arms from your mini-fridge and various shelves.

“Okay, eggs, flour, butter, sugar, chocolate. Damn it. We’re all out of milk.” You side-eyed him, remembering the whole Captain America induced fiasco from a couple weeks ago.

“I think we might have some in our room,” Peter laughed. “Ned drinks a lot of milk mixed with Milo powder. It’s some obsession he picked up when his family took a vacation to Australia. I’ll go get it.”

He set all of the ingredients you had given him on your desk and sprinted back up the stairs to raid Ned’s stash, already thinking of ways to apologize for it later.

A few minutes later he was knocking on your door, out of breath, and dressed to brave the many inches of snow that had fallen overnight.

“We didn’t have any milk,” he panted. “But I can run to the dining hall and get a few cartons.”

“I’ll go with you.” You quickly pulled on your snow boots and layered your puffer coat on top of Peter’s hoodie, wrapping a hand-knit scarf around your neck just to be safe. “All ready.”

Getting the milk was the easy part. Making sure you didn’t die of frostbite was another story. By the time you and Peter got back to your room, your nose was super red and you couldn’t feel your toes.

“Okay,” you said, your teeth chattering. “I thought I was used to the snow by now, but that was something else.” You dropped your coat on the ground and climbed into your bed, burying yourself under your comforter.

“I thought we were making a cake,” he laughed, walking over to see you peeking out of the pile.

“Cake will have to wait,” you whined, your voice slightly muffled by the blanket. “Come here. I need some of your body heat.”

“Okay,” he stuttered, kicking off his sneakers and climbing in beside you. He had sat on your bed a lot since the two of you met, but this was the first time that he was actually laying in it. You snuggled up to him, and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around you.

“This is nice,” you sighed, nuzzling your head into his chest. “Is this one of your superpowers? Spidey-warmth?” Peter let out a soft laugh. It was silly but true. Ever since the bite, he never really noticed how cold it was outside anymore.

“Y/N,” he whispered, tightening his grip around your waist. Your head was nestled underneath his chin, and he could smell the faint citrus scent of your shampoo. “I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, Pete?” you yawned, your eyelids heavy from how comfy Peter’s cuddles were.

“I love you.” He held his breath, nervously waiting for you to respond.

“I know,” you giggled, intertwining your legs. “Sometimes, you talk in your sleep. You’ve probably professed your love for me at least eight times by now.”

“Oh.” Peter had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that.

“Don’t worry. I love you, too,” you assured him, grinning and placing little kisses on his jawline. “I thought that was obvious.”

“Maybe you could make it a little more obvious,” he mumbled, his heartbeat getting quicker as you shifted up to kiss him on the lips, your hand running through his hair.

“I will,” you smiled, your forehead resting against his. “But after we take a nap, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, snuggling as close as he possibly could to you, never wanting to let go. In no time at all, he watched happily as you fell asleep in his arms, wondering how the two of you hadn’t thought of this sooner.

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

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slashingdisneypasta · 3 years ago

Text

Human!Freddy Krueger x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: What The Fuck Now, Freddy!?

Notes:

This is not inherently romantic, at all. Or sexual. Just... Freddy being a bastard, and you are caught in the crosshairs- and are forever linked with him because of it.

I've been listening to Lizzie, a lot lately- and this is inspired by 'What The Fuck Now, Lizzie!?'

Also- I'm thinking this will have a part 2. Due to the ending not being quite enough. Maybe a part for the court proceedings!

Plot: Many will know the story of that terrible day Krueger essentially snapped- killing his wife, Loretta Krueger. She saw the basement, they say, and he didn't like that. Their daughter saw the whole thing and suffered a traumatic response to seeing the sight of her mother, strangled to death, by her father- and forgot the whole thing.

But if she were to remember something, one day.

She may remember something no one knows about that day, aside from Freddy himself.

She may remember, that someone else was there.

She may remember you.

Alternatively- you're being blackmailed by Freddy who found out you, another supposedly Plain Jane in Loretta's 'mothers club', is cheating on your husband and calls you up to help deal with the mess he made. Because who else did he have?

Warnings: Okay lemme see, its basically a potluck of triggers. Hm. Murder, swearing, cheating (You, on your husband. Not with Freddy), getting rid of a body, a child gets traumatised (Obviously, Kathy/Maggie), Freddy himself, mention of the basement and all that entails, reader with a very questionable moral compass. Look, I think if you can watch Freddy's Dead, you're good here.

I'm just heading out the door, to go grocery shopping - or, at least, that's the story I tell my husband. When really I don't do the grocery shop until the day after tomorrow. He never notices... - when the phone rings. By very nearly tripping over my feet in my endeavour to catch it before the ringing stops, I manage pick up the phone with very little injury besides an achy, slightly twisted ankle. "Hi! Hi, sorry, I'm here. Hello?"

Pouting, I sit down at the kitchen table; Rubbing my poor ankle to sooth the pain, which would soon diminish anyway. Still- I'm sorry, ankle. I'll try to chill.

When the voice on the other end reveals who it is who's called the house, I lose all need to be pleasant. Damn. I really need to memorise this goddamn number... so I can not answer it. "Whatcha wearin'?"

"Thank god Harrison didn't answer this, you fuck." I deeply roll my eyes. Thank god Har's out. No, this is not my mister, not the man I was going to meet just now- but its bad, enough. In an entirely different way. Its stupid, blackmailing, son of a... hundred maniacs. "What do you want?"

"What a way to answer the phone, Y/N. Gee, seems like every time I we talk, I'm learning how you really aren't in the right place, are you? Cheating on your poor husband, swearing... These aren't really signs of the perfect suburban house wife, is it?" Gritting my teeth, I keep from lashing out. I've learned, if you stay real quiet, Freddy wont have anything to pull from and will get bored quick. "Why so silent, hm?"

"... " Oh, fuck me. I cant help it. "Wondering where you get off judging me on being 'suburban', actually."

"Anywhere I like, thanks."

Oh... oh. Gross?

He doesn't see the disgust tearing my face into two perfect halves right now, but my silence must be enough as he laughs. The sound is directly into the phone, and harsh on my poor eardrums. Ugh... "Oh for gods sake... What are we? Fourteen years old?? Come on- why'd you call?"

"Uhhhh... " Quickly, midway through that drawn out 'um' sound, Freddy's voice transitions, and gets a whole lot darker. Something deep in his chest dislodging, to make it so. Perhaps, his heart. "Well... you might wanna come and see for yourself."

"Uh, I don't think so. I have somewhere to be right now- "

"Oh well you don't, anymore." And its clear what he isn't saying- or else I'll tell Harrison about Carter and set your life on fire. "Tell your boy toy you're takin' a reign check for the day. I think you'll last. In fact... after you come over here, you might be out of the game for a couple a hours at least- maybe days."

Hold on, hold on Freddy what the fuck- "What!?"

"... Believe it or not, I didn't actually mean for that one."

Moron.

Nevertheless, no matter how just... off setting, Freddy is, I had to when he asked. I had to jump when he said so.

Because if not, then he would tear my life apart.

So here I am, about to knock on that big red door he lives behind, wondering what I'm walking into. Where's Loretta? Where's Kathy? How long will the visit be? I told Carter I'd be an hour or two late- any longer and I wont see him at all today. Which would absolutely suck.

Just after my knuckles come down on the wood the first time, a hand comes down on my shoulder and I immediately jump out of my skin... then slowly look around.

There's Freddy, a cheeky grin on his face. It does nothing to set my nerves at ease. "Ugh... Why are you out here?"

"We're going to the backyard. Lets go." Taking me by the shoulders, he marches me around the side of the house, instead of through it for some reason, and into the familiar backyard. I've been here numerous times, as Loretta likes to hold our club meetings here - Barbecue's, tea's... that sort of thing. Just to let the kids play together and so the adults can enjoy some adult conversation. Its a nice yard... but depending on what her horrid husband is about to show me, it may not be considered as such anymore... - , but I'm now starting to develop a sick feeling in my stomach.

Honestly- I don't know much about Freddy at all. Yes, I went to school with him, but that doesn't mean much when he was a freaky loner kid the whole time. I remember he killed the class hamster once- that's about the only splash he ever made in the news pool; But it definitely stuck.

Yes, Loretta cleaned up his image a fair bit since getting married, but now he's blackmailing me, and as far as I know I'm now alone with him.

Suspicious of him suddenly, I slip out of his grip with a dirty look flashed his way. Don't touch me.

He just rolls his eyes, leading me around some hedges.

And then everything stops.

Him, me, the air; The air around me, the breeze, the breath in my throat.

There lays Loretta, on the ground. If I was really really na��ve, I could imagine she were sleeping... or passed out, at least, due to the way she's sprawled out. No one would lay down like that willingly.

But... her eyes are open.

For a moment I'm tempted to kneel down; Take a closer look. Find out how, myself. Is she bleeding anywhere that I cant see now? Are her lips turning blue? If I moved some short red hair out of the way- would their be marks on her neck yet?

But then I come to my senses...

And freak. The fuck. O u t.

"What, the fuck, did you do!?" I whip around, looking at Freddy now which entirely new eyes. I mean, before I sure wasn't fond- but now I'm filled with something new, looking at him. Something a lot worse, something that makes me want to run. Run, and hide, and stay there.

And all these, even though he hasn't really changed. He still wears a mischievous smirk, stony blue eyes eating up my reactions... like always. But this time its just so so much worse. "Made some dead weight- now you're gonna help me get rid of it. So!" Finally, though its been only a matter of seconds, he turns his gaze off of me and I'm glad. That gaze is far too heavy. "Ideas?"

Only for a moment am I lost for words, struggling to push anything out. "I... I'm sorry??"

His gaze returns to mine, but this time my eyes are hard as his are dark. "Help. Me. Get rid of her. Fucking. Body. Or do you want your dirty laundry aired for the whole community to hear?"

Before I can help myself, I let out a sharp laugh, only succeeding in making Freddy's scowl deeper. "Freddy- this secret's a lot bigger, then mine. Sure, I might get divorced- but you're going to prison!" Does he get that? He's g o i n g to j a i l. Crossing my arms, I try to avoid looking at my ex-friend's body. I cant. "I'm sure as hell not gonna be in there with you, for being an accomplice."

I really cant look at her... I can only focus on Freddy. And that takes a lot of energy- its taking everything in me, in fact. Everything I have. But I have to. If its him or her, there's no choice.

But... then a creepy smile spreads across his face- a vast polarity to the frustrated glower of before. It makes my blood run cold.

"Ohhhh..." He looks almost ferocious, even in his composed state. Like a monster. Like any moment a fanged, inhuman creature is going to burst out of him and I'm going to wake up, and this will have been a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. The kind where that creature haunts me for a long time, after its over. After this over.

He's going to haunt me.

"You must think this is my first time... " My heart turns to ice, mouth hanging a little open... what the fuck have I found myself a part of!? Suddenly all the children's disappearances on the news lately come to the forefront of my brain... "Sweetheart, give a man his dues. I'm a hard working kinda guy... " I watch his gaze flicker to a door - the back door? No... The basement door, - and when a filthy smirk pulls at his mouth, my heart flies up into my throat. God, it makes me feel sick. I want to be violently ill. "My first was my adoptive Dad... pretty sick, huh?"

The fact that he didn't say anything about the basement, makes my imagination go wild. I swallow it down, though.

I just need to get out of here, and never think about this again.

And to do that I need to help Freddy get rid of this goddamn body- and... probably... testify at court... As the panic starts to finally rise up in my, right up to fill my throat, I immediately take in a deep breath and slowly let it out. "Okay... " No time to freak out. Now's the time for action.

Gaze flickering to Loretta again, I try to acclimatise to the sight. I think its a lost cause, though. "How did you get rid of him? Your Dad?"

"No, that's not gonna work. He was a drunk dead beat, and I just had to tell the police some guy's he owed money to came over to the house." Freddy grins happily at the memory, but then just as quickly, scowls at his poor deceased wife's body- that certainly cant fight back. I just tack this onto the long list of reasons I hate him. "Lore's such a goddamn goody goody- we cant do the same thing. You don't think I woulda thought of that??"

"Hey." I snap, hands braced on my hips as I flash a glare his way. "This is not the time to get defensive!"

"Whatever... "

Then- suddenly, something occurs to me. Confused, I look around; A deeply horrified feeling disturbing my stomach. "Hold on... Where's your daughter?" Seeing no sign of her anywhere, I definitely start to panic again- especially when I look to Freddy and just see a pert look in his eyes as he looks back at me, a smile that strikes something horrid inside me. My eyes narrow. "You sick fuck- where the fuck is she!??"

"Under the bed."

"What the fuck does that mean!?" I exclaim, frustrated and freaking out. He did not- he did not! Killing your spouse is one thing, but the kid?? Your own kid??

I don't wait around for him to be cryptic some more, and rush right into the house to look for her. Under the bed, under the bed, under the fucking bed...? Which fucking bed!? Forcing ferocity out of my voice, I carefully call out to Kathy. Hoping to god she answers. I try to sound normal. Maybe a little bit cheerful; Excited.

But my voice wobbles.

"Kathy?? Sweetheart, its Y/N! Are you hiding? I have something for you... " ?? You have something for her, Y/N?? God... now you have to figure out some kind of treat.

You know what? Whatever. We'll figure that out later.

Lets just hope we aren't searching for a corpse. I'd definitely be sick, seeing a child... the way Loretta is...

Shaking my head and clenching my fists, I try to focus on Kathy.

I check under the bed in the guest room because it comes into view first and she isn't there, then her bedroom and she isn't there either... and get a sick feeling as soon as I enter the last bedroom. Freddy's and Loretta's.

God, I've never been in here before but its like a museum peace now. A horrible one. Like if you would walk into the Titanic... or the Borden house.

"Kathy? You in here?" Flicking on the light I kneel down on the ground, and check under the bed.

And something immediately crashes over me, as the sight of her covering her eyes down there. It isn't exactly relief, because this whole situation is still phenomenally fucked up for her, but I am selfishly glad to not have to see her body... crumpled, just like her mother.

"Hey sweetheart," My voice quivers slightly now, but I quickly swallow. No. No. Now, you must be strong Y/N. "Its just me. Your Daddy was looking for you, and couldn't find you! It got him worried!"

"I... I don't wanna see Daddy. He hurt Mommy." Kathy doesn't remove her hands from her face, and stays firmly by the wall- too far away for anyone to grab. My heart sinks.

Slowly straightening up again, I try to take that piece of information in. Turning to the doorway, I see Freddy there. he must have followed me. I didn't even notice. Slowly, and quietly ferociously, I say; "She saw?!"

He has the good sense to look embarrassed, even if it is just to make fun of me. "It was spur of the moment... " He shrugs. "I didn't have time to get a babysitter!"

What a fucking excuse. For gods sake.

I'm definitely dealing with a psycho- if that was even a question before now.

Swiftly, I look down under the bed again, because I'm afraid that if I continue to engage with him- I'll scream, and I'll lose my breath, and I'll scare Kathy even more. She's at the forefront of my mind; That's all I can think about.

But what to do with her after I get her out from under this bed, I don't know. I cant give her back to her father... but I cant hand her over to the police either because that would involve telling them about Loretta, and... Freddy will definitely kill me, for that.

This is a nightmare of a situation.

I'm just opening my mouth to say something - what, I don't know yet, - when she speaks, instead. "Is he there?"

"... Yes." I wont lie to her; That would be treating her with not nearly as much respect as she deserves.

When she takes a deep breath and rubs her eyes, as if just trying to keep herself together, my heart clenches. God... and to think I might not have picks up Freddy's call today. I would have been leaving her with this. For the first time today, I'm morbidly glad I came.

She speaks in that loud, hissy way that kids think is a whisper. "Can he... can you please make him go away?"

Immediately I straighten back up and look to Freddy again, my eyebrows raised halfway up my forehead. Like well? "Get out."

"I don't think you're in a position to make demands here, bi- "

"Do you want Kathy to live down there now!??" I snap, trying not to be scared. Not really feeling scared, actually. Just happy to have a reason to tell him to get the hell away from me.

A deep frown creases his mouth, deeply unhappy about the situation, but steps back. I only hear him step out of the way of the door, but its good enough. Quickly, I get up and close the door - fighting with myself not to slam it, - and lock it.

Then I return to the floor, and see this time Kathy has uncovered her eyes. She looks so small, smaller then she actually is, and she looks like she's shaking. Little red bows and piggy tails in her hair are messy from crawling under the bed. "He's gone, sweetheart. And I locked the door."

She just nods, so I take the silence as a chance to offer my hand to her. "Take my hand, sweetie? Come on out from under the bed. Its cold down there, and no one wants you getting sick." I need to upkeep the family friend bit, I need to sound caring and collected. I need her to trust me.

Her big eyes, not Loretta's colour or Freddy's, look nervous as hell. And she shakes her head.

Taking a deep breath, and I conjure all the sincerity as I can. And mean it. My eyes soften and I try really hard, to resent myself as someone trustworthy- which is hard, seeing as I've never really been that. I mean, I'm cheating on my husband. I told Carter today the same lie I told Harrison when i knew I was going to be late. The only person I think who knows the truth behind all my lies is Freddy. That says something about a person, that the only person who knows them is a psychopath.

But I want to, I need to, be good for this little girl. And there's no time for me turn my life around so it has to start with this. How fucked is that?

"... I promise, I'll take care of you. He wont hurt you."

After a few whole minutes, in which I stay silent because yes she's a child, but she's still thinking, she crawls over and takes my hand, letting me lead her out. Crawling into my lap as I cross my legs under her, she buries her face in my shirt- hiding. "You promise?"

Taking a deep breath, because I've really done it now, I offer my pinky for her to see if she turned her head. I know Freddy's listening to all of this through the wall, but I try not to freak out. "Pinky swear?"

"Pinky swear." She peaks out from my shirt, and curls her little finger around mine. Okay... "Y/N... I'm scared."

"Yeah... Me too, sweetie."

What am I going to do?

#Freddy Krueger x Fem!Reader #Freddy Krueger x Reader #Slashers #Slashers x Reader #Fem Reader #Freddy Krueger #Loretta Krueger #Katherine Krueger #Kathrine Krueger #Maggie Burroughs #Oneshot #Freddy Krueger x Reader Oneshot

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notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

Text

Friendliness

A/N - ha so i just wrote this - no editing we die like men. here’s the alternate ending to my other post Likeability (this one is the more predictable one y’all will probably like whoops) if you’ve read the other one, just skip to the end it’s all the same in the middle

Summary - The Team meets a very unfriendly scientist which Spencer’s taken a fancy to

W/C - 2.9k (whoops)

Warnings - Mild Anatomy/bones/etc discussion, a pinch and change of swearing

----

Luke is holding his stomach in his hands. He could usually pride himself on keeping his cool, keeping his head—and stomach—together during a case. He’d seen enough dead bodies that this shouldn’t have thrown him like he’d just sailed twelve foot waves in a dingy.

But he is, after all, standing over a mass grave. Watching a too giddy scientist dig up the bodies.

You’ve captured everyone’s attention, for various reasons. Rossi is vaguely amused by your joyous shouting of bones and your rat moustached assistant. Luke can’t tear his eyes away from the car wreck—are you supposed to swing bones around like baseball bats? Reid seems more interested in your bad jokes and coveralls than he is in solving the case.

The rat assistant—Stewart Walsh—squeezes between Luke and Reid, scuttling like some kind of diseased turtle. “Doctor Y/L/N!”

You barely stop pouring over the mud covered pelvis in your hands to even acknowledge him.

“I just thought you should know that Dr. Evanston just got here.”

You look up, toss the bone to him, and snort. “Tell him the soil samples are four miles due east from here.”

“What’s wrong with Evanston?” Luke asks to no one in particular it seems, waving Stewart off to run for a group of approaching nerds in coveralls.

Ignoring the question or maybe Luke, you just turn back to your search. Elbow deep in mud, being nice must not have been on the to-do list. Reid leans over, hands in his pockets, and whispers, “Evanston stole one of her research papers. I thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in—“

“Skull!” you holler. Luke isn’t stupid enough to miss the glare reserved for the sheepish Dr. Reid.

He clears his throat. “Thoughts so far, doctor?”

“I’m thinking beetles,” is all you say before turning back to your skull. Luke might not know many scientists, but he doesn’t think that most of them look at human skulls like its the Mona Lisa. Like this fat piece of bone held the answers to the universe inside its empty eye sockets.

“Beetles?” Luke coughs. Rossi just shakes his head. Pretends this isn’t a conversation he’s having. Reid is still studying you like Luke might study infiltration schematics. Stewart runs up, out of breath, very rose coloured.

You’re eyes are sparkling as you wade over to them with a new radius bone in your hands. Everyone bends like they know what they’re looking at and you point along the edge of the bone. “It’s a subtle difference but these bones have been cleaned before being buried. My guess is carrion beetles. They’re very hard workers. And—“ you switch to pointing at the radial head— “minute scoring and kerf marks. These look pretty old, so I’m assuming we’re getting close to the bottom.”

“So our unsub dismembered his victims,” Rossi begins, “then cleaned the pieces?”

You nod and hand off the bone to a very blushing Stewart. “I won’t know for sure until I’ve had a chance to examine all the bones. There’s nothing definitive yet. What a hobbyist though, right?”

You chuckle to yourself and dive back into fishing out more finger and wrist bones. Luke turns, runs his hands over his face, and hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “Where did we find her?”

Rossi shrugs, “FBI easter egg hunt.” Luke blinks, while Rossi chuckles at his gullibility. “Come on, the doctor’s the best in the field. Good kid, I can tell.”

“Y/N’s great,” Spencer absently adds on, too busy staring at you. You’re explaining different types of dismemberment to Stewart like you’re discussing the rain. Luke grips onto his stomach just a little tighter.

“Y/N, huh?” Luke teases, momentarily forgetting the unsettling feeling in his gut about you. “You two, uh, friends or something?”

It’s Reid’s turn to stumble. “Yeah, but it’s—we’re just—we’re just—.”

Rossi shakes his head, slaps Reid on the shoulder. “Oh yeah, just friends. So, tell me. Do you talk about dismemberment before or after you make out?”

JJ wants to beg Emily not to make her go down into the basement. You’re down there. She knows it’s childish to be this avoidant—you are just a person after all. A creepy, psychopathic weirdo that makes JJ’s gut churn. She gets why Spencer’s taken to you—shared love of science and random trivia. She does. But that doesn’t mean JJ enjoys the cold ass morgue, smiling along as you ramble. Most of everyone’s limited contact with you has involved random facts and Stewart’s too intimate knowledge of fracture patterns.

There had been ten minutes of reassurance from Emily that you were, in fact, not a horrible person. Ended with JJ making the cold and dark trek down to the morgue. She couldn’t imagine working down here all day long. No one to talk to, no one to strategise with, no where to go. Maybe it suited you. No one would have to listen.

“—don’t know what to do!” echoes across the bottom of the stairwell, the morgue’s doors cracked open. The distress breaks JJ’s heart. Your voice stops her dead in her tracks.

“They don’t hate you,” Spencer’s voice comes after. Gentler, softer. “They—they just don’t know you yet.”

“They don’t want to, Spence!” and JJ winces with the words. It always hurt more when the truth came out in that tone. “I get it! You know? I work with human remains and don’t bring my people skills with me when I’m on the job, but—that shouldn’t matter!”

JJ winces again, tries to ignore how those are nothing short of teary sniffles echoing through her ears. She leans back against the wall and has no idea what to do. Spencer had obviously been down here for hours. Knew you well enough to get the teary truth. What could she do now? Interrupt?

She’d walked into hostage situations less freakin’ stressful than this.

“You’re right,” Spencer soothes, steadfast and strong, “it doesn’t matter. This isn’t—“

“It’s not your fault,” you sigh. JJ doesn’t want to hear the strangled touch to your voice. Doesn’t want to hear the break. “They’re your friends and I’m just your—“

“Doctor!” Stewart calls and JJ could scream. You’re his what?

At least, it’s as good as any moment to intrude.

“What, Stewart?” you snapped, already broken away from Spencer with wet cheeks and stained glasses. You wipe them off haphazardly with the tail end of Spencer’s sweater sleeve—JJ couldn’t help but smile, even if it’s a little strangled.

Stewart jumps like a wet cat and tosses a bundle of files into your hands. “Beetles.”

One word snatches the tears from your face. Snatches you away from Spencer’s side for one of the dozen skeletons on the tables. There was no reason to think that she’ll get her report from you now. With a rib bone in one hand and contemplation in your features—JJ can’t decide how unnerved she is—you’re a little too concentrated.

Stewart scuttles around you. A little too attentive. A little too cherry tinted. Yep. No reports to be had from either of you. JJ turned to Spencer instead, hoping that maybe he’d be helpful. Plastered up like a billboard, JJ knows that saccharine smile isn’t going to get her anywhere.

“Spence?”

He hums, halfheartedly tearing his eyes away. “Yeah?”

“I need the latest report for Emily, but I don’t think—“

“I’ll—just a second, JJ.” Spencer grins, sugary sweet, and slips away. JJ doesn’t miss how he places a hand on your shoulder as he passes. How you barely even notice that quite intimate contact. She also doesn’t miss how Stewart’s face sours at the action, how his eyes narrow enough that Spencer feasibly should’ve noticed.

Reports in hand a minute later, JJ leans over to Spencer. Elbows him in the arm. “Stewart seems pretty jealous. Any reason for that?”

Spencer shrugs. “Wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

Rossi doesn’t have an opinion. Everyone keeps asking—oh Rossi, you’re the wisest of us all, what should we do about poor little Y/N? He doesn’t know, doesn’t care. You are just some scientist who is doing a thousand percent better job than any other forensics ‘expert’ he’s had the pleasure of working with.

Your lab doesn’t smell. You don’t smell. Is there anything more to ask for?

But he does get the brute of having to make the trek down to the morgue—god, his knees alone—and receives most of the reports from the not as horrible as everyone thinks Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. Who is joyfully humming while squinting over one of the skeleton’s hands.

“Hey, doc,” he calls and you look up at him with an adorable sort of grin. “Got anything new?”

“Sure,” you chirp. Hesitate to wave him over. “If you want the details, that is.”

Rossi shakes his head, pulls up a stool to sit next to you and your subject. “I like to have as much knowledge as I can. You never know what will lead you to your un-sub.”

You settle your elbows on the table, straighten a stray finger bone. The team shouldn’t be worried about you being a psychopath. You’re dedicated, careful, attentive. Rossi hopes that if he ever gets turned into human remains, you’re the one looking over him. There’s been more care put into one skeleton than into his three combined marriages.

“You’re in luck,” you answer, “I’ve got a lot to tell you about our attacker. You’ve got time, right?”

Rossi nods, smiles. “Plenty.”

Penelope still hasn’t met you and that kind of pisses her off. You haven’t made it upstairs once? She flies into some dingy Wyoming hovel of a police station for like a week and no one’s thought to bring you upstairs? Rude.

She’s sitting in JJ’s desk chair, waiting for her and Luke to get back from interviewing a potential lead—some ex-felon who fit your makeshift profile. Reid’s scouring over some boring geographical profile, trying not to get annoyed as she nervously—angrily—rants about the case to him. She knows he’s tuning her out, but her work’s been put on the back burner until someone comes up with something to give her.

There’s only so much a computer can find and she’s no profiler.

It’s about five minutes after Reid snapped and left to get a coffee refill, when she picks up a call from the desk. “Hello?”

Creaking metal and shuddering breathing comes first. “Set the scalpel down” comes second. She swallows, silent, and panicking. What the heck is she supposed to do? Paying attention to those hostage negotiation seminars that she definitely didn’t go to would’ve come in handy right about now.

Said scalpel clatters onto some metal table, followed by a strong, “You really don’t want to do this. Please put the gun down.”

Oh god, this is happening.

“You just—“ a male voice snips, bellowing out, “YOU DON’T LOOK AT ME.”

“I do look at you, Stewart,” you plead just as JJ and Luke clamour through the bullpen’s door. Penelope puts the call on speaker, mutes it, and screams for them.

“I don’t know what to do,” Penelope sobs professionally, “someone’s got a gun.”

JJ runs for Emily’s office while Reid returns heedlessly. Luke puts a soft hand on Penelope’s cold one and squeezes. Newbie or not, it’s appreciated as the man’s voice returns. “I’ve tried for so long to get you to—to just—just look at me! I’ve done so much!”

“I know, Stewart,” you ease and Reid tenses. Nearly drops his coffee. “It’s not your fault. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Yeah,” Stewart sobs; Penelope can only imagine how crazy this kid must be.

“Did you leave all those bodies for me, Stewart?” you question and everyone holds their breath. Luke squeezes harder on her hand. Reid’s twitching like a rabbit’s nose, a death grip on his mug, frozen as a Michigan pond.

Stewart sniffles. Probably nods. Penelope doesn’t know whether to run or sit or cry. She decides it’s probably cry, but instead her fingers start moving to record the call, trace the office origin.

“It was a great puzzle, Stewart, it was really genius. It was a fun case to follow, you know that.” You swallow hard, metal tinkles through the speaker. Please, Penelope begs, don’t let them kill each other. I haven’t met the doctor yet!

“Why did you kill these girls, Stewart?” your voice is so gentle and lulling Penelope almost forgets that she’s listening to you try to save your own life.

“I wanted you to look,” he says, sniffles. “I wanted you. I want you, Y/N. I want you to love me.”

It’s either her computer beeping or someone falling through a table or a gunshot. She doesn’t know. She’s crying too hard to care.

Tara doesn’t know when she started to run—probably just after JJ, Luke, and Reid barrelled passed her by the bathroom shouting about the situation—but she’s almost to the morgue doors, right on Reid’s heels. Lord almighty, she feels so stupid. She’d had enough little one on one chats with Stewart to know he was some sort of psycho in disguise. To know that something was wrong with that kid. No one could last more than three minutes with your grad student assistant without wanting to take an eyeball out—his or theirs it didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe you when you told her that all forensic anthropologists seem like that. That there was nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about her ass.

Luke’s the first to storm the morgue, expecting what Tara is: you, dead, on the floor with Stewart on the brink of killing himself. But they stop and they stare and Reid beams on with the absurd look on your face.

You’re shaking with rage, pointing a gun at a very unconscious, crumpled, bleeding Stewart Walsh. Your teeth are bared in what Tara would consider out of a comic book—ludicrous and of someone who’s completely lost their mind. JJ makes the mistake of asking if you’re alright.

“Alright?” you chirp, feral and ravenous. JJ and Luke shrink back as you shout, “I lived in Honduras for three years! This isn’t even the worst thing that’s happened to me. It’s my third fucking kidnapping!”

“T-third?” Luke croaks.

“Third!” you shout again and recklessly set your gun on the table. Spencer grins, which sets you off further. “I’ve been nice. I’ve been accommodating. But this is my fourth psychotic grad student! I fucking swear—!”

Stewart groans—thank god he’s alive—and Spencer, thankfully, rushes forward to catch you before you can take anything else out on the kid. Tara’s heard rumours about mysterious other instances of your being under arrest. Illegal transportation of goods was one thing, police brutality was another. The scalpel sticking out of his knee is bad enough.

She helps Luke haul Stewart to his feet, reeking of desperation and a much needed psych eval. JJ follows close behind, closes the morgue doors behind them. But not before they hear your muffled sobs and Spencer’s smiling.

“You got him, Y/N.”

“No, Spence,” you correct, and Tara can’t help but be proud, “I kicked the snot out of him.”

Emily is barely awake when she sees it. JJ’s soft breathing next to her is lulling by itself, let alone if you add in Rossi’s rhythmic snoring and Luke’s idle whispers of sleep talk. Emily could do with some sleep and maybe a few days off. They could all use a few days off, especially after coming to terms with the fact a grad student had killed 12 women just to get a little action.

From a scientist who freely admitted to enjoying the company of bones over real people.

Alive people.

No wonder Stewart had done what he’d done.

Emily turns in her spot, lays back against the wall of the airplane and the seat. After nearly five decades—she’s never thinking about that again—of plane rides, she can comfortably say she can sleep anywhere. With any amount of noise, or cold, or pain.

But her eyes are accidentally open when she peaks around the seat cushion. Spies the Wild Dr. Reid in his natural habitat, reading some ridiculously long book and…carding his fingers through your hair? He’s got a lock curled up around his finger, gently twisting it as he reads. You’re sleeping—knocked the fuck out—in his lap, gripping loosely onto his leg.

You deserve the sleep, Emily decides with a smile. You’d worked the hardest on the case, up for nearly four days with as little rest as you can manage. How Stewart managed to stay awake enough to attack you is beyond Emily. She’s missed out on a few hours just today and she’s losing the battle with her eyelids.

No one ever asked her opinion of you. Probably didn’t have to. You were not the easiest to like, but you’d captured her respect and a bit of her heart when you’d said at the beginning of the case: “I’m an excavator by trade—I’m at archeological digs most of the time—so it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that these ladies are murder victims. I don’t think I’ll sleep until I’ve got names for them. And maybe the murderer on my table.”

Emily understood the unease, the apprehension. Why everyone was relieved when you’d turned down the plane ride she’d offered you. How they all bit back groans when Emily had insisted. But they’ll have to get used to it, Emily thinks and she settles again. Because they’ll see you again. No doubt about it. The way you’re wrapped up around Spencer, how you hold tighter when the jet bounces a touch, says just that much anyway.

#no editing lads #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #reid #reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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totallysharkycomplete · 3 years ago

Text

Waiting For You Part Four (Ford Pines x Reader) Our Year

Before the twins arrived she helped Stan set up the attic for them. She also made sure there was plenty of food and snacks. Also, she helped make sure the shack was tween proof, and there were no signs of the supernatural or paranormals.

Stan had hired help in the gift shop for the summer, which was new. Besides Soos who had been around for a few years now. He claimed it was because you were both so close to getting Ford back, and the kids would be enough work.

Life wasn’t much different with the twins around, maybe more fun, but not too different. Mabel decided to call her their honorary Grant. The only difference being having to wait until the kids were asleep before she and Stan head down into the basement.

She tried to distance herself at first, allowing time for Stan to bond with his grand niece and nephew. When Stan told her he was going to take the kids fishing she decided to stay home and work. A few days after that there was a loud crash and Soos announced that he had found a random hidden room.

Everything in her started to panic that he had somehow found Ford’s room, but was relieved when she saw it was those creepy wax figures Stan had forgotten about.

“Why are these in here?” Dipper asks.

“They stopped attracting tourists so Stan put them away. Also,” She leans down to Dipper to whisper. “I think they were kinda haunted.” She only half jokes. They had always given her the creeps.

“I thought you didn’t believe in stuff like that.” Dipper quirked an eyebrow.

Stan and her had agreed to play off all the weird stuff in Gravity Falls to try and keep the kids away from it.

“I don’t.” She lies.

---------- When Mabel announces she has been spending time with Gideon she advies her against it. “Mabel, not to be rude, I know he’s only a child, but he’s kind of insane. Also, he’s kind of like your Gunkle Stan's nemesis.”

Mabel ignores her warning. A few days later however she came back to admit she was right.

“Mabel, I know you’re very boy crazy at this age. You’ll quickly learn that if a guy makes you feel uncomfortable or creeps you out you shouldn’t force yourself to be around them.” She offers Mabel a Pitt Cola which she happily accepts.

“He was really nice until he was really creepy.” Mabel sighs.

“Some boys are just like that.” She tells her.

“What about you? You’re so beautiful and nice. Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” Mabel sits up, excited for an answer.

Her thumb comes up to fidget with the back of her ring. “Well, Mable, I…”

“Oh my gosh!” Mabel jumps up. “Is it because you’re in love with Grunkle Stan?”

She can’t help but laugh, causing Mabel to frown. “I’m sorry, Mabel, but no. I love Stan, yes. But I have absolutely no romantic feeling for him.”

“Don’t worry, by the end of this summer I’ll find you a boyfriend for sure!” Mabel doesn't listen as she protests, and scurries off. ---------- For some reason unbeknownst to her Stan decides to throw a party at the shack. When she asks him a reason all he replies with is, “Money!” Which seems about right to her.

She avoids the party for the most part. Taking the opportunity to sneak into the basement to tighten bolts and detangle wires. It's really all she can do at this point until the other journals are found.

When the party is over Stan makes his way to the basement. “You been down here all night?” She nods. “I could use some help cleaning up from the party.” She agrees to help since there is nothing left for her to do.

She starts throwing cups in the trash can and sweeping up. She unconsciously sighs.

“What’s that for?” Stan asks.

“What’s what for?” She replies.

“The sighing, am I too boring for you?” He jokes.

She stops cleaning and looks at him. “What else can we do, Stan? I feel like I’m just sitting around twiddling my thumbs waiting for something to happen. I’ve spent hours in the woods looking for the journals, hours looking around town, in the shack, but I always come back empty handed. I just don’t know what to do next.”

Stan walks over to her and takes the broom from her hands and sets it to the side, then wraps her in a hug. She hugs him back. “All we can do is keep on living our lives. We’ve done all that we can. I’m not saying we should give up or nothing, but right now we just have to live in the present ya’ know?”

She sniffs. “I know. It’s just so hard to, when it feels like we’re so close.” She put her chin on his chest to look at him.

He smiles. “I know what you mean.” He pauses for a second. “But right now, how ‘bout a dance? Didn’t get one all night.” Stan moves to turn on a slow song, before moving back to her and taking her hands.

She laughs but doesn't argue, laying her head against his chest. They slowly sway to the music.

“This year will be our year, promise.” Stan whispers. ---------- She’s sitting on the dinosaur skull talking to Stan when the twins come barling into the room arguing about having separate rooms. She can’t but smile and wonder if Ford and Stan were like this as kids. Right as Stan is explaining there’s not another room there’s a loud crash and Soos announces, yet again, he’s found a secret room.

Everyone makes their way to go see, and to her dismay she sees it’s Ford’s room. She watches as Stan walks in and grabs Ford’s glasses and tucks them into his sleeve while lying about not knowing what the room was.

She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t even remember experiment 78, and how she had spent the day in Ford’s body before they figured out they could switch back.

She's leaning against the door frame watching as Stan tells the kids he’ll give the room to whoever sucks up to him the most. Even though she’s feeling upset seeing this room for the first time in a year she can’t help but laugh at Stan’s antics.

As the kids are off scrambling to reshackle the roof she sits across from Stan at the table. “Really?”

He smirks. “What? Just a little friendly competition among siblings.”

She lets out a laugh. “Were you and Ford like that?”

Stan looks at her smiling, but frowns a little before pulling a fake smile. “We, uh, we were best friends our whole childhood. As inseparable as kids can get.” He thinks for a second. “Did you ever want to have kids?”

She looks down at the table wistfully. “I did,” she says with a sad kind of smile. “We did,” she corrects herself. “We had talked about having kids once we weren’t so busy with work.

Stan can’t help but feel guilty. Maybe if he had never answered his brother letter her and Ford would be happily married with a family of their own.

“Don’t think like that Stan.” She frowns.

“Like what?” He tries to play dumb.

“I’ve spent almost every moment with you the last thirty years. I can read you like a book, old man.” She smiles at him now and reaches across the table to hold his hand. He grumbles but doesn’t pull away. “You know I love you, Stan. I don’t hold anything that happened against you, I’ve told you before.”

She pulls her hand away as Mabel runs into the room and starts talking to Stan. She gives him a smile before leaving the room.

Later she finds Stan sitting in his arm chair in front of the television. His favorite show is on, but he’s focused on the object in his hands. Ford’s glasses. Silently, she walked to sit on the dinosaur skull beside him and wrap an arm around him. They both look down at the glasses in silence. ---------- At first, she finds Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained charming. He reminds her a lot of Ford. Charming, until he starts to point the attention to her.

“She’s lived without Grunkle for who knows how long. They aren’t married or romantically involved, yet she wears a wedding ring. Could she actually be the ghost of a lonely widow who died in this house?” Dipper came up with a whole bunch of crazy theories. He followed her around with a camera until she finally had to tell him to stop.

She pulled him aside to talk to him. “Dipper, listen. Your grukle and I are friends, and roommates. We live together because neither of us want to live alone.”

“But your ring.” Dipper begins to ask.

“My ring,” she gives him a sad smile. “Dipper my fiance gave me this ring and he’s… no longer with us.”

Dipper’s face turned white as he began apologizing.

“Dipper it’s alright. I’m sure you’ll find a real mystery in this town if you keep looking.” ---------- A few days later she's reading in her room when Stan calls her and the kids to the living room. “I need you to laugh at this with me!” He motions to the little Gideon commercial on the tv.

Her heart sinks as the commercial shows the Mystery Shack being destroyed by the tent of telepathy.

Dipper asks if they should be worried about that but Stan assures him the only way Gideon could take the shack was if he snuck in and stole the deed. There’s a loud crash and Stan gets up and you follow to find Gideon had actually broken in. Stan ends up chasing him out with a broom but Gideon gives a grave warning about how when he gets the combination to his safe, Stan will never see the Mystery Shack again.

She stops Stan as he locks the safe again. “Is it really safe? Should we move it to the basement?”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “The combination is in my brain, sweetheart. There’s no way he can get it there.”

For a second her mind thinks of Bill, but he’s been gone since Ford disappeared. She decided against mentioning it to him and trusts Stan to know what he’s doing. Unfortunately, she's asleep in her room when Bill invades Stan’s mind and the twins and Soos enter his brain.

While in his brain Mabel opens a door to see Stan slow dancing with their ‘honorary Grant.’ “Are we sure they aren’t in love?” She questions before moving on.

She came into the living room to see everyone cheerful, Dipper had his grunkle in a choke hold, and she smiled. Suddenly there was an explosion knocking everyone backwards. Gideon walked in with the deed in his hands.

Dipper looks confused and says something about Bill. Her heart drops at the thought of the twins having to have had to deal with him.

They flee from the shack and all they can do is watch as a wrecking ball knocks over the sign for the Mystery Shack. ---------- The new living situation was less than ideal. Staying with Soos and his grandmother was only a temporary solution until they got the shack back.

While Gideon held a press conference Stan, the kids, and Soos watched from the front, she tried to sneak in the back. However they were both caught and thrown off the property.

Back at Soos’s house she stood in the kitchen with Stan while he called the twin’s parents. She watched as he blatantly lied to them. He hangs up the phone with a sigh and she walks over and pulls him into a hug.

“What are we going to do, Stan?” She whispers.

“We’ll do what we have to.” ---------- She was right by his side as he explained to the kids that he had to send them home. It broke your heart just as much as his to see how upset they were. She was surprised to hear him say Gideon won before he stormed out, she followed him out the door.

“You didn’t mean all that.” She confronts Stan when she catches up to him. “I know you didn’t. Stan we’re so close.”

“What do you want me to say? What can we even do? We’ve lost the shack, the kids have to go home, and we’ve lost the portal!” He shouts but not loud enough for anyone else to hear.

“We can’t just give up.” She sniffs.

Stan calms himself when he sees she's about to cry, and gives her a hug. ---------- She gives both twins a teary goodbye before boarding the bus. “I love you two. Thank you for making this summer so memorable. I’m sorry it got cut short.” She plants a kiss to each of their heads before they board the bus.

She stands with Stan as they watch their bus drive away.

Back at Soos’s house she scribbles down ideas on how to get the house back, while Stan sits on the couch to wallow in his self pity. He grumbles something about hitting rock bottom and having no friends, no family.

“What am I, chopped liver?” She jokes, biting her pen in thought. He apologizes.

He stares at the Gideon pin in his hand before announcing he knows Gideon's weakness and tells you to hurry up as he runs out the door. ---------- Stan exposes Gideon for the fraud he is. They get the shack back and the twins get to stay. Even better, Stan tells her he’s found journal number two. She can’t stop from crying when he tells her.

Stan checks on the kids while she's checking on the portal. She doesn’t come up all night, until Stan comes down with journal number three.

“Is this real?” She asks in disbelief. “All three? We have all three journals after one day?”

“We have them all.” He confirms and flips them open to the corresponding pages. She watches as Stan examines the pages and presses some buttons, and the portal lights up. “It’s working!” He exclaims. Running towards the portal and she follows.

“Here we go.” ---------- It’s not long until gravity anomalies begin to happen.

“It won’t be long now.” Stan stated.

She smiled wide and nodded. --------- The next day when government vehicles showed up she tried her best to keep her calm. Stan kept his cool and they left.

“I thought this would happen.” She confessed when they’re alone. “The gravity anomalies happened back in the 80’s when we got the portal working but the government was less observant then.”

“Don’t stress it. Soon we'll have Ford back and we won’t have to worry about the government.” Stan grunts.

She tries not to stress but it doesn't really work. She decided to help distract herself by helping Stan set up for the party. They deserved to celebrate getting the shack back. However, she can’t but notice Dipper sneaking off to Stan’s room. She goes to tell Stan right away.

She agrees to keep an eye on the party while Stan goes to check the portal. Everything is going well until the earth starts to shake. It’s not time for this yet, she thinks and checks her watch. Everyone runs off and she makes her way over to stand by Mabel, when Dipper comes running around the corner a hoard of zombies behind him. She orders everyone inside and keeps the zombies away from the kids the best she can without a weapon. They end up trapped in the gift shop and one grabs Dipper. Before she can do anything Stan shows up to save the day. When they are almost safe in the attic Dipper says there’s no way you and his Grunkle Stan can deny the thing that goes on in Gravity Falls anymore.

“Kid, I’ve always known.” Stan confesses. Dipper looks at you and you nod.

“We thought the best way to keep you two safe from it was to deny its existence. We see that was wrong now.” She frowns.

After the whole karaoke ordeal is over Stan has the twins promise not to go looking for problems, Stan lies and promises he has no more hidden secrets. ---------- She stands by Stan as he pours the fuel into the machines.

“Everyday it’s getting stronger.” He comments as his pen, mug, and notebook fly through the portal. She grabs his arm and steps back. Her eyes were wide.

“Haha, yes!” Stan shouts and raises his hand up. A stray metal bar flies up and hits him in the hand.

“This is so dangerous.” She sighs while bandaging his hand.

“I don’t care if it’s dangerous. I don’t care how long it takes. We’re gonna pull this off, and no ones going to get in our way.” He says determined.

She nods, just as determined. ---------- Stan and her work countless late nights. Finally Stan poured the last of the fuel into the machine. “That should be just enough to do the trick.” Just as he says that the timer begins.

The two of them put the final touches on the machine and Stan hits the button. The portal lights up and begins to whir into life.

“Yes! This is it!” His hat began to rise off his head.

She grabs on the nearest desk to keep herself on the ground. In a few seconds gravity returns and she lands back on her feet. “Just eighteen more hours?”

“Eighteen more hours and this will all have been worth it. Stan straps on his watch with a synced up timer. “Finally, everything changes today.”

They share a smile together. ---------- Stan says he’s going to spend the day with the kids, but she refuses to leave the basement. The kids ask where she is and he just says she’s not feeling well so she’s laying down in bed.

She's standing near the portal but at a safe distance. “Just ten more minutes.” She fidgets with her ring. While staring at the portal she doesn’t notice Soos and the kids. They don’t notice her right away either.

She checks her watch. “Two more minutes. Where the hell is Stan?” Looking around she looks back in the control room to see the kids and Soos. “What the hell?”

They walk into the portal room and gasp. “Kids, Soos, you can’t be here. You need to leave now.”

“There! Dipper yells and runs to the override keys.” Before she can run over and stop them, they turn them.

She moves to stand in front of the emergency off switch. “Stop! You don’t understand!” Soos grabs her and holds her to the side. She tries to wiggle away but can’t get out of his grasp. “Stop! Please!” She cries as Dipper almost hits the button.

Stan burts into the room and stops him before he does think. Dipper begins to argue with Stan when gravity fails.

They’re all lifted into the air. She's holding onto the timer as Mabel makes her way to the kill switch. She is frozen in fear, but Stan launches himself forward and convinces Mabel to trust him. There’s a blinding light and a figure steps out of the portal.

“The author of the journals. My brother!”

#waiting for you part four #ford pines x reader #standford pines x reader #gravity falls #reader insert

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shutupanddance · 3 years ago

Text

“I can’t believe you don’t like hugs.”

@girloncorneliastreet requested more Sam Seaborn and who am I to turn that down? Sorry if this is super choppy. I had a great first draft, and then lost it to the post editor, so this is the best I could salvage. I also have a Sherlock request that is next on my to-do list!

Meeting an old friend at a charity event was a mistake.

It wasn’t like you planned it, anyway, but still a mistake because your coworkers were there. And no one is nosier than the West Wing of the Whitehouse.

She had run up, excited to see you, and squeezed your arm.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hug you!” She said, and you both laughed. The conversation went on about other things for awhile, but as soon as she left, your colleagues pounced on you. They wanted to know why she wouldn’t hug you.

After some relentless questions, you said that you didn’t like hugs, and your friend was just respecting that. That’s when the West Wing really blew up.

You’d think you had announced you were becoming a Republican with how people talked about it. They were completely offended that you didn’t like hugs.

You finally managed to escape into your office, and were putting work together so you could finish at home, when you heard Sam Seaborn at your door.

“I can’t believe you don’t like hugs.”

You groaned.

“Can we do this some other time?”

He didn’t respond, just looked at you through furrowed brows. He was standing in your way of making an exit.

“Alright, move, Socrates.”

He smiled, just like he always did when you called him that. But thankfully, he moved. You took your coat off the hanger and made a break for it.

You got about four steps away before Sam started following you.

“What is it about hugs that you don’t like?”

You tried to ignore him. The only problem was, the man can talk an ear off.

“Is it the warmth? The squish? Do you just hate people?”

You got as far as the lobby before you blew a gasket. You whirled on him.

“Just drop it, okay!?”

He looked shocked. A little hurt. But mostly regretful. That sad puppy look in his baby blue eyes…

“I’m sorry.” He swallowed.

You didn’t know what else to say, so you nodded. You left him standing there.

You felt bad for yelling at Sam. Even if he deserved it a little. But you really didn’t know how to bring it up, and you HAD asked him to drop it, so you decided to drop it as well.

Lucky for you (but not so lucky for the cleaning staff), some kid had projectile vomited near the Oval Office, and the West Wing was crashed, meaning everyone was more concerned about the crash than your “I don’t like hugs” statement of last night. Business went on with everyone navigating their jobs around the crash.

You saw Sam several times during the day, but you pretended nothing ever happened. Sam must’ve felt pretty bad, because he went along with it.

“Hey, Plato!” He called, and you turned from your spot in the bullpen. Once you had started calling Sam “Socrates”, he decided to refer to you almost solely as “Plato”.

“What?”

“Leo wants us to run these down to Legal in the basement. Says we need to be briefed by Ainsley about something?” He shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

You nodded, took some from the stack he was carrying, and followed him downstairs.

There wasn’t much talking involved, not like you could be distracted while navigating the Whitehouse. It takes an individual’s entire brain power to figure this maze out.

You were almost to Ainsley’s office when the halls were flooded by Secret Service agents. They were like a swarm of bees. One of them, Agent Daniels, grabbed you and Sam.

“Mr. Seaborn, Mx Y/L/N, we need you to step into this office and not leave. The crash has escalated a level.”

He shoved you roughly into an abandoned office.

“Hey-” you began, but the door was shut quickly. You huffed. “What, did the vomit kid try and assassinate the President now?”

Sam laughed, and you smiled, making eye contact for probably the first time since last night. It felt good to be normal friends again. You surveyed the office, with its empty boxes, a desk, and a couple chairs. You strolled over to one and sat down with a sigh, knowing that this crash could last for awhile. Sam joined you.

“So, what do you think it is this time?” He asked. “Biohazard, fire, maybe someone jumped the fence again?”

You leaned back, staring at the yellowing ceiling. “Who knows.”

It was then that Sam’s cell began to rang. He answered it, but all you could hear from the conversation was a few yes and no’s.

“So?” You asked, raising your head.

“Biohazard it is. Apparently the vomit kid had some sort of respiratory infection on top of whatever stomach bug made him turn the office into a postmodern art gallery.”

You laughed, but scrunched your nose in a disgusted expression. You could vividly remember the puke painted on the walls.

It wasn’t much longer until Agent Daniels came to retrieve you both, saying the crash had been resolved. This was business as usual at the West Wing, but you were glad it happened. It had given you a chance to repair your relationship with Sam. You went on your way to Ainsley’s office, but she wasn’t there. She must’ve been stuck in some other corner of the Whitehouse.

Unfortunately, it was freezing down here. You hugged your arms close and shivered. Ainsley’s office was notorious for being either jungle-hot or tundra-cold, with very little imbetween. Of course, Sam noticed you shivering.

“Aw, would a hug help?” He joked, and you could tell he was trying to make light of what happened last night. But you saw your chance.

“Actually, yes. A hug would help,” you said through chattering teeth, and he nearly did a double-take.

“What?”

“I said I’d like a hug.”

Sam looked a little confused, but he took a few cautious steps forward, and you met him in the middle. You leaned up against his broad chest, head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you tentatively.

You snuggled just a little closer, and he took that as his cue to hold tighter. Sam Seaborn was a great hugger, you realized.

“So, you DO like hugs?” He asked.

You sighed.

“When I was in college, I got a lot of creepy guys who would try and hug me in a *friendly* way. I had a really hard time telling them ‘No’, so I just started saying to people that I really didn’t like physical contact. I kept the story because it made it easier to avoid being too close to people I don’t like.” You chuckled. ““I like hugs as long as they’re from a person I also happen to like.”

Sam let his face rest in your hair, and you could feel him smile and his arms pull you just a little tighter.

“Okay.” He said.

It was a silly answer, but you were enjoying being so close to him, so you didn’t care. You just hoped he cut his answer short because he was enjoying being so close to you as well.

Just then, Ainsley returned.

“Do y’all need a room or something? Cause there’s an empty office just down the hall.”

#sam seaborn #sam seaborn imagine #sam seaborn x reader #The West Wing #the west wing fanfiction #the west wing reader insert #rob lowe #masterlist

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softhxtch · 4 years ago

Text

TITTLE: Just Be Here

SUMMARY: Reader just finished a case and her husband, Aaron Hotchner is always there to support her.

PAIRING: female! reader x Aaron Hotchner

CHARACTERS: reader, Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss and David Rossi (literally for a second), Allison (OC)

WARNINGS: child assault and abuse; mentions of misscariage, alcohol usage, body fluids (blood, urine, vomit), pornography.

WORD COUNT: 3,5K

A/N: am i back? i don’t know hahah, but it’s something, right? again in this story Jack doesn’t really exist, sorry. and again CAC - Crimes Against Children.

'Hey, sweetie. You're safe, okay? Nobody's gonna hurt you anymore.', you whispered taking little girl into your arms. She was sobbing quietly with tears falling down her pink cheeks. She was no more than three years old, still in her purple pajamas, that were dirty form all the body fluids person can imagine and also dirty room she was held in. 'You're safe, Allison. You're safe.', you kept repeating and little girl just held her hands around you even tighter.

You looked around the room and the whole sight was just horrible. No windows, barely any lights, cages, blood and urine all over the floor. Just an awful place to be in let alone to live for months. Even the smallest thought of what was going on before the whole team came in gave you shivers and blood started to boil inside you. The place was there for years at that point and no one knew about it. You were just looking at your teammates, taking the rest of the kids out of the building. Some were crying, some were screaming and some were just clinging to the agents hoping that they would never comeback. And they never will. You would make sure of that.

' Allison, we have to go.', you said quietly, trying not to scare her. But little girl just shook her head and tightened her arms around your neck. 'We have to go. You need to see a doctor. It's scary, I know, but I'm gonna be with you all the time, okay?'

It wasn't easy to convince Allison to come out of the building, but after some negotiations and conversations with you she agreed. You're holding her in your arms as close as possible, trying to avoid the blue and red lights that were blinding both of you in the dark night.

Hospitals were always the last place that you're wanted to be. If you were the it only meant that either someone from your team or family was injured or one of the victims from your case were in tragic condition.

To put it straight, hospitals were never a good sign.

But you couldn't go home, not just yet. You promised Allison, that you would be with her this whole time, so you were also there when she got a check up from the pediatrician. You were holding her hand, caressing the back of it from time to time just to reassure her that you're there. Sometimes your would just add how great she was doing and how strong it is.

'Home.', Allison whined as doctor was checking on one of her bruised legs. Few tears fell down her cheeks, which made your hear break. It was horrible to seeing anyone in that position, but especially a child.

'You're doing great, Allison. Just few more minutes, okay?', you said quietly, taking hair out of her forehead.

'I just need to check the other leg and then you can have a long nap, till morning. How does that sound?', doctor asked and written down something on her notepad.

'I think it's great! Do you, Sonnie?', you said with a happy voice, looking at a little girl. She just nodded, still pouting from her cry few seconds ago. 'I'll be right back.', you said when you heard familiar phone ring. Doctor nodded understanding, but Allison held your hand not wanting to let you go. ' Allison, I'll be back in few minutes. I just need to answer that call, okay? You will be able to see me through the glass. I'm not going anywhere and until then you'll stay with Doctor Ashley.', you explained.

She wasn't convinced at all. It took you few more minutes for to actually let go of your hand. You explained everything a least three times. Doctor eyed you few times, but you just tried to ignore her. After years of working with children you knew how long it sometimes takes to convince them. Especially the ones that have been seriously hurt. They just wanted someone to be with them through the whole process and you understood it one hundred percent.

You sent Allison a small smile, saying one more time, that you'll be back in few minutes. After that you left the room and took out phone, dialing number that called you before.

'Hi.', you heard deep, yet soft voice on the other side. You sighed and replied with the same thing. 'Long night?'

'Yeah and I can't even see the end of it.', you answered and heard your husband's laugh. 'It wasn't a joke.', you added, rolling your eyes.

'I know. But it's kind of ironic considering that the sun will be up in less than an hour.', Aaron said. You could hear him moving around the house. Walking from bathroom to bedroom, probably getting ready for work. 'How are the kids?'

'Fine, if you could say it after living in a basement for most of your life and posing for creepy middle aged men.', you answered, feeling the shivers on your arms. The images that you saw literally just came back. And you can expect they will be coming back more often, but this time in your nightmares.

'All alive?', Aaron asked. You could hear him doing something in the kitchen, which made you smile, still looking at Allison. You actually would do everything to be right now with him in that kitchen. Waiting for his famous muffins with bacon and eggs, like he would do whenever both of you had day off.

'Yes, all eight of them.', you nodded. 'You're heading to work now? It's a bit early, even for you.'

'Not yet.', he answered quickly. You could hear another chews from the other side, which actually made your stomach going louder. 'But yesterday I picked up from the post office that coffee table, that you ordered and I thought I would put it together.'

'You're gonna put a coffee table together? At-', you asked surprised, looking at the watch on your phone. '-4:38 in the morning? Are you okay?', you added with a laugh.

'What can I say? I'm just bored without you.', he answered. Right after that you heard a loud noise from the other side and a quiet curse from Aaron.

'You're okay?', you asked, furrowing you brows.

'Yes. I'm looking for the box with all the tools.', he replied. 'I think I'll ask Morgan about them. He'll know what I should use.'

'How about you leave it to me, huh? I'll do it, because we don't want another trip to ER. It'll be third time this year, they'll assume that I'm assaulting you.', you laughed, hearing just quick 'hey!' from your husband.

For the first time in hours you actually felt nice. You didn't had constant fear in your head about the case. You weren't even thinking about it, right now what you were thinking about was Aaron and that stupid coffee table. And he knew about it, that was the reason why he called. After you were in a car with Allison and two policemen, you texted him that the case was over and you're headed to the hospital with victims. Both of you always do it, just to reassure each other that the other person is fine. Aaron on top of that would always call you. He's a very light sleeper, even waking up when you stir in bed sometimes, so every vibrations of his phone wakes him up. No matter what the time is on the clock, he always calls you. He knows how much you love your job and how saving kids was your thing. You loved it, after few years in narcotics unit you know you found your place. But Aaron also knew that you get very into the cases and you involve yourself a lot and if the case goes wrong you blame yourself really hard. Especially being a unit chief, just like him. So he always tried to light the mood even just a little and talk about the day, whatever comes to his mind.

'You're staying in the hospital, right?', it almost wasn't a question. It wasn't anything new to be honest. A lot of the times you would comeback to the hospital with the victims and especially with this case. He knew it wouldn't be different. You were working on it for over a month and it was draining you.

'Don't think I have a choice.', you admitted, looking back at Allison who was also starring at you. The doctor stopped examination and was about to leave. 'One of the girls won't let me go.'

'Just be careful, okay? And take care. Don't forget to eat something.', he reminded, knowing the previous situations.

'I will.', you reassured him. 'I love you.'

'I love you too, sweetheart. Give me a call later in a day.', Aaron said and you agreed.

After you said your goodbyes, you put the phone in the pocket and went back to the room. Allison immediately opened her arms and you laughed coming closer.

'You're back!', she said loudly, which made you laugh even more. Doctor Ashley smiled at both of you and left the room.

'I said I will.', you reminded her, patting her head. You could clearly see the tiredness in her eyes and how hard she was trying not to fall asleep. 'I think it's good time for a sleep.', you proposed, but Jade just shook her head immediately, taking back. ' Allison, you need to sleep.'

'Not sleepy.', she answered quietly, putting knees closer to her chest. 'Don't want to sleep.'

'You've been awake for a long time, Sonnie. You need to rest. I do too. Everyone needs to sleep so they will have energy for the next day.', you explained, but she once again shook her head. 'I'll be there the whole time. Nothing's gonna happen to you. You're safe.'

'Seven minutes?', she asked, trying to stop the yaw. You nodded and observed how she put her head on the pillow, drifting away from the real world.

Aaron Hotchner looked at his watch for the tenth time in the last 8 minutes. He signed and went back to signing papers in front him.

It was a slow day. Most paper work days were slow, but this one was even slower. He just couldn't focus. His thoughts were everywhere but in that office. He was thinking about his wife and what she's about to at that moment, probably still at hospital with the little girl. It was literally breaking his heart when he was thinking about your job and side effects, but also about your personal issues.

Being married for almost six years and together over eight, was something he was very proud of. He loved you with his whole heart and couldn't see anyone but you. The whole team always loved to see when a woman would flirt with Aaron, because it was always so funny to see him nicely declining the actions. Aaron Hotchner was a strong man with a very intimidating vibe, his voice could literally break you into a meltdown and get when a woman would approach him his eyes would always look for you. He just couldn't see his world existing without you.

With that being said he also knows you very well. Whenever something was wrong, he could feel it. Just from the look in your eyes or movement. You almost didn't have to talk to have a conversation. He understood you without any words and so did you.

After long nights when there were only you two together, Aaron knew what you wanted. Be knew all your dreams and wishes. Where you would like to go for vacations or favourite cuisine. Things that he could control. He also knew about your dream job and family wishes. Things he couldn't control and everytime Aaron would think about this, his heart would break into thousand pieces. Because if he could he would give you everything that you wanted and to do that he would sacrifice anything he could.

Quiet sound of a clock, that was announcing noon, got Aaron out of his thoughts. He looked at the clock just to assure himself of the hour and pressed his lips into thin line. Then he just closed the files on the rest, took coat and walked out of the room. Aaron walked to his friend's office and knocked on the door. He opened them after quick 'come in'.

'Dave, I'm gonna be back in an hour.', Aaron said, looking at the older man working on his papers. He looked up with pen still between his fingers.

'Everything's okay?', Dave asked and got quick nod from Aaron. 'Y/N's at the hospital again?'

'Yeah, they finished the case few hours ago so I'm sure she hasn't ate anything since.', he explained. 'I'm just gonna bring her food and come back.'

'No problem. If anything happens, we'll call you.', David said, waving younger man off. Aaron just laughed and closed the door. Then he walked down the stairs, wanting to leave the office.

'Hey, Hotch! Are you going again to get some food?', Emily's voice stopped him from going further. He turned around to face not only her, but three other agents. 'You're going outside, right?'

'Yes, Emily.', he sighed. 'But I'm not going to the place you love to eat from.'

'I figured. But maybe you would want to do us a favor and go there? Since you're already going outside the office.', she explained and Derek started to come closer with JJ right behind him. 'Look, it's raining outside and it's pointless to have two wet agents in the office. We will pay for the gas and also your food, huh?'

'Just text me your order and I'll see what I can do.', Aaron said, rolling his eyes slightly. Then he turned around and started walking towards the elevators, still hearing voices of agents behind him, who were deciding on the order.

Pediatric floor of the hospital was as always busy. Kids running around, parents trying to keep up with them, crying children from everywhere you can imagine and on top of that walls with so many colours, that he thought that someone vomited on them. He had no problem of finding the room where you were. Of course with a help from nurses.

Aaron slowly opened the door from the hospital room. He was expecting for either you or the child to be asleep and he didn't want to wake anybody up. But the sight inside made just his heart to melt.

You were sitting on the couch with Allison sleeping in your arms. Her head was on your chest and arms were really tight around the back. Her moth were slightly open, just like yours. But you also had your head hung back and he was sure he'd hear your complaints about the neck pains for the next week.

Aaron slowly put the package with your favourite food and something tasty for children on the small table near the door. Then he took the blanket from the bed and put it over you and the little girl, knowing how cold you must be from laying down in one place for so long. After that he just put a light kiss on your forehead and with one last look he left the room.

Aaron got to the elevator and took out his phone, checking out one message from Emily.

If you are going to the place near the hospital and there's a girl with short red hair, then say that you would like to order for Agent Prentiss 😘

He furrowed his brows at the message and dialed her right away.

'Did I say something wrong?', she answered after one signal.

'How this girl supposed to know your order?', he asked, looking at the numbers of elevator going down.

'She'll know, trust me. I've been there many time.', Emily laughed and Aaron could practically see her smile through the phone.

'Whatever.', he sighed, hearing the ding from the elevator. 'Oh and Prentiss?', Aaron called and heard quick 'yeah' from the other side. 'Stop sending me emojis. It's highly unprofessional to do it to your boss and it's making me uncomfortable.', he ended, walking out of the hospital.

You could physically feel lighter closing the door to you home. Everything related to work you always tried to leave outside this house and treat this place like an escape. And it was a long few weeks, so you were nothing but happy and relieved that it's over.

The house was quiet and dark. You could only see dim light from the living room and just thinking about it made you smile. You took off your jacked and boots, leaving the bag at the usual place and started walking towards the light. As you saw Aaron sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, you smiled even wider. His feet were on the coffee table and he had a glass of whiskey in his hand.

You leaned on the door frame and with arms crossed on the chest, you observed him.

'I'm awake.', Aaron said with raspy voice. You knew that he was probably sitting here for a while already.

'I know.', you answered and started walking towards the cabinet with alcohols. 'Aaron Hotchner is at home before me. What's happening in this world? Did they closed the FBI building?', you joked while pouring wine into a glass and sitting next to him.

'Very funny.', he answered with a sarcasm. He put arms around your shoulders and kissed your temple.

'I actually am.', you said, taking a sip. 'But I'm glad you're here.'

'Anytime.', he hummed, placing one more kiss on your head.

'Except the time you're working.', you joked and he just rolled his eyes. 'Thank you for the dinner, by the way. Although I would get something to eat myself, you know?'

'Yeah, you would probably eat your first meal of the day right now. I know you, Y/N.', he said, caressing your arm. 'So, how's the girl?'

'Allison?', you asked, reminding yourself of her beautiful smile in your head. Aaron only nodded, taking a sip from his glass, telling you to continue. 'She's gonna be okay, I hope. But she went through a lot.'

'You got close to her.'

'Yeah.', you admitted. 'I know what you think, Aaron. I know that it's not a good thing, I Get close to those kids and then I come home and they're not there. I know how this looks like. But I swear I just want to help them.'

'I know. But also you need to realize, that when they'll go to foster care they won't have someone to look after them every minute they're there. That there's gonna be many more kids their age and the attention you're giving them right now won't be given to them anymore.', he finished, looking down at you.

'Maybe they don't have to go to foster care.', you whispered, hugging your husband closer.

'You want to adopt a child?', Aaron asked slowly getting to the conclusion and realizing something else. 'You wanna adopt Allison.'

'I do.', you admitted. 'But I won't do it.', you added, sitting straight. Aaron just gave you questioning look. 'They found her mother in Portland, she'll come and get her tomorrow. Ignoring the fact that she doesn't have any job, is living in a two bedroom apartment with four other roommates and all the money goes to the alcohol. Yeah, so Allison has a bright future ahead of her.'

'You never know.', he answered. You put head on his chest once again and laid there for few minutes in silence, trying to relax.

'So, you actually put that table together.', you said keeping the eyes in small brown table in front of you, with Aaron's feet on top.

'I thought you'll never notice.', he answered almost sounding hurt.

'Oh, I did. Just wanted to hold the suspension for a little while.', you smiled and kissed him on the lips. 'Derek did it, am I right?', you whispered, narrowing your eyes.

'No.', he answered simply.

'Liar.', you whispered again, kissing him one more time, but stopping after you hear his phone going off. 'Everything's okay?', you asked.

'Yeah, just Emily.' he answered, but started explaining seing your confused face. 'I gave Emily's number to one of the girls that she has crush on from the restaurant. And I guess she had a good evening.', he ended and showed you the text.

SSA aaron 'Hotch' Hotchner, you are truly THE man 🥰🤭💗🍑

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds scenario #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner fan fiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #derek morgan imagine #derek morgan x reader

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pixieungerstories · 3 years ago

Text

Quarantine - 4

Nick had changed his tactics. Now, instead of growling, howling and creepy laughter, he whispered. It was like living in an ASMR app. Somehow the lights were always dim and Nick was occasionally purring sweet nothings in my ear.

Someone came to inspect the wine. They had questions I could not answer, I parroted back the approved line that Nick was the one selling and they would need to call or email him.

A week later, someone came and took away a box that Nick had packed and there was a hell of a lot of money in my bank account.

Which was just as well, I had my hours further reduced.

I lay in bed that night staring at the ceiling and listening to Nick whispering about how he was planning how to spend the wine money on the house.

I was dancing around asking if I could use some of it to cover my living expenses. He wasn’t getting the hint. I realized that was very nearly fair. He had been very clear he was here for the house not for me. It had been his wine. Of course, I was the one who had the income from the wine sale to claim on my taxes.

“Nick? Would you pay me to paint the place?”

That made him stop.

“And why would I do that?” he breathed against my cheek, making me shiver.

“I have no idea how long I will be without work and I’m afraid of running out of money,” I admitted. “And of having strangers coming in, possibly bringing the infection with them. We don’t know if people can get Covid twice.”

He didn’t reply. In fact, there was no sign of him for the better part of a week. That was a whole other level of creepy. The house just felt empty. There was no one to talk to and I hadn’t realized how often Nick would brush past me until that stopped.

I was soaking in the tub on Saturday night, wishing for a glass or wine or a beer. There was still wine in the basement, but it was all the stuff Nick was saving for a special collector. It had come as a surprise when the wine appraiser said that I had drunk a twelve hundred dollar bottle of wine out of my coffee cup the last time I had cracked one open.

No, the wine was wasted on me and deliveries from the liquor stores were booked for weeks if I wanted to schedule a delivery.

The lights flickered.

“Nick?” I asked. There wasn’t any reply. I pulled the plug with my toes and climbed out of the tub. I had been avoiding the second floor of the house as much as I could but it was where the tub and shower were. The lights flickered again. There was a huge crash of thunder signaling the start of a summer storm, then the lights went out and the rain started.

“Shit.” OK, I told myself, no need to panic. It’s just a storm. I am just trapped in pitch blackness, in a storm, while naked and I have to not trip over my clothes and make it safely down steep and narrow steps by memory. The thunder rolled again, a huge almost double crash that had to be really close. My feet were wet and the tile was slippery.

“Nick?” I tried. “I could use a little help here.” I bit back a scream as the bathroom door creaked open. “Nick?” I whispered.

I shrieked when something brushed my hand then tried to relax as I realized it was a towel. I wrapped up and tried to feel ahead of me with my feet as I inched my way towards the door.

That familiar low voice growled in my ear, “it would be safer if I carried you down the stairs.”

I swallowed, then nodded. I was scooped up and cradled. There was no real sensation of movement until I was placed on my feet and he guided my hand to what turned out to be my bed. Then he was gone. The room was briefly lit by lightning and I swore for a moment I could see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen. The thunder followed in an instant rattling the whole house. I was glad I had gotten the roof fixed.

Looking toward the front window, it looked like the street lights were out too.

I hate storms. Objectively, I know that I don’t have to be afraid, but storms completely bypass the objective part of my brain and reach right into my fear response. I sat on the bed, shaking with fear in a way that I hadn’t felt since Nick tried to lock me in the bedroom.

“Lift up your hand,” he whispered, near enough to make me jump. “I can’t turn on your hedgehog night light but I can hand it to you.”

I tentatively held up my hand and he didn’t so much pass me the light as drop it into my hand. I fumbled for a moment before finding the right place to press to make it light up. It didn’t really help, but I slid back across the bed until I bumped into the wall and sat clutching it anyway.

“You are very afraid,” he observed calmly from somewhere to my left.

“I’m trapped in a haunted house, during a storm and I am only wearing a towel. This is where the sound track plays the creepy music and the audience tenses up in anticipation of my imminent death.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, so that when he did speak, I made an undignified squeak and jumped.

“You can’t see me bring you clothes.”

“What?”

“I can’t bring you your clothes unless you turn off the light.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t see me.”

I thought about arguing about whether it was that I physically couldn’t see him or if he just didn’t want to be seen. Still, I had trusted him to carry me down the stairs.

I turned off the light and fought not to hyperventilate. My robe was placed in my lap a moment later. That raised more questions. If I turned on the light to get dressed did that make it easier or harder for him to see me. Was the dinky little nightlight really going to keep him away in the storm?

I turned it back on and looked wildly around the room as it cast strange shadows.

“I used to like that,” he murmured. “The taste of fear. Its smell. All the little noise that humans make when they are afraid and trying to be quiet.” He paused and there was a moment of uncomfortable lack of talking filled with the sound of howling wind and driving rain. “I have never lived with one of you this long before. Your fear is different. You become afraid at times when I am unable to see the threat.”

“Like now,” I mumbled, as I scrambled into my clothes.

“No. This fear I can understand. Primal fear is very familiar to me. It’s my bread and butter, so to speak. You are afraid of when I am here and when I don’t answer and you are afraid of your job.”

I stopped for a moment and tried to understand that last one. “I am afraid for my job,” I countered. “If I can’t work, I don’t earn money. Without money, I can’t pay my bills. If I fall behind in my payments, the bank repossesses the house and this is an even more shitty time to be homeless than usual.”

“Hmmm.”

I shivered and tried to pull the blankets around me.

“You can lay down,” he suggested. “You would be warmer and more comfortable.”

“It would be easier if I could see you,” I muttered.

Nick snorted, “No it wouldn’t.” The wall where his voice was coming from got darker, then a swirling shadow detached itself from the wall and drifted towards me. It was vaguely humanoid but with soft wavering edges like ink dropped into water. His eyes still shone in the darkness.

“That’s a little scary,” I whispered “but I could get used to it.” Then he grinned showing entirely too many teeth and I started to doubt my words. The way he stalked towards me wasn’t entirely comforting either. The bed dipped under his weight and I found myself pulled into his lap. It was the first physical contact I had since he left. It was weird to realize that he was the only other person to have touched me in months. I tried to relax against him, he was warm and dry.

I couldn’t hear a heartbeat. It was weird. “You could rub my back, if you want. It was nice the last time you did that.”

Nick gave a low chuckle, then he began stroking me. We sat like that in the storm until the wind died down and I drifted off to the sound of the rain.

#quarantine #oh my god they were quarantined #shadow monster

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auroracalisto · 4 years ago

Text

the beauty of breathing

summary: the reader has abusive parents and lives in the murder house. tate has only just realized that they have abusive parents and chooses to do something about it, all depending on what the reader chooses.

pairing: tate langdon

word count: 1k words

warnings: mentions of abuse, slight physical abuse, abusive parents, mentions of death, preluded mention of death towards the end, possibly ooc tate bc first time writing for him

author’s notes: this is my first time writing for tate,,, but it is not the first time that i’ve read anything about him. i recently started ahs after a couple weeks of debating and let me just say, i am so excited to be able to write for this new character. i still have many episodes to watch before i can write for many of the favorites, but i’ll let everyone know once i am able to write for other characters (like michael and xavier! and many others, those are just two off the top of my head).

Having abusive parents was bad enough. Them uprooting you from your home and taking you to California to live in something people call the Murder House? Even worse. The bruises were things that you could hide. But when you went to school, there wasn’t a damn thing you could hide once people realized that you lived in the Murder House. People started avoiding you, save for this one girl named July. She was sweet. But you sometimes wondered if she was only friends with you because you lived in a creepy place.

You trudged up the staircase to your house, keeping your book bag close to your body. You saw a tuft of blonde hair in the corner of your eye and you quickly looked, your fist clenched around your book bag strap as you did. You knew it was just him—the ghost boy that lived in your home. When you didn’t see anything, you went into the house and quietly shut the door.

Once your parents knew you were home, you would be picked at until sunrise.

Maybe that’s what you hated so much about Fridays’. Everyone at school loved them. But every time you left school, every time you shut that damn front door, it was nearly three days filled with torture and cruel mishappenings that the house decided to send your way.

“Boo,” a soft voice came from behind you. You quickly turned around, your eyes growing wide as you spotted the blonde again. You clenched your jaw, shoving the boy’s shoulder.

“Tate, fuck off,” you glared at him, clearing your throat.

“Honey, who was that?”

Your mother’s voice came from the kitchen. If you ever had anyone over, they both pulled over a veil of fake kindness and love.

“Uh,” you swallowed thickly before you looked over your shoulder, seeing your mother come out into the hallway with a sickly sweet smile. “Just a… friend from school. I have this project that.. it’s like, worth fifty percent of my grade and he’s gonna help me with it.”

She raised an eyebrow before she nodded. “I’ll let your father know. Go ahead and go upstairs, get a move on with it. Don’t take forever, we have plans this evening.”

You gave a small nod, looking back at Tate. He followed behind you as you walked up the staircase.

“Has your mom always been that nice?” Tate asked as the two of you walked into your room.

You tossed your bookbag onto your bed, frowning over at the teen.

“No. You just disappear when she’s not nice.”

Tate averted his eyes before he crossed his arms over his chest. He suddenly gained a smile. “Did I scare you earlier?” he asked.

You frowned at him. “No—”

His smile only widened. “Sure I didn’t.”

He came over and plopped down on your bed.

Earlier, you hadn’t lied to your mother. You truly did have an assignment to work on. You sat down beside him on the bed, going through your papers. But your search for your homework was cut short as your father suddenly swung your door open. It slammed against the wall, causing your head to shoot up. Tate quickly sat up, looking over at the man with a confused expression. What the hell was he so angry about?

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get out of that bed,” he seethed, coming over to you and grabbing your arm. He jerked you to your feet, his grip bruising tight. Tate stood up as well, watching in literal horror. What was going on? He was always in the Murder House. Why hadn’t he seen this before?

Your father let go of your arm, shoving you against the wall by pushing your shoulders. “And you,” he spit in Tate’s direction. “Get the fuck out of my house. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Tate looked at you for a moment, his jaw clenching. He stared your father down and in an instant, Tate was in front of the two of you. He shoved your father off with a strength unknown to you. He took a hold of your hand and began to run with you, pulling you all the way down to the basement, where the two of you often found yourselves talking. He heard your father shouting after the two of you, but he didn’t say anything until he got you into a corner.

“Stay here. I… I’m going to take care of them. Got it?”

You stared at him in disbelief, tears stinging your eyes. You gave a small nod.

Tate bent down in front of you, grabbing your hands. He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Nothing like… that'll ever happen again. I promise. I can fix that for you,” he said. “Only if you want me to.”

“How?” you breathed in, looking up at the brown eyed boy.

“I’ll kill them.”

“What?” your eyes widened.

“Or…”

“Or what, Tate?” you asked, gripping onto his hands. It scared you a bit, but nothing scared you more than your parents.

“You can die. And then… you can stay here. With me. You won’t ever have to deal with them again. And we can make them pay. Together.”

“Together…?”

He grinned at you, knowing you were thinking about his offer. “Together. And they can piss off in hell.”

You heard your father shout your voice as he began to walk down the stairs. He didn’t rush; he knew there was nowhere that you could really go, unless you went outside. Even then, he would have heard the door. It was loud as could be, and he had made sure of that the first time you tried to escape.

You looked up at Tate, your tears drying on your cheeks. “Okay. Do… do it. Do what you have to.”

Tate watched you with soft eyes and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Close your eyes for me, [Your name]. I… please.”

You did as you were told.

Before long, shortly after you heard your father angrily yell for you to come out of where you were hiding, you felt hands wrap around your neck. It was only a matter of time before you hopefully woke up in front of Tate, just like he seemed to be promising.

#tate langdon #tate langdon x reader #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #tate langdon ahs #one-shot #reader #gender neutral #fanfiction #ahs #american horror story #ahs murder house #murder house #fanfic

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boxoftheskyking · 4 years ago

Text

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Five

In which we have a scene at the bar

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Early November 2000

When Jiang Cheng comes to the bar on his own, he lets Wei Ying watch his back. Which is to say, he sits at the bar and doesn’t spend the whole time half-turned to keep an eye on the door. When Jin Zixuan joins them, he hangs by the corner of the bar by the weird old poker machine that hasn’t worked in years, and he mostly avoids eye contact.

“Hey Zixuan,” Wei Ying says, grinning. “How’s your cousin?”

“Hm?” He’s so polite, always, in a snobby kind of way. Like he knows he’s better than you, but he’s far too well-bred to admit it. Wei Ying sometimes wonders if he got that from his mother. Wei Ying has never really spoken to Mrs. Jin outside of an awkward few minutes at the wedding, but what he knows of the rest of the family is far more in the “knows they’re better than you and will tell you to your face” camp.

“Your cousin, you know.” He winks at Jiang Cheng. “It’s the liiiiiife of the Jin!”

Jiang Cheng joins in, “What’s going down in Lanling—”

“Cut it out!” Zixuan reaches out like he’s going to cover Jiang Cheng’s mouth, but he doesn’t.

“It’s catchy!” Jiang Cheng giggles. It’s a gratifying sight.

“That show should be outlawed,” Zixuan says darkly.

“It’s genius,” Wei Ying argues, drinking in the two of them there, together. “Nie Huaisang is a visionary.”

“I’m going to have him imprisoned. He’s a curse.”

“He’s a genius. It’s a totally new art form.”

Jiang Cheng snorts. “Art form. It’s boring. I like seeing Jin Zixun humiliated as much as anyone, but it’s just rich people sitting around being stupid and rich.”

“It’s reality, but also pure escapism. It’s brilliant.”

“It’s a threat to national security,” Zixuan says. Wei Ying cackles.

Jiang Cheng makes a face. “There’s no story! There’s no, like, script.”

“There is a story! It’s all how Huaisang edits it.” Wei Ying hasn’t actually talked to Nie Huaisang in years, so he’s not that personally invested, but he can’t resist the chance to disagree with both Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan at the same time.

Zixuan slides his glass over for a refill. “Zixun is never going to get a real job. He has no skills, he can’t do anything useful, so he sits around and has cameras follow him? It’s a disgrace.”

“It’s the most watched show in the country. I watch it every week.”

Jiang Cheng intercepts Zixuan’s glass to steal a sip. “That’s because you also don’t have a real job.”

“Serve yourself then, asshole.”

“We don’t watch reality TV, we work. We’re civil servants.”

“I’ve written six columns on The Life of Jin, I’ll have you know. So it is my job. And I’m more of a civil servant than you, I barely make any money.” It earns him a pair of eyerolls, but they won’t insult the paper to his face. Not anymore. “I can’t believe they made you both work today.” It’s the wrong thing to say, and Wei Ying covers his wince to fill a row of pints.

“Yeah, well.” Zixuan scratches the back of his neck. He keeps his hair a bit long, like Jiang Cheng does, but on him it feels like a memorial. “Five years. I guess I can’t keep getting time off forever.”

Jiang Cheng is drumming his fingers on the bar, looking away.

“Five years to the day, though,” Wei Ying offers. He leans in, almost wanting to touch . . . something, then twirls away to ring someone up. He feels like a bird, a swallow, dipping and soaring and coming in close for a moment before getting scared back up to a tree top.

When he comes back the tension has receded.

“Dad wants me to move over to the business side of things,” Zixuan is saying.

“Leave intelligence?” Jiang Cheng’s brow furrows, clearly already imagining following his brother-in-law over to the corporate hellhole of Jin Industries.

“Yeah. He keeps talking about the CEO gig, as if I’m qualified.”

“No offense,” Wei Ying says, “but your dad has never been big on qualified.”

“What about Guangyao?” Jiang Cheng asks.

“He’s not the face Dad wants for the company. I don’t know, it’s like during the war, he’s staying back in his lab and his back office, tinkering with stuff. Dad wants a stupid— A face. You know, dynasty bullshit.”

“Like those propaganda posters.” Wei Ying grins at him. “That noble profile. I had one on my bedroom wall.”

“Don’t be creepy.” Jiang Cheng goes to smack him, but he ducks away. “You did not.”

“It wasn’t propaganda.” Zixuan sighs, having lost this argument before.

“It was good propaganda,” Jiang Cheng argues.

Wei Ying keeps his thoughts to himself, for once. He doesn’t comment on Jin Guangyao, either, though he could. A drunk girl yells at him from the other side of the bar, which helps.

“But like—” Zixuan takes a long gulp, spinning his fingers in frustration, looking for the words. “This is what I trained for. I joined the army at eighteen. I was in the army when it was just prison security and diplomatic escorts. My degree is decoration, and he knows that. It’s an art piece on the office wall, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t know how I’m supposed to just become this business guy. It’s like— He doesn’t actually know me, who I am, what I’m good at. He just expects me to work wherever he plugs me in, to just be the best at whatever he thinks I should be the best at. I’m already the best at something. Right? I’m too old to be the best at something else.”

Wei Ying shrugs in sympathy. “Welcome to your thirties, eh?”

Jiang Cheng drains his glass, his third already. “He wants you to be a liquid.”

“What?”

“He thinks you’re a liquid. Your dad. Fit the shape of your container.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m not a fucking liquid.”

Jiang Cheng points at him. “That’s right. You’re not a fucking liquid.”

“I’m a solid.”

“You’re solid as shit, man.” Jiang Cheng pounds on Zixuan’s chest, and he winces slightly.

It’s nine o’clock, so Wei Ying decides he gets to pour himself a whiskey. He puts an orange slice in it, for vitamins.

Jin Zixuan looks into his own glass, thoughtfully. “Although, I mean. What’s a liquid without a container? Just a puddle, right?”

“Or a river,” Jiang Cheng says. They pause to contemplate rivers.

“What kind of liquid would you be?” Wei Ying asks, watching the gold of his liquor swirl around the melting ice cubes and the orange peel.

Zixuan huffs a laugh. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Vegetable soup,” Wei Ying says, then winces again.

“Soup,” Jiang Cheng agrees, quietly.

“Yeah,” Zixuan says. “Soup.”

They stare down into their glasses, drink.

“That reminds me,” Zixuan says, rallying after a long moment and pulling his fancy silver business card holder out of his breast pocket. “I got a new number.”

He hands Wei Ying a classy white card. It’s not his government one, just his phone number and his new email. Of course Jin Zixuan would have a personal business card, printed up by a printing company somewhere.

“Did you get rid of the old phone?” Wei Ying asks, carefully. Jiang Cheng looks between them, also careful, saying nothing.

“No, I just had to— I moved it to the basement. I can’t keep . . . The answering machine is still hooked up to the old one. I’ll still wipe the tape, so you can call—”

“Thanks.” We don’t talk about it. Let’s keep not talking about it. Wei Ying rinses a glass that’s already clean.

“If you want. It’s not a problem. I just can’t keep—”

“Yeah.” He wipes the glass, too quickly, the damp microfiber squeaks a little.

“A-Ling gets confused. He hears you say her name, you say ‘Jiejie,’ and he—”

“Yeah, I get it, no problem.” Wei Ying rinses the glass again.

“You can call me, though.” Jin Zixuan is looking at him, which he rarely actually does right in the face, horribly earnest. “You know that. You can call the new number and talk to him, or to me.”

“I know. I will.” He probably won’t. He looks over at Jiang Cheng, who’s chewing on his lip. Yanli would scold him for that, say that’s why it keeps chapping, worse now that it’s getting colder. He doesn’t leave her messages, Wei Ying doesn’t think. He doesn’t need crutches like that, he straps the anger onto himself like steel braces and gets on with things, limping.

Wei Ying would like to be angry, especially today on the five year anniversary. Five full years without her. That would be a comfort, such a relief, to be angry. But he doesn’t get to be angry when Jiang Cheng is around.

Jiang Cheng clears his throat. “I can’t believe your dad allows Zixun to do that show.”

Zixuan draws himself up, sucking in a breath like he’s coming out of water. “He must get something from it. Like some kind of PR or something.”

Wei Ying goes into the back and carries out a case of wine and a case of cider, loads them into the cooler. It takes a while, he has to pull things out so the warm bottles go in the back. He can vaguely hear his brothers insulting Jin Zixun and the state of modern television, keeping it light. He stares at the label on a bottle of cider—it’s an apple with a face, one of those unnerving cartoon faces where all the teeth are the same size and shape. No one’s teeth look like that.

He shuts the cooler and returns.

“If Zixun looks like a fool,” Wei Ying says thoughtfully, interrupting them like he’s supposed to, “then he’s mostly harmless. He’s a goofball. It must be useful for the great and powerful Jin to have a goofball side. It makes you look less, I don’t know . . .” He could say a lot of things. He could say things like tyrannical or despotic or calculating or morally questionable. He doesn’t say any of it, just waves his hands around.

Zixuan looks like he hears the words anyway, and as usual, he stares out across the bar. “He’s a sacrifice, I suppose. Zixun. He’s always been the spare.”

“Do you think he knows he’s being played?” Jiang Cheng asks. “Would he keep doing it if he knew?”

“My dad,” Zixuan says slowly. “Doesn’t play Go. Metaphorically speaking. Not like A-Yao does. But he does play poker. Zixun—” he spins the glass between his hands. “Zixun plays hopscotch. Badly.”

Wei Ying snorts, and it feels nice.

“I guess I don’t like the show so much anymore,” he says, pouting.

“Good,” Jiang Cheng reaches out and flicks his ear. Wei Ying lets him.

“Why does everything have to be nefarious?” Wei Ying whines, meaning reality TV but also Jiang Cheng and his mean fingers “Can’t we have something that’s just dumb? Aren’t we there, as a country, where we can just have stupid shit that’s stupid and doesn’t mean anything?”

“You mean besides you, and also your face?” Jiang Cheng asks. Zixuan sighs at them in a judgmental way.

Wei Ying taps his chin. “Although, there’s a column there. The insidious political machinations of so-called reality.” He hits the button to roll out some receipt paper and makes a few notes.

“I just don’t get why he does it,” Jiang Cheng muses. “He has to know he looks bad. Right? Like, he has to.” As if everyone is as pathologically obsessed with their public appearance as you are, which is something Wei Ying does not say. “It’s not like he needs the money.”

As always, that’s its own flavor of uncomfortable. Zixuan makes more money than Jiang Cheng, and has a trust fund on top of it. He keeps trying to make it up by buying expensive presents and starting a tab wherever they go, but Jiang Cheng won’t take it. He used to, back when Zixuan was just their shitty rich brother-in-law, or Yanli’s shitty rich boyfriend. He used to call it “Yanli’s dowry” when he’d leave his birthday dinner with a new stereo or a nice watch. Now that they’re friends, though, he gets pissed off. He’ll get mad if Zixuan buys him a hardcover instead of a paperback, now that they’re friends. He’s a complicated man. So is Zixuan, in his way.

That’s probably why they get along so well, and why Wei Ying is always a half a step off of their weird masculine choreography. Wei Ying fancies himself a complicated man, but it’s different. He’s in control in a way they don’t seem to be, not of his life but of his face and his voice and his sentence structure. It makes him a good reporter.

They, on the other hand, have always been good soldiers.

Wei Ying had cried when Jiang Cheng enlisted, mid-’93.

“You watch too many war movies,” he’d said, looking down at this lap, twisting his hands together, face hot and heart racing. “It won’t be like that, A-Cheng, there’s not any glory in it, it’ll just be horrible—”

“It’s the right thing to do.” Jiang Cheng had been stubborn as always, chin jutting out. “Wen Chao’s last attack—I can’t just sit here.”

Yanli hadn’t cried at all, she’d just looked between them, silent.

“Why don’t you come too?”Jian Cheng had asked him, eyes like a six-year-old. “You’d be good at it. We could do it together.”

“No, I gotta— Someone’s gotta report on all your heroics, right?” Wei Ying had been sweating, panicked, chills running down his arms, blowing his nose again and again. “Maybe I’ll get an assignment so I can follow you around and sing about your adventures. Like something out of those ancient poems, right?”

He’d been wrong about his role in the war, but more right than he’d be able to guess about ancient poetry. Because cultivation was real. Magic was real, and his brother was somehow mixed up in it.

He got drunk with Yanli the week after the first cultivator battle. The first battle with the new cultivator corps. Zixuan, Jiang Cheng, Lan Zhan, Mianmian, and the others.

“You husband is a wizard,” Wei Ying had said, slurring.

“Your brother is a wizard.” Yanli had flicked a sunflower seed into his lap.

That was her secret: when Yanli got drunk she could go through two bags of sunflower seeds by herself. She got the cheap ones from the gas station on the corner and split them with her teeth, scattering shells everywhere like a little disaster zone. She’d clean up all the evidence in the morning, before anyone woke up. She was almost never hungover.

Wei Ying loved that about her, the evidence she left, her secret messiness. He’d catch a stray shell in the corner, behind a potted plant or caught in the fringe of an area rug, and he’d get so rocked with love—violent, breathless love for her—that his vision would go spotty.

Or maybe that’s just how he remembers it, now that she’s gone.

“Actually, he’s your brother too,” Wei Ying had said at the time, poking her nose. “Your husband and your brother are both wizards. So what does that make you?”

“Well, there’s Lan Zhan. You’re blushing, see, you’re blushing. And Mianmian. They’re your—”

“Friends.”

“Yeah, but you kissed both of them.”

Wei Ying had stuck out his tongue at her, or done something equally childish.

She’d cracked a sunflower seed and popped it into her mouth. “We could be wizards if we wanted to.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely”

“We just aren’t.”

“We’re busy.”

“We are busy people.”

Wei Ying is shaken out of the memory by a pint glass slamming down on the bar, just missing Jiang Cheng’s elbow. It’s Li Wangcheng, youngest son of his usual source, Li Riseung.

“Fill ‘er up, asshole,” Li Wangcheng says, listing into his buddies on either side. Jiang Cheng and Jin Zixuan are both looking at him with equally disdainful nose wrinkles. “Chop chop.”

Wei Ying sighs. “Sorry, Wangcheng, you’re cut off. I already over-served you, and I promised your dad and your brother I wouldn’t.”

“Fuck you.”

“Your liver can’t take it. Here, have some water and go sit down.”

“Fuck you, Wei Ying. Fuck you.” He’s pushing off his friends, leaning over the bar with his tobacco-stained teeth and his mix-of-alcohol breath.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wei Ying moves away, wiping down the counter, and Wangcheng follows.

“I’ll fucking kill you. You watch your back, bitch, I’ll fucking find you, and I’ll kill you.”

Wei Ying puts up his hands. “Okay, man, take it easy.”

“I know where you live. I know where you park your bike. Your stupid little fucking— Your stupid bike.”

His two biggest friends start pulling at his elbow, pulling him away. He shakes them off.

“Don’t think I won’t. Don’t think I won’t find you, motherfucker.”

Jiang Cheng is off his stool, now, and Zixuan is moving around behind him, coming in to engage. Wei Ying waves them off, desperately. Wen Ning is leaving his spot by the door.

“When you leave tonight, you better—”

“The fuck did you say?” Jiang Cheng is up in his face, now, and Wei Ying has to come out from behind the bar. He hates leaving the bar, it’s his comfortable place to be.

“Leave it. A-Cheng, A-Xuan, leave it, leave it.” He gets himself between them all, holding his brother back. Wen Ning has a good hold on Wangcheng’s shoulders.

“Fuck you.” That sprays a bit in his face, the plosive. “Everything was fine before you came here. Yiling was fine before you came here, and then everything went to shit.”

“That’s not—” Jiang Cheng tries to butt in, but Wei Ying sticks an elbow in his gut.

“I said, leave it.”

“Fucking worthless,” Wangcheng spits at him, and Wen Ning and his friends haul him back towards the door. “Fucking demon. You’re a fucking demon, Wei Ying! Fucking cursed!”

Wen Ning throws them out, and the silence following is awkward, no one looking at each other. Wei Ying wipes his face, straightens Jiang Cheng’s shirt collar, and goes back to work. There’s a short woman standing there, frozen, holding out her empty glass. He gets her another gin and cranberry, pleased that he remembered, and she gives him a pitying kind of smile. He hides his hands down by his sides, but he knows she’s seen them. Everyone can see them; he doesn’t cover them.

“Holy shit,” Jiang Cheng says, still staring back at the door.

“Yeah. Never mind.” Wei Ying readjusts his t-shirt.

“Never mind? That was a death threat. For what, cutting him off?”

“Forget about it.”

“For cutting him off? What the fuck?”

“A-Cheng, forget it.”

“I’m not gonna forget it, that guy knows where you live.”

“It’s fine, it happens. Leave it. Please? Leave it.”

Jiang Cheng sits down. Zixuan says nothing, looking between Jaing Cheng and the door.

“Does it happen a lot?” Jiang Cheng is interrogating, intelligence-mode.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Wei Ying, does it happen a lot?”

“I mean, a bit. Okay?”

“For cutting—?”

“It’s not about cutting him off. It’s not about that. It’s not about me. Calm down.”

“Sure sounded like it’s about you. ‘Demon,’ really—”

“If it wasn’t me it would be someone else. Wen Ning. His friends. His dad.” Wei Ying chops more limes than he needs to, calmed by the sharpness of the knife. “He’s dying. Actually dying, everyone knows it. His liver is shot. He’s been laid off for months, and he can’t pay for any more treatment. His dad’s broke, mom died in the war. He’s lashing out.”

“But that’s not your—”

“You can’t swing at the clouds forever. Right? He’s not the only one. People feel good here, they feel comfortable here, and so they can hit someone here if they need to. You get beaten down and beaten down for year after year, eventually you have to fight back. Right? Otherwise what are you?” What am I? he doesn’t ask.

Zixuan clears his throat, still not looking at him. “What’s the use of fighting you? You’re not—”

Wei Ying laughs at him, mean. “What’s he gonna do, fight your dad? The whole fucking government? Who can he hit? After a while, you have to hit something or you’ll go mad. You have to make contact. Right?” He chops another lime. “You have to have an effect on something. You have to hit someone and see the bruise, or yell at someone and see them flinch. Otherwise it’s like you don’t exist at all. You’re already dead.”

“Wei Ying,” Zixuan says it, which is a surprise. He almost never says his name.

“Somewhere like this, somewhere like Yiling, all you can reach is the guy next to you. Once they put the crabs in the bucket, they put the lid on.”

The chatter in the bar is back, which is nice since there’s an awkward silence between the three of them. Wei Ying puts the chopped limes into the cooler and washes the cutting board, washes the knife. He replaces a drink at the other end of the bar earlier than he normally would—the guy is only halfway through, but he nods a thanks.

“What about—” Zixuan starts, hesitant. “Wei Ying, what about police?”

“Ha!” Wei Ying snaps it at him, not a laugh, not at all. “Don’t you— You don’t come here, into my bar, talking about police.”

“I didn’t come in talking about police, I’m just saying—”

“No cops in Yiling.” He shuts a cooler with his heel, a satisfying slam. “Cops are military, and the military hates Yiling.”

Zixuan bristles. “No, we don’t.”

He always does this. It’s one of the things Wei Ying can’t process about him, and one of the reasons they’ve never been close and probably never will be. It’s always “we.” The Jins, the government, the military. Wei Ying can like him if he doesn’t see Jin Guangshan, if he doesn’t see Jin Guangyao, if he doesn’t see the war when he looks at him. But then he comes in with the “we.”

It’s probably sad, actually, how long he’s been a soldier. How much of him is wrapped up in being his dad’s perfect soldier.

Wei Ying bites his tongue, takes a breath. “Of course you do. Everyone in charge hates Yiling.”

“I don’t hate Yiling.” Zixuan is getting stubborn. He looks like A-Ling, almost a pout. “It’s where you live, and you’re my family.”

Wei Ying blinks at him. “I don’t know how to talk to you when you get like this.”

“Like what?”

“Sincere. All, you know—” he waves an empty bottle around in Zixuan’s face. “Sincere.”

The pout becomes more of a pout. “I’m always sincere.

“Yeah, that’s why we don’t talk.”

Jiang Cheng leans across the bar and snags the rail whiskey bottle to top off his own glass.

“I can beat you up later, if you like,” Zixuan offers.

“Yeah.” Wei Ying doesn’t want to smile, but he does anyway. “Maybe.”

The silence isn’t awkward this time. Wei Ying takes the whiskey bottle back from Jiang Cheng and makes a show of wiping it off with the bleach rag. Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

After a while, Jiang Cheng asks, “Is there something happening here this month? For the five years? Like a memorial or something?” He’s looking away, all careful again.

“Is Lanling doing something?” They look at Zixuan, only slightly accusing on Wei Ying’s part.

“No. I mean December 3 there will be a whole . . . Armistice anniversary.”

“But nothing for Sunshot. Nothing for the massacre I mean,” Wei Ying says.

“I mean, not specifically.” Zixuan licks his lips. “I’m sure it’ll be mentioned.”

“Nothing here, though?” Jiang Cheng asks again.

“Trust me, people around here aren’t the ones that need reminding what you’re— what Lanling is capable of.”

“That’s not fair,” Zixuan says.

Wei Ying looks down at his hands, the mottled brown of them. Flies, flies and dirt and flies and chemicals and flies. “Don’t talk about fair. Not about this.”

Zixuan opens his mouth, but Jiang Cheng shakes his head, violently.

“A-Cheng, it’s not—”

“Stop it.” Jiang Cheng is glaring at him now, the kind of look Wei Ying gets all the time, but Zixuan doesn’t see so much. It makes him stop.

Wei Ying goes to the back and grabs the broom. Jiang Cheng reaches over for the gin bottle and tops off Zixuan’s glass. Wei Ying pretends he doesn’t see it and starts at the far end of the bar. It’s getting slower, people heading out for the night to more exciting places.

A song comes on, something from his college days. He remembers recording it onto a cassette tape from the radio, keeping it in his backpack. Lan Zhan didn’t really like it, but he let Wei Ying play it all the time on his cheap little dorm room stereo.

Wei Ying sings along under his breath as he sweeps. “And if I lied, would you forgive me. Whoa-oh-oh. Fit to be tied, but you still live with me. Oh, whoa-oh-oh.”

“This song,” Zixuan says, smiling a little. “We used to— We used to fight a lot. A-Li and I. Stupid stuff. I was late for dinner. My mom would get so overbearing and we’d fight about that. Her mom would— Well, you know. We’d fight about that. Baby stuff. We didn’t know what to do about baby stuff, so she bought out the whole section of the book store and said we’d divide and conquer. But every book was different, so we’d argue. Dr. Po says this. Well, Dr. Wen says that. She could be so— You’re all so stubborn. Stupid stuff. And we’d be so pissed off we stopped speaking to each other. But I bought her this CD once, not for a birthday or anything, just because. She loved them from way back. And she’d put it on, and we’d dance, and we wouldn’t be mad anymore.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said, clearing his throat. “She liked that sappy shit.”

“Do you play it for A-Ling?” Wei Ying asks.

Zixuan shakes his head. “It makes me sad to hear it. I spend most of my time trying not to be sad around A-Ling.”

Jiang Cheng moves like he’s going to touch him, his arm, his shoulder. He aborts the move and grabs his glass instead, slides it over to tap against Zixuan’s.

“You’re doing good,” he says.

Zixuan looks down, blinking seriously.

“You are,” Wei Ying agrees. “You’re doing good. And you know it pains me to say it.”

Zixuan gives him an echo of a laugh.

“A-Ling is lucky.”

“He’d be luckier if his uncles would visit. Both of them.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying say in unison.

“You want me to change the song?” Wei Ying asks.

“No, leave it. It’s good. It’s a nice song.”

An old woman leans on the bar—she’s familiar but Wei Ying can’t remember her name. “Hey, hey, Wei Ying!”

“Yeah, auntie?” he smiles charmingly at her.

“You know my daughter’s coming home soon. December 21.”

“Cheers to that!” he gives her a half-salute.

“I’ll set you up, once she’s home. Just you wait, she’s the prettiest, even now.”

“I’m sure she is.”

“She makes that jumpsuit look like runway fashion. Still has her figure, even with the prison food.”

“Can’t wait,” Wei Ying says politely.

“December 21,” the old woman waves her finger at him and heads for the door.

“Invite me to the wedding,” Jiang Cheng teases.

“December 21,” Wei Ying rolls it around in his mouth. “The Wens are coming home.”

Zixuan straightens up. “Really?”

“That’s what we’re celebrating. We don’t celebrate the Massacre, but innocent people coming home? That’s worth it.”

“Innocent is—”

“Zixuan, think about where you are.”

Zixuan nods.

All of the Wens who’d been scooped up post-Sunshot, post-war, those related to rebels or in the wrong place at the wrong time, they’d all been sentenced to five years in prison. “Just to be safe.” The majority came from Yiling, Dafan, other small towns in the West. People who couldn’t afford to run to Lanling, to Gusu, somewhere safe during the worst of the fighting. People who wouldn’t turn their backs on brothers and aunts and cousins in Nightless City.

But five years have almost passed, and the Wens are coming home.

“It’ll be weird, won’t it?” Jiang Cheng asks, diplomatic in his insensitivity.

“A hundred and forty-three people,” Wei Ying says. “At least, that’s how many went in. I’m sure a couple fucked up inside, got their sentences extended.”

“But still.”

“But still,” he agrees.

“Are you going to do something for it? In December?” Jiang Cheng asks him.

“Dunno. I should stock up though, shouldn’t I? I’ll make a note.”

Later, after Jiang Cheng and Zixuan leave for Jiang Cheng’s Yiling sublet—a two bedroom so Zixuan doesn’t have to get his own place in town—Wei Ying sweeps up while Wen Ning flips chairs up on the tables.

“Have you ever gotten over something?” Wei Ying asks him.

“Like what?” Wen Ning stops working and looks at him. He always does that—Wei Ying has always wondered if he had hearing loss as a kid. If he’s talking to you, he always has to stop whatever he’s doing and look at you right in the face.

“I don’t know. But have you ever stood there a second and realized you were over something? Or through something. You know, on the other side?”

Wen Ning thinks for a while, and Wei Ying sweeps around his feet. “School, I guess.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“What about you?”

Wei Ying leans down with the dust pan. “I don’t think I’ve ever come out the other side of anything. I think maybe if you stay in something long enough you adapt. Grow gills or whatever, so you can breathe. So you can survive when the world turns unlivable around you. And maybe you aren’t living at all, maybe you’re a stone, or you’re a dead fish with rotten eyes, washed up on the bank of a river that dried up years and years ago.”

Wen Ning still looks at him, eyebrows furrowed, but he doesn’t ask Wei Ying to make sense. It’s what Wei Ying appreciates the most about him.

“So maybe you’re dead, or maybe you’re evolving. Like, maybe that’s just what the world is now, and what you would have previously defined as dead, what you’d look at ten years ago and say that’s a dead thing, maybe that’s just what life looks like now. Evolution.”

Wen Ning nods and picks up a chair. “I think . . . I might be remembering wrong, but I think evolution takes a long time. Like many generations. So maybe you should look at the kids.”

“The kids?”

“Yeah, see if the kids have gills. Or whatever. Whatever you said.”

Wei Ying leans his chin on his broom and watches Wen Ning go table by table, strong and methodical. He sets the chairs so gently on the tabletops that it doesn’t make any noise. He flips them with complete control and lines up the seats.

“Maybe,” Wei Ying says. He goes back behind the bar and turns up the music. There’s work to do before heading home

#assorted writings #pick up every piece #the untamed #cql #mo dao zu shi

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depressedhatakekakashi · 3 years ago

Text

Jokes on You

AU: Phoenix Gai Au

Words: 1723

Rating: General

Characters: Hatake Kakashi, Haruno Sakura, Uchiha Shisui, Tenzo|Yamato

Warnings: None

Summary: After a long morning of training, Sakura feels like taking a nap. Possibly the biggest mistake she has ever made.

Made with Help from @sakura-rpblog

When Tsunade-sama had told Sakura to start her adventure into the world and gain knowledge, she hadn’t imagined that it would be full of such interesting experiences. Meeting the forest spirits, and the various creatures and humans that inhabited the land was something that she fully expected.

But being part of a group that included the last remaining phoenix, a Kodama, and a Half human-half Yatagarasu? That had not been in her plans. Neither had training under Kakashi-sensei to learn Kenjutsu or watching the small group she had become a part of bicker over where they were going to go next.

It made her miss her days at the temple. Where food was always collected by some of the other priestesses while Sakura hid away in the basement studying up on the various creatures and clans of the world.

“We need supplies,” Gai insisted, his hands on his hips as he stared down Shisui. “And the last thing we need is you following Kakashi and Sakura to the town. If anyone spots you…”

There’s no moment before today that Sakura can think of where Gai looked so serious. Usually, he was the definition of brightness and sunshine. Both personality-wise and literally. He looked like the sun if he relaxed enough to let himself revert into his true Pheonix form, rather than hiding away in his human disguise.

“You and Kakashi rarely ever spotted me,” Shisui argued, one large feathery arm coming out to rest on Yamato’s shoulder. “Come on Yamato, tell him. I can keep hidden.”

“I’m with Gai on this one,” The Kodama huffed as he brushed Shisui’s arm away from him. “It’s too risky. If you are spotted the humans will chase you down, and if you bring them back to camp…”

Throwing his arms up into the air, Shisui groaned “I know I know. We have to protect the last phoenix. But come on, humans can’t be that bad. Sakura and Kakashi aren’t horrible. They haven’t tried to skewer me for lunch, or kill Gai.”

“You wouldn’t taste good,” Kakashi shot back, coming to a stop by Sakura’s side. “Too stringy. Plus that half-human part of you would make me feel bad about eating you.”

“Ay!” Covering her mouth, Sakura chuckled when Shisui jumped back behind Gai and glared at the older man. “Don’t act as if you’d eat me, Kakashi! It’s creepy!”

“Well, if we don’t go to town to pick up some supplies then my options may be limited,” Kakashi gave his shoulders a shrug. “And if you get caught and we have to retreat because a bunch of humans decides they want to try and make you a trophy for their home, then I won’t be able to get myself food that I want to eat.”

Gai laughed, Yamato slapped a hand over his face, and Shisui hid completely behind the Phoenix.

It was the most ridiculous thing Sakura had ever seen in her life.

“We’ll leave in an hour,” Kakashi stated, his eyes travelling down to Sakura. “Once you’ve had a bit of rest.”

“I’m fine,” She insisted, clenching her fists and throwing a punch into his arm. “You didn’t even tire me out that much during training, Sensei. I could go for another hour.”

As soon as she said that it felt like all of her energy was zapped away from her. Her knees gave out, and the only thing that stopped her from crashing into the ground was Kakashi catching her in his arms.

“Another hour, huh?” If she could glare at him she would, but her body refused to move no matter how hard she tried to force herself to do something. Even just standing up on her own seemed impossible now. “I think at this rate I’m going to end up going into town on my own.”

“ ‘m not… that tired.” Sakura protested even as her eyes started to close.

“Perhaps if you rest, we can have some food ready for you when you wake up,” Yamato offered a soft smile on his face when Sakura glanced his way. “What would you prefer? Yatagarasu soup or some fresh apples from town?”

Shisui screeched, yelling something about ‘bad jokes’ and ‘terrible friends’. No matter how hard she tried to stay awake and listen to what it was Shisui was saying, Sakura found herself slowly passing out in her Sensei’s arms.

She’d just have to ask Gai how the rest of the argument went later. When she was awake and able to listen to the grand story that he’d come up with.

It was already dark when Sakura finally opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, the smell of something delicious filling her senses. Slowly, she stood up from a makeshift bed Kakashi carefully placed her in earlier and walked towards the direction where the smell is coming from.

There, sitting around a small campfire was the rest of the group. Kakashi was leaned up against Gai’s side, his head on the Phoenix’s shoulder and his eyes half-closed.

Across from them, Yamato’s resting under a tree that she’s pretty sure wasn’t there before her nap. Though, it’s not abnormal for the Kodama to grow new tree’s just for him to sit under.

“Sakura!” Gai’s cheerful voice greeted her. “Come, sit down. We’ve already made soup.”

“I made soup,” Kakashi corrected him, sitting up so that Gai could lean forward and scoop up some soup into a bowl for Sakura. “You and Yamato argued over whether or not you should wake her up.’

Rubbing her eyes, Sakura took a seat between Kakashi and Yamato and carefully took the bowl from Gai when he offered it to her.

“Thank you,” she covered her mouth as she yawned, still groggy from her nap. “How long was I asleep?”

“About four hours,” Kakashi explained. “I was able to go into town, get supplies, get back and make soup while you snoozed the day away.”

Impressive, considering town was about an hour and a half away. Though, she wasn’t too surprised. Kakashi didn’t like being around big crowds in her experience, so she could imagine him bouncing between stalls desperately grabbing whatever he needed and getting out of there as quickly as possible.

Usually, he took her along for the trip so that she could talk to people. Get some human interaction.

He always said it was healthy for her, even though he avoided it as much as possible.

“Well, it smells good. Thank you,” digging in, she groaned when the flavour hit her tongue. Delicious as always, and warm. With just the right amount of vegetables and a slice of meat that tasted exquisite.

Examining the group in front of her, she tilted her head when she noticed that Shisui was nowhere to be seen.

Even when she turned her eyes up towards the trees, his favourite place to hide away, there was no sight of him. Almost as if he had disappeared.

As if…

Her face paled, and her eyes shot back down to the bowl in her hand. Now that she thought about it the meat was tastier than what she was used to and tougher.

A little stringy and harder to pull apart than beef or pork.

Setting the bowl down on her lap, she glanced between the three men in front of her. Not one of them was looking at her, and that smile that had been on Gai’s face when she first joined them was now gone.

All three of them looked haunted now.

As if they were thinking about a lost friend.

“K-Kakashi-sensei,” the older man looked at her when she spoke up. “W-where is Shisui?”

Her heart dropped when he turned away from her.

“Sakura,” Yamato spoke up, his voice heavy with regret. “I’m sorry, we tried to save him. We didn’t think…”

Throwing the bowl away from herself, Sakura scrambled to her feet. Horrified by what she had just done. She couldn’t believe it. Surely it had to be a joke.

“You’re lying!” Tears streamed down her face. “Tell me you’re lying! This can’t be. He can’t be…”

She should have defended him. Told her Sensei off for making such a cruel joke.

Covering his mouth, she stared down at the large bowl of soup.

Had they done it?

Did they think it was the only way? The best way to respect their friend?

“You three are terrible!” She snapped, pointing a finger towards her Sensei. “He was our friend! Our comrade! And you…”

“Awww, Sakura-chan,” A smiling face appeared directly in front of her, sending her spiralling backward in shock as she took in the face. Shisui’s face. “You’re so sweet. I knew someone in this group liked me.”

Suddenly the air around the fire changed. The heavy feeling of regret disappeared instantly, replaced by laughter and a light, cheerful energy.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” Yamato curled up into himself. “I didn’t think that would work.”

“Best idea ever,” Kakashi-sensei hid his face in Gai’s shoulder, barely keeping himself up while he laughed. “Shisui, you’re a mad genius.”

Shisui?

“You!?” Sakura pointed at the Yatagarasu with a look of betrayal. “This was your idea!?”

“You shouldn’t have slept so long, cherry blossom,” Shisui chuckled. “I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up.”

Dropping her arm to her side, Sakura lowered her head.

“Aww, Sakura don’t tell me we upset you,” Kakashi-sensei teased. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Come on, Cherry blossom.” as soon as Shisui reached out to poke her, she lashed out. Landing a fist right against his face and sending him flying backward into the campfire. Knocking the pot of soup onto the ground and spilling their food all over the ground.

She could hear Kakashi-sensei muttering something about ‘eating before she woke up’ but she didn’t care.

If they starved tonight it was their own damn fault.

“Next time you think about pulling a stunt like that, just remember that it’ll be the last time!” She screamed, turning her back to the group and storming away. “And next time I’ll shove my Bomuti right up your-“

“Sakura!” Yamato cut her off, horrified by what she was about to say.

Good. Maybe it would prevent them from trying to pull a prank on her in the future.

#Phoenix Gai AU #Hatake Kakashi #Uchiha Shisui #anbu #Maito Gai #Haruno Sakura #Taryn's birthday celebration 2021 #Taryn's birthday fics

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willddheartt · 4 years ago

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We Have Somewhere | Randall Carpio

Pairing: Randall Carpio x reader

Summary: You and Randall have had some kind of thing from the moment you stepped foot on Campus. Everything feels as if its about to fall apart when you find out he’s a Knight and you’re in The Order.

Warnings: None?? its kind of fluffy ig.

Word count: 1388

Masterlist

At first, you didn’t know about the Knights of st. Christopher, nobody in The Order did, they were hidden well. You only found out about them after following Alyssa and Jack back to the old and abandoned-looking house, obviously, they spotted you and all five of them came out and confronted you. You were most surprised when Randall walked out of the house.

You and Randall have had a thing going on from the moment you stepped foot on campus, everyone knew it but when asked the both of you would deny being romantically involved, but it wasn’t a lie neither of you made the move to make anything official.

The dark-haired boy ran up to you, against his friend’s wishes. “What are you doing here?” He asked quietly, his hand coming to rest on your elbow out of habit. “I overheard jack and Alyssa talking about something and-” You said, looking up at him, “Are you a knight?” “How do you know about that?” Randall asked, his tone guarded and startled You stuttered trying to come up with something on the spot to avoid revealing you were in The Order to him, but your inability to lie to the boy stumped you up. Your gaze shot to the ground to avoid looking in his eyes that would eventually make you break your silence.

“She’s in the order,” Alyssa spoke up from behind Randall. The boy suddenly became rigid against you, the hand that rested firmly on your arm was reduced to just barely hover over your arm and you could feel his eyes on you. “Is that true?” He whispered and you nodded slightly. “And you didn’t tell me before?” Randall asked, you looked up at him. “You didn’t tell me you’re literally a werewolf, I didn’t know I was permitted to tell you about a secret society.” You all but snapped.

The others began to notice both you and Randall were treading on very thin ice with each other right now, one wrong would could send either of you into a fit of rage. Hamish took Randall inside and Alyssa pulled you to sit with her on the porch while you cooled off.

“He’s a werewolf,” You said out loud after a minute of sitting in silence with Alyssa. The blonde nodded, “I know, I could barely believe it myself the first time I heard it.” “I mean you think you can trust somebody and they pull this on you,” You continued “You can still trust him,” Alyssa spoke in a calming voice, “He’s the same Randall you’ve known. Nothing has to change if you don’t want it to.” You looked up at her wondering what she was on about, everything was so different right now, the Knights were almost enemies of the Order, putting you on opposite sides no matter what. “You know we’re not even supposed to be here, right? If they find out we know about the Knights and don’t tell anyone there could be severe consequences.” You said Alyssa nodded the entire time. “I know,” She spoke, “But sometimes just because we should stand with the order doesn’t mean what they’re doing is right-” She was interrupted by the front door opening. Your attention was glued to the door until you saw who stepped out, Randall stood by the door looking between you and Alyssa. The blonde seemed to read the subtext the left you with a pat on the knee, before going inside and shutting the door behind herself to give the two of you privacy.

The dark-haired boy sat down next to you on the step, neither of you said anything even though the air was thick with an elephant on the porch, you knew you needed to talk about it eventually but right now you couldn’t form a rational thought. You were morally conflicted and wished your Ethics teacher hadn’t gone missing because this seemed like the type of question to ask him before making your move.

“You know I was going to tell you,” Randall spoke up, clearing his throat. “I wasn’t going to tell you. They’d have my head if I did,” you mumbled making him chuckle softly.

It seemed that suddenly, without warning, all the tension in the air had been relieved, you knew this was going to be a long-lasting conversation but for now, things with you and Randall seemed somewhat okay. You walked in the living room with Randall’s arm thrown over your shoulder. Everyone let out an audible sigh upon seeing his smile.

“So?” Hamish asked “We’re good.” You nodded

You sat on the couch with Randall’s head in your lap listening to everyone catch you up to speed with everything that has been happening, to keep your attention to everything going on you dragged your fingers through Randall’s hair. “So the Coventry is a power-hungry dick who is also your dad, and the Grand Magus and we need to stop him from getting that book?” You asked pointing to Jack, everyone in the room nodded collectively, “Pretty much,” Hamish said “And if he completes binding himself with it he will have complete control of magic without needing a spell, potion, or sacrifice,” Alyssa said “Oh perfect,” You sighed sarcastically, leaning back into the couch as Randall sat up next to you. “Do we have a plan on how to do that?” You asked “Don’t let Coventry finish binding himself to the book,” Jack said. “That’s not a plan,” Everyone said in unison

It took hours to come up with a plan that even had the possibility of working against Coventry, so long in fact that the sun had past set and it was pitch black outside. Walking back to the dorms wasn’t something you were looking forward to in the darkness, seeing as what had recently happened to the pledges, even though you knew what happened it still put you off walking alone in the dark than you already were.

Just looking out the window into the uncertain pitch-black woods sent a shiver down your spine. “Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?” Randall asked “I don’t want you walking back alone,” You mumbled “Then do you want to stay over?” He asked with a small smirk. “I’d like that, yes,” You smiled at him as he pulled you into a side hug. “You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Randall mumbled against your hair. You shook your head, “I’ll be fine on the couch.” “You sure? Sometimes the hide lockers downstairs bang around and growl, it’s pretty creepy,” He chuckled “I’m sure, Randall,” You shook your head, laughing at his attempt to spook you.

The boy gave you a blanket and a pillow from his bed before asking you one more time if you were sure you wanted to sleep on the couch. You stuck you your answer until the house was pitch black and you heard rattling from the basement, you thought he was only joking when he mentioned about the hides. It wasn’t until one loud bang and crash that you wrapped the blanket around yourself and grabbed the pillow from the couch, making your way up the stairs to Randall’s room you felt like a child after a nightmare.

You knocked softly on his door, he opened it with a smirk. “Spooked?” Randall asked once taking in your dishevelled state “No.” You shook your head, refusing to admit he was right, “I just couldn’t sleep,” “Yeah, sure,” He chuckled, nodding his head as he stepped aside to let you in. You stood just inside the door, watching Randall shut the door and lay down in his bed.

“C’mon, there’s room for two,” He smiled, motioning you over. You couldn’t help but smile at the boy as you made you way over. He welcomed you with open arms, pulling the fluffy duvet over the both of you. “Are you gonna admit you were scared?” He asked with a smirk as you mindlessly laid together, cuddling. “No,” you replied “I’ll ask again in the morning,” Randall said, reaching over you to turn the lamp off.

“Goodnight Randall,” You said, turning over to kiss his cheek, “Thanks for letting me stay. “You’re always welcome here,” He replied, “Goodnight,” He kissed your forehead.

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lio-the-chaotic-nonbeanie-weenie · 3 years ago

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A Supernatural World: Chapter 2

Prev | Next

Summary: Fleeing their hometown of Miami, Florida due to it growing far too dangerous, Roman and his vampire brother Remus move to Detroit, Michigan. Remus hopes it’ll be safer here for his human (or so he thinks he’s human) brother. Roman only wishes to start anew after a traumatizing incident in his last college, hoping to make new friends and maybe even find love. They don’t know what this city or the future holds but it’s going to be quite the adventure as they explore their new surroundings and the…interesting people that live in it.

Pairings: Eventual roceit, Eventual Intrulogical, slowburn roceit, slowburn Intrulogical, romantic roceit, romantic Intrulogical. BROTHERLY CREATIVITWINS (rem/rom shippers fuck off)

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF ABUSE, IMPLIED ABUSE, TOXIC PARENTING, MENTIONS OF SEXUAL HARRASSMENT, IMPLIED SEXUAL HARRASSMENT, POSSIBLE IMPLIED RAPE, SLIGHT BLOOD MENTION, SLIGHT MENTION OF MURDER, MENTIONS OF FOOD POISONING

Taglist: @mychemically-imbalanced-romance

(If anyone else would like to be tagged, let me know!)

________________________________________________________________

Moving to a new apartment after being on the run for so long had been exhausting but they made it and they were a lot safer now. For the first time in a long time, Roman finds himself waking up with little to no worries in his mind. He sits up and yawns, stretching his arms. He takes a deep breath and perks up a little when he smells breakfast in the air. With a rumbling tummy, Roman slips out of bed and ambles out of the bedroom and to the kitchen, finding Remus at the stove and making breakfast. Bacon and eggs sizzle away in the frying pan.

“Morning, Ree. Where’d you get that?” Roman asks, plopping down at the dining table.

“Hey, sleepyhead. I wasn’t going to go grocery shopping until some time later but I figured we could use a good breakfast after all the shit we went through to get here. So, I went out and bought a few things at the convenience store across the street.” Remus replies, plating up the food.

“I do miss having good breakfasts like this.” Roman giggles before making a face. “I don’t think I want to eat more yucky hotel food or disgusting gas station meals.”

Remus huffs a laugh and gives Roman his plate.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“I got food poisoning twice in Alabama and Kentucky.”

“Okay, fair point.”

Remus shakes his head fondly at the memory of poor Ro throwing up in their motel room. He hadn’t meant to make his twin sick but he couldn’t exactly order anything fancy. He was trying to save up for an apartment. He did feel bad for Ro. His twin had been eager to try KFC when they got to Kentucky. Turns out that the KFC they ordered from was a bit, well, unsanitary. Oh well, at least they don’t have to worry about that now. Remus gets his own plate and sets it on the table before turning to the fridge to get juice for them both.

“So, did you sleep okay? I know I used my magic on you but it can’t always block the nightmares.” Remus says, setting the juice bottle on the counter and moving to get glasses.

Meanwhile, Roman eagerly starts eating. He makes a delighted noise and eats more.

“I did. It feels nice to wake up without worrying if someone broke in or freaking out because you thought the cleaning lady was an intruder.” he grins, taking another bite.

“That’s good. And don’t worry. I’m sure there’s no scary cleaning lady here this time.” Remus chuckles, pouring him and Roman some juice.

Roman giggles and goes back to eating, humming in thanks when Remus gives him his juice.

“I know, Ree. So, what are you going to do?” he asks.

“Well, since everything is mostly unpacked, I’m going to explore around the city and see what’s there to see. Maybe find a job too. We can’t exactly live on our money forever.”

“True. I’m going to see if I can enroll in theatre after breakfast.”

“Ooh, good luck with that. I know you’ll kill it out there.

“I know. Promise you won’t kill anyone out there?”

Remus huffs a laugh.

“Promise, Ro.”

The twins share a laugh and continue talking, Roman eagerly telling Remus all the stuff he’s excited to do again. Roman used to be in theatre in high school but it wasn’t fun. He had constant pressure on his shoulders to be a star performer in their parents’ eyes. He’d spent restless nights rehearsing and practicing under his mother’s command. He’d endure other nights where his mother would reprimand him for even the smallest slip up in his plays or when he didn’t get the lead role she demanded him to get. He’d been forced into diets and dressed uncomfortably to look perfect for his parts. Theatre was ruined for him then and he endured it until high school was over.

Then there was his first year of college. Roman had been happy to have at least a bit of distance between him and his abusive home. He had tried for theatre again in hope it would go well this time. It didn’t. The professor who led the whole theatre crew was a creep along with a few techies. Roman was the poor victim who was constantly targeted, getting groped or hit on whenever he was alone with either a techie or the professor himself. At first, Roman had been clueless, thinking the groping was an accident and the flirting was all in good fun. Then it kept getting worse and worse until one day, the professor and his techies cornered Roman in the dressing room and left him a wreck with his costume torn.

Remus found out when Roman came home crying and told him. They tried to get justice but the professor and the techies left no proof so their case fell flat and was never opened again. All they could do was leave that college. Of course, their parents didn’t side with them, accusing Roman of ‘asking for it’ and punishing him for ‘selling his body’. That’s when Remus had enough and broke out of the basement he was forced to stay in. He went to Roman and comforted him, telling him they weren’t staying here anymore. After waiting for their parents to leave the house for another drunken night at some bar, the twins packed up and left. Roman hasn’t tried theatre since. The funny thing is, that was only a year ago.

Now, Roman was feeling a bit confident and wanted to try theatre once more. He even wanted to help with costumes and makeup or maybe even make props. He also missed singing on stage so he was excited to do that again. Eager to try out again, Roman eats a little faster. He really wants to enroll and step up on the shiny stage floor again.

Meanwhile, Remus huffs a laugh, seeing how eager his brother is.

“Easy, Ro. You have plenty of time to sign up for theatre.” he says, patting his twin’s head.

Roman smiles bashfully.

“I know. I’m just so excited, Ree! I miss the stage! Now that we’re free from our parents and those creeps, I feel like I can do theatre again without all these problems!” he exclaims, grinning.

“I know but you can’t do that if you choke on your breakfast.”

Roman giggles.

“Right. Sorry.”

Roman slows down but keeps eating, babbling about theatre stuff in between while Remus listens along. It’s not long before Roman finishes and puts his dishes in the sink before going back to his room to get his laptop from his bag so he can start enrolling. His eager humming can be heard around the apartment and it makes the atmosphere a little bit more warm and peaceful.

Meanwhile, Remus quickly did the dishes then went to get ready to explore. He cleaned up as best as he could before getting changed into a black t-shirt, grey ripped jeans, combat boots, and a dark green leather jacket. He then returns to the bedroom and finds Roman sitting on his bed, already with his laptop on. Remus chuckles and ruffles his twin’s hair.

“Alright, I’m gonna head out now. Will you be okay with being alone for a bit?” Remus asks, watching for a moment as Roman reads through some search results.

“Yeah! I’ll call you if anything happens and Janus is upstairs too!” Roman beams.

“Good. I’ll be back later, Ro.”

“Kay! Stay safe!”

Remus gives Roman a lazy salute and leaves him to do his college hunting. He grabs his bat and his pocket knife from his backpack along with a pocket flask filled with emergency blood. Then he slips out the door and heads down to the lobby. He waves hello to Jeremiah as he exits the building, Detroit’s cool and smoggy air hitting his face. After making sure no one is around, Remus sneaks around to the back and jumps his way up the apartment building using the fire escapes there. He then climbs onto the roof. Sure, he could have taken the stairs but that wasn’t as fun. Remus takes a deep breath and walks over to the edge, taking in the view and plotting out a path.

Remus sees the bridge and the old freighter. In the distance, he can just make out the edge of Belle Isle in the morning fog. He can see a nearby police station too. Immediately, he makes a note to avoid the station for safety purposes. It takes a few more minutes but he figures out a route through a mostly empty street that leads to a cluster of small businesses and restaurants. Taking a deep breath, Remus turns and runs before leaping over a gap and landing onto the next roof. His speed picks up and he keeps moving, jumping from roof to roof.

To Remus, it always felt thrilling to go on a rooftop run. He liked the feeling of cool air on his skin and the rush he gets when he leaps high into the air. It’s almost like he was flying. He liked watching the cars and buildings rushing by him. He liked being able to explore and see new places, especially the ones with good views or creepy vibes.

Maybe he’ll explore the burnt down mansion in the outskirts of Detroit some other time. He hears it’s haunted. Maybe he’ll explore that old tech company that shut down and became abandoned due to a lot of bad business incidents. He found some rumors online that the company was going to create an android before it fell apart and shut down. He also heard of an abandoned mansion hidden somewhere in an isolated location of Detroit. He heard rumors of the last owner being a rich CEO who was murdered by his wife and her sister. Others say his remains could be found at the bottom of his dried up indoor pool.

The thought of it all excited Remus more. It felt nice to be in a new place so once he and Roman were settled in enough, he decided he’ll explore those places in the future. For now, he jumps to another rooftop and pauses to catch his breath. He may be a vampire but not even the undead can run without tiring. Remus decides to hop down from the roof, exiting through an alleyway and slipping wordlessly onto the street. He carefully weaves between some people and hums as he starts walking, passing by a grey haired man and his companion walking a Saint Bernard.

Remus looks around as he walks. There isn’t much here. There’s a homeless man on the street corner, begging for change or food. There’s a stray cat sniffing at something in the garbage cans by the alleyway. There’s a small convenience store selling party decorations and supplies. Across it is an old bar with a flickering neon sign. A faded ‘Help Wanted’ sign sits in the window, asking for someone to come work as either a cleaner or to work behind the bar. Remus knew he had no skill in working behind the bar but he figured he could try for the cleaner position. Cleaning isn’t usually his thing but he’s willing to try so he can at least make enough money to pay for rent and for any funds Roman may have for theatre. Taking a deep breath, Remus steps inside.

“Oh! Welcome to Jimmy’s Bar! I’m Jimmy!”

#sanderssides #sanders sides #roman sanders #remus sanders #creativitwins #brotherly creativitwins

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notmrskennedy · 4 years ago

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Likeability

(GN!Reader x Spencer Reid)

A/N - I’ve rewritten this thing like six freaking times but oh well - I hope it at least goes over better than the last - please be gentle

Summary - The team meets a very dislikable scientist that Spencer seems to fancy

W/C - 2.8k

Warnings - brief anatomy/bones/etc mentions (our scientist is a forensic anthropologist-ish) & a dash of swearing

Important! - this is the FIRST ending and the alternative ending that you’ll like a lot more will come along in the next day or so