#why is writing so hard just put words on the screen brother

[rtfics]

I'm popping in only because a friend told me about this post.

Hi. Professional writer here. Warner Brothers and Tim Burton would never look at unsolicited screenplays. You'd need to have an agent and an extensive CV as a professional writer. Unless you're already a seasoned pro there's no way Burton would look at your script. Besides, for his films Burton creates the ideas and works with the screenwriters; they put words to what he wants to happen. And he adds and removes things during filming. He doesn't just take someone else's script and turn it into a film.

Also, and this is very important: You can't write a script with someone else's characters. You don't own the copyright to any of the Beetlejuice characters. If you try to make money using someone else's characters that's theft and copyright infringement. You can be sued. So the idea of your selling a Beetlejuice script is moot. Can't happen.

Dear god, don't send your script to screenplay contests or any place online that says you can sell screen plays. These are ripoffs. If you seriously want your script to be sold you need an agent.

You can't just send a script to a movie studio or a director and expect it to be read. People try this all the time, which is why pros only look at work sent to them by agents. The agents do the vetting for them. Being a member of the WGA means nothing. Being a member does NOT mean anyone will read your script. You have to be represented by an agent, and one with a good reputation.

And double dear jeezus god, do not go to AI for information. Go to the library and get a book about screenwriting written by a screenwriter. AI is shit.

Becoming a professional screenwriter, or pro writer in any genre, takes hard work and dedication. There's no easy way, no short cut. Websites that promise you such are there to take advantage of your ignorance and steal your ideas and/or your money. If you're not willing to do the necessary work -- which BTW will take years--- then just stick to fanfic writing.

Read I Will Not Read Your F*%!ing Script by screenwriter Josh Olson. I include it below. Believe me, his sentiments are the same for all directors and movie studios. This article is about looking for feedback, but it's the same for those who want to sell a screenplay:

We know you’ve been working very hard on your screenplay, but before you go looking for some professional feedback, you might keep in mind the following piece by A History of Violence screenwriter Josh Olson.

I will not read your fucking script.

That’s simple enough, isn’t it? “I will not read your fucking script.” What’s not clear about that? There’s nothing personal about it, nothing loaded, nothing complicated. I simply have no interest in reading your fucking screenplay. None whatsoever.

If that seems unfair, I’ll make you a deal. In return for you not asking me to read your fucking script, I will not ask you to wash my fucking car, or take my fucking picture, or represent me in fucking court, or take out my fucking gall bladder, or whatever the fuck it is that you do for a living.

You’re a lovely person. Whatever time we’ve spent together has, I’m sure, been pleasurable for both of us. I quite enjoyed that conversation we once had about structure and theme, and why Sergio Leone is the greatest director who ever lived. Yes, we bonded, and yes, I wish you luck in all your endeavors, and it would thrill me no end to hear that you had sold your screenplay, and that it had been made into the best movie since Godfather Part II.

But I will not read your fucking script.

At this point, you should walk away, firm in your conviction that I’m a dick. But if you’re interested in growing as a human being and recognizing that it is, in fact, you who are the dick in this situation, please read on.

Yes. That’s right. I called you a dick. Because you created this situation. You put me in this spot where my only option is to acquiesce to your demands or be the bad guy. That, my friend, is the very definition of a dick move.

I was recently cornered by a young man of my barest acquaintance.

I doubt we’ve exchanged a hundred words. But he’s dating someone I know, and he cornered me in the right place at the right time, and asked me to read a two-page synopsis for a script he’d been working on for the last year. He was submitting the synopsis to some contest or program, and wanted to get a professional opinion.

Now, I normally have a standard response to people who ask me to read their scripts, and it’s the simple truth: I have two piles next to my bed. One is scripts from good friends, and the other is manuscripts and books and scripts my agents have sent to me that I have to read for work. Every time I pick up a friend’s script, I feel guilty that I’m ignoring work. Every time I pick something up from the other pile, I feel guilty that I’m ignoring my friends. If I read yours before any of that, I’d be an awful person.

Most people get that. But sometimes you find yourself in a situation where the guilt factor is really high, or someone plays on a relationship or a perceived obligation, and it’s hard to escape without seeming rude. Then, I tell them I’ll read it, but if I can put it down after ten pages, I will. They always go for that, because nobody ever believes you can put their script down once you start.

But hell, this was a two page synopsis, and there was no time to go into either song or dance, and it was just easier to take it. How long can two pages take?

Weeks, is the answer.

And this is why I will not read your fucking script.

It rarely takes more than a page to recognize that you’re in the presence of someone who can write, but it only takes a sentence to know you’re dealing with someone who can’t.

(By the way, here’s a simple way to find out if you’re a writer. If you disagree with that statement, you’re not a writer. Because, you see, writers are also readers.)

You may want to allow for the fact that this fellow had never written a synopsis before, but that doesn’t excuse the inability to form a decent sentence, or an utter lack of facility with language and structure. The story described was clearly of great importance to him, but he had done nothing to convey its specifics to an impartial reader. What I was handed was, essentially, a barely coherent list of events, some connected, some not so much. Characters wander around aimlessly, do things for no reason, vanish, reappear, get arrested for unnamed crimes, and make wild, life-altering decisions for no reason. Half a paragraph is devoted to describing the smell and texture of a piece of food, but the climactic central event of the film is glossed over in a sentence. The death of the hero is not even mentioned. One sentence describes a scene he’s in, the next describes people showing up at his funeral. I could go on, but I won’t. This is the sort of thing that would earn you a D minus in any Freshman Comp class.

Which brings us to an ugly truth about many aspiring screenwriters: They think that screenwriting doesn’t actually require the ability to write, just the ability to come up with a cool story that would make a cool movie. Screenwriting is widely regarded as the easiest way to break into the movie business, because it doesn’t require any kind of training, skill or equipment. Everybody can write, right? And because they believe that, they don’t regard working screenwriters with any kind of real respect. They will hand you a piece of inept writing without a second thought, because you do not have to be a writer to be a screenwriter.

So. I read the thing. And it hurt, man. It really hurt. I was dying to find something positive to say, and there was nothing. And the truth is, saying something positive about this thing would be the nastiest, meanest and most dishonest thing I could do. Because here’s the thing: not only is it cruel to encourage the hopeless, but you cannot discourage a writer. If someone can talk you out of being a writer, you’re not a writer. If I can talk you out of being a writer, I’ve done you a favor, because now you’ll be free to pursue your real talent, whatever that may be. And, for the record, everybody has one. The lucky ones figure out what that is. The unlucky ones keep on writing shitty screenplays and asking me to read them.

To make matters worse, this guy (and his girlfriend) had begged me to be honest with him. He was frustrated by the responses he’d gotten from friends, because he felt they were going easy on him, and he wanted real criticism. They never do, of course. What they want is a few tough notes to give the illusion of honesty, and then some pats on the head. What they want — always — is encouragement, even when they shouldn’t get any.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to tell someone that they’ve spent a year wasting their time? Do you know how much blood and sweat goes into that criticism? Because you want to tell the truth, but you want to make absolutely certain that it comes across honestly and without cruelty. I did more rewrites on that fucking e-mail than I did on my last three studio projects.

My first draft was ridiculous. I started with specific notes, and after a while, found I’d written three pages on the first two paragraphs. That wasn’t the right approach. So I tossed it, and by the time I was done, I’d come up with something that was relatively brief, to the point, and considerate as hell. The main point I made was that he’d fallen prey to a fallacy that nails a lot of first-timers. He was way more interested in telling his one story than in being a writer. It was like buying all the parts to a car and starting to build it before learning the basics of auto mechanics. You’ll learn a lot along the way, I said, but you’ll never have a car that runs.

(I should mention that while I was composing my response, he pulled the ultimate amateur move, and sent me an e-mail saying, “If you haven’t read it yet, don’t! I have a new draft. Read this!” In other words, “The draft I told you was ready for professional input, wasn’t actually.”)

I advised him that if all he was interested in was this story, he should find a writer and work with him; or, if he really wanted to be a writer, start at the beginning and take some classes, and start studying seriously.

And you know what? I shouldn’t have bothered. Because for all the hair I pulled out, for all the weight and seriousness I gave his request for a real, professional critique, his response was a terse “Thanks for your opinion.” And, the inevitable fallout — a week later a mutual friend asked me, “What’s this dick move I hear you pulled on Whatsisname?”

So now this guy and his girlfriend think I’m an asshole, and the truth of the matter is, the story really ended the moment he handed me the goddamn synopsis. Because if I’d just said “No” then and there, they’d still think I’m an asshole. Only difference is, I wouldn’t have had to spend all that time trying to communicate thoughtfully and honestly with someone who just wanted a pat on the head, and, more importantly, I wouldn’t have had to read that godawful piece of shit.

You are not owed a read from a professional, even if you think you have an in, and even if you think it’s not a huge imposition. It’s not your choice to make. This needs to be clear — when you ask a professional for their take on your material, you’re not just asking them to take an hour or two out of their life, you’re asking them to give you — gratis — the acquired knowledge, insight, and skill of years of work. It is no different than asking your friend the house painter to paint your living room during his off-hours.

There’s a great story about Pablo Picasso. Some guy told Picasso he’d pay him to draw a picture on a napkin. Picasso whipped out a pen and banged out a sketch, handed it to the guy, and said, “One million dollars, please.”

“A million dollars?” the guy exclaimed. “That only took you thirty seconds!”

“Yes,” said Picasso. “But it took me fifty years to learn how to draw that in thirty seconds.”

Like the cad who asks the professional for a free read, the guy simply didn’t have enough respect for the artist to think about what he was asking for. If you think it’s only about the time, then ask one of your non-writer friends to read it. Hell, they might even enjoy your script. They might look upon you with a newfound respect. It could even come to pass that they call up a friend in the movie business and help you sell it, and soon, all your dreams will come true. But me?

I will not read your fucking script.

Josh Olson’s screenplay for the film A History of Violence was nominated for the Academy Award, the BAFTA, the WGA award and the Edgar. He is also the writer and director of the horror/comedy cult movie Infested, which Empire Magazine named one of the 20 Best Straight to Video Movies ever made. Recently, he has written with the legendary Harlan Ellison, and worked on Halo with Peter Jackson and Neill Blomkamp. He adapted Dennis Lehane’s story “Until Gwen,” which he will also be directing. He is currently adapting One Shot, one of the best-selling Jack Reacher books for Paramount.

©2009 Josh Olson. All rights reserved.

So I'm still serious about writing that BJ3 script but I found out about all the requirements needed to join the Screenwriters Guild so its unlikely I'll be able to join. I had thought of joining since Warner Bros does not accept freelance scripts. As I said I'm still serious about getting my script into Tim's/Warner Bros hands. Does anyone know of any screenplay contests or anywhere where you can sell screenplays online? I really want to help all the Beetlebabes dreams come true by making Beetlebabes canon this time.

[willgrahamscock]

my mortal enemy... untitled document

[vitalverstappen]

The Tortured Poets Department - D. Ricciardo

summary: snapshots of your relationship with Danny

pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x reader

warnings: smoking, anxiety, self sabotage

word count: 1.6k

a/n: writing is quite literally the only thing getting me through the danny news so enjoy!

masterlist

the tortured drivers' department masterlist

It wasn’t hard to figure out that Daniel was into the arts. He constantly had a camera in his hands, he had a .jpeg account, and his favorite dates were always to the local art museum. So it was no surprise that when you first started dating, he started to dabble in writing. What did puzzle you was the fact he bought a typewriter for his endeavors. And that he had a habit of leaving it at your apartment. 

“I don’t understand how you keep forgetting this thing. It’s huge” You joked as you flipped your phone camera to show the machine that was collecting dust on your kitchen table. As much as you loved him, you’d never understand why he chose such an antiquated way of putting his stories to life. 

“I left it there again?” He asked “Maybe I should just keep it there. We could start a club: The Tortured Poets Department” 

“Yeah, good luck with that” You said, a smirk plastered on your face. 

The next Grand Prix came quicker than you would’ve liked. You loved watching the race, and loved seeing Danny do what he loves, but you hated that he always ended up self sabotaging. It didn’t matter if it was a race win or if he came in last. He always found something to be upset about.

A frown was plastered on his face as he climbed out of the car. He had gotten fourth, so you would think there was nothing to be upset about, but that’s not how Daniel operates. You were easily able to decode that the finish meant he was either upset that he didn’t get on the podium, or that he didn’t think he deserved to be that high. 

“There is no way I actually got P4.” He began 

“I don’t deserve that” The two of you said in sync, a playfully mocking tone in your voice. You already knew how this was going to play out, as if it was a show you had watched countless times. You had the dialogue memorized.

A sigh escaped your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, your tone becoming more serious, “Yes you do, love. You deserve that and the whole world.”

“You really mean that?” He asked as he pulled away from you, his arms still at your waist.

“Yes, I fully mean that. You’ve hauled that tractor of a car all the way to fourth. You have incredible talent behind the wheel.” You reassured him. 

That night, the two of you returned home to Monaco, where you had a nice, relaxing evening of listening to your favorite songs, smoking, and going through the F1 gossip blogs. It was a guilty pleasure, hearing what everyone had to say about you two. Both you and Daniel didn’t care how everyone felt about you two. If anything, it was funny seeing how wrong the internet was about everything that happened behind the scenes. 

“‘I think Danny and Y/N should get a dog. They’d be such cute pawrents!’” Daniel read and then glanced over at you, wiggling his eyebrows “Should we?” 

“God no” You laughed “ We can barely take care of ourselves. What makes you think we can take care of a dog?” 

Daniel shrugged “True, we’re not Charles and Alexandra. We’re just two idiots” 

“You’re gonna love this one ‘Rumor has it that Y/N Y/L/N is leaving Daniel for another F1 driver.’” You read off of your phone “And guess what the attached photos were of?” 

“What?” Danny asked as he took a bite of the chocolate bar he had in his hand

You managed to form a smirk with the blunt in your mouth as you tilted the phone for him to see. On the screen was a photo of you in the VCARB garage talking to another man. What the world didn’t know was that the unnamed man was your twin brother. 

“Wow, you and Matthew seem pretty close. I heard he’s into you” Daniel joked as he plucked the blunt from your mouth and putting it in his instead

“Oh shut up” You said, the two of you quickly breaking into laughter

The sound of laughter slowly died down as the album that was currently on the record player ended. The walk over to the dresser was like a minefield littered with empty chocolate wrappers.

“How many of these did you have?” You asked, picking one up

“Seven?” Daniel answered, unsure 

“Oh my god you’re ridiculous” You chuckled as you threw the wrapper at him, nearly hitting him in the face. “What do you wanna listen to next?” 

“Charlie Puth?” Daniel suggested, as he put out the end of the blunt “You know, he should really be a bigger artist” 

You thought about his comment for a second as you put one of his old records on, “Yeah, you don’t hear much about him nowadays”

As you climbed back into bed, Daniel rested his head on your chest. Out of instinct, your right hand began running itself through your boyfriend’s curly hair. He took your left hand and started fiddling with the ring on your middle finger - your mom’s engagement ring. Daniel loved playing with it for some reason, but you never questioned why. 

His chest began to rise and fall slower and slower, the fiddling stopped, and snoring began to fill the room. Never in your life did you imagine having a tattooed golden retriever of a boyfriend, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

But the doubts always crept in, and this night was no different. You were awakened by the feeling of Daniel tossing and turning all night, something clearly bothering him.

“You alright?” You muttered, turning to face him

“Wha? Yeah everything’s fine. Can’t sleep that’s all” Daniel spoke

“You usually sleep really well after a race. Something’s up. Talk to me.”

At this point, the two of you were fully awake and sat up in bed. Like you predicted, worry was spread all over his face. 

A sigh left his lips before Daniel spoke again, “Is this too much for you?” 

“What?” You asked 

“The relationship, the media attention. I know there’s a lot that comes with dating me. The cameras, the rumors, me constantly being away. I know it’s a whirlwind that even I can’t keep up with sometimes. Is this all too much for you?” 

Silence overcame the two of you as you became deep in your thoughts. It was a lot on you, and he knew that. It was always tough being away from each other, and you never thought your relationship would have a magnifying glass focused on it. 

But to you, it was all worth it to be with the one you truly loved. Love was about sacrifices and being there for each other regardless. And that’s what the two of you had done. 

“I would be lying if I said it wasn’t a lot to handle” You began “It’s never easy being away from you, or worrying about your safety every weekend. And the constant comments about us aren’t exactly rainbows and butterflies, but honestly? I don’t want it any other way. I chose to be in this cyclone with you. I wouldn’t want it any other way as long as I have you.”

You could hear Daniel release the breath you didn’t know he was holding, “I love you”

“I love you too” 

The reassurance you gave that night was all Daniel needed. Once summer break arrived, he insisted on taking you to your favorite restaurant; the same one he took you to for your first date. He had managed to get you a secluded table with rose petals covering the cloth. 

“Danny, you didn’t have to do this” You said as he pulled the chair out for you 

“Maybe I wanted to” He said as he pushed you in and then sat across

The night was spent talking about anything and everything, from the first half of the F1 season to reminding Daniel why you refuse to eat pineapple on pizza. As the night continued on, you could tell Daniel was getting more anxious about something, but you couldn’t put a finger on what. 

“You know I love you, right?” Daniel blurted out 

Your eyebrows furrowed “Yeah Dan, I do. And I love you too”

“No, I love you, a lot.” He began as he took your left hand, “More than I thought was ever possible to love somebody. The day I met you I knew I wanted to be a part of your life. I wanted to experience everything that you do. Be there to celebrate your highs and support you through your lows. It has been so much fun getting to live life with you, and I’m so thankful you’ve been doing the same for me.”

Daniel paused as he got up from his seat, his hand still holding yours as he bent down on one knee. As he slid your mom’s engagement ring off of your middle finger, you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest. This was happening. This was real life. 

“Y/N Y/L/N, Will you make me the happiest man alive? Will you marry me?” Daniel askes 

“Yes Danny. Yes, yes. A thousand times yes!” You answered, the words falling out of your mouth with ease 

As you two returned to your apartment, the same typewriter Danny bought all those years ago greeted you on your dresser. Dust covered each of the keys, but it seemed to shine with a new brightness. There was something about the machine that drew you in. So you sat down, as if you were greeting an old friend, and blew the dust off the rusty keys, ready to join the Tortured Poets Department with Danny. 

[thigholstercas]

So I wanted to have all these parts of scripts that I love with destiel moments that were erased, changed, or added context in one place. Bare in mind that there are some that are Production Drafts and others Writer's Drafts, and so on.

4x02 - Are you there, God? It's me, Dean Winchester

Oh honey, he's gonna be your husband

Honestly, I'm just putting this here because I love this scene.

5x04 - The End

Cas received the order to follow Dean's commands once, and he sticked to it up 'til the end of everything.

7x17 - Born again identity

Just remember, this was after everything that happened in season 6 and widow!dean arc 1.0

Forward to Cas' speech in 15x18, yes the parallels.

Swear this is a whole Dean thesis. If we go back to what started this whole thing in tmwwbk. Dean tells Cas, we can fix this. And he never stopped wanting to fix it.

8x17 - Goodby Stranger

Like, I know they established that it didn't make sense for Dean to say I love you here, which fair, and we ended up which I need you (somehow worse).

But if we look at this as a whole, what Dean might understand is that saying I love you makes people leave him. Fastforward to the part when Dean takes the sigils so Cas can find him and Naomi visits and tells him that Cas doesn't return his feelings. Fastforward again to the You didn't trust me because even if we get to know that it was hard for Cas to leave with the tablet, away from Dean, Dean doesn't. For Dean, he left him, without even acknowledging that he loves/needs him, ignored him, and didn't trust him. Imagine you say I love you and you are left feeling abandoned, betrayed, and angry.

8x19 - Taxi Driver

This in the middle of I love you, and You didn't trust me is something

8x22 - Clip show

The one guy that's always had your back.

9x22 - Stairway to Heaven

Don't know what they smoked to write this, but I want some

10x23 - Brother's Keeper

You'll see the word shattered used a lot. This very much both destiel and drowley imo.

Season 12 is weirdly filled with these, so here are special mentions (because the max of pictures is 30 and there are too many moments). Most likely, it has to do with the market research by the end of 2016, which is why from 12-15, these scenes are more emotionally charged.

Mary saying Good friend when Dean and Cas hug in 12x01

Cas told Mary I promised (Dean) when they were talking outside the barn before going in to help Dean save Sam in 12x02

Dean telling Mary Get him outta here! when Cas was wounded in 12x12. And of course, when Cas says the things they have shared changed him (but that's on screen)

Cas texts? from 12x16

Dean is a worried husband on 12x18.

Dean explaining that no matter how much Cas messed up, did the wrong thing, or every dumb move he got it in 12x20. Cas was always Cas.

12x10 - Lily Sunder has some regrets

Dean telling Cas he has changed, and it has all been for the good. Again, forward to 15x18.

12x19 - The Future

This whole episode is charged with scenes from Dean and Cas. Like you have the angry Welcome home from Dean when Cas returns from Heaven. Dean calls Cas a super strong dude in a trenchcoat. The mixtape scene with the That was a gift. To keep. And Dean softening a bit even if he's angry because he's more worried.

But I think the biggest one is this one. The destiel sex scene (jk)

And after this, even though it is said in the show. There is more insistence from Dean to not let go of Cas -> We're not gonna let you just walk away. Not again. Not happening.

12x23 - All Along the Watchtower

The word shattered is mentioned a lot in the scripts. This is every part that describes Dean's reactions after losing Cas. Forward to 15x18.

13x06 - Tombstone

This is one of the best things that never happened in the show. You have Dean choking down his emotions saying he's much better now and Cas who fought with the empty with everything he had in 13x04 to return to Dean, coming to a meadow near a windmill because Dean thought he'd like it.

13x14 - Good Intentions

Forget about the in love part. They are best friends, and we didn´t get this.

13x20 - Unfinished Business

He lost Cas and it damn near broke him. Not we lost Cas, I.

14x12 - Prophet and Loss

Losing Dean was unacceptable. Cas said that losing Dean was unacceptable. And Dean got emotional. And then forward to 15x18, Cas just goes no, Dean can't die because that'd be unacceptable to me, so i'll sacrifice. And then, Dean gets emotional. Again. But for Dean, the unacceptable happened.

15x09 - The Trap

Forward to 15x20. In this future that Chuck showed Sam that he lost Dean the second Cas was gone.

Have I said how much they used the word shattered. Anyway, Dean wanted Cas to stay. That's his best friend.

He's amazing.

15x18 - Despair

This is not that different from what it was filmed, it is just that seeing it described makes it different. Especially when you get things as Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester, Dean is emotional, stunned, shocked. And have I said how much they used the word shattered. Also, you can see how it starts as a confession because Cas is confessing that he made a deal, but then it ends as a declaration, a declaration of love. Which makes testament such a good word for it.

15x19 - Inherit the Earth

The fact that Dean couldn't say Cas was gone

He's not the ultimate killer. He's not daddy's blunt instrument. He's someone who raised his little brother for love, who fought for the world for love and the most caring man on Earth

15x20 - Carry On

We don't talk about this episode because the script has way too many [omitted] but this is exactly what happened in 15x09 when Chuck showed their future to Sam if they followed the road they were taking.

Okay, that was it. Probably missed some, but for me, these are the parts that stand out.

[theflagscene]

The hand rubbing scene is the gayest sex scene GMMtv has ever had on screen, allow me to explain to you why.

Gifs by @wanderlust-in-my-soul 

Now I can’t speak as someone who is completely blind (obviously) but I can speak as someone who has been progressively losing their sight for the past 15 years - ironically enough from a car accident. Why hello Day, I see you! (pun intended) But I’m also a person who grew up HoH (hard of hearing) from the age of two years old onward, I had tubes put in my ears, wore hearing aids, the whole shebang. The chances of me actually regaining my ability to hear completely was very very slim, the fact that I did actually end up regaining some - not all - of my hearing by my late twenties was a damn shock to us all. The point being, when you are a person who’s lost one of your senses that you are used to having, your body starts to overcompensate.

Most everyone has heard/read/seen things about how removing one sense can lead to your other ones becoming stronger. There’s even been studies that show people born deaf or deafened at a very young age, that their brain starts to rewire itself to allow them to experience sound in a visual way, via touch. It’s sort of like how blind people learn to read braille in a way, the touch creates a picture in your mind allowing you to see the way that word looks and sounds and feels. Theres a whole bit in Scientific America you can check out if you want that breaks it down in layman terms without the writing acting like you’re stupid, which is always nice when it comes to medical jargon lol.

So my point that to Day, his sense of touch is not only in overdrive because it like much of the rest of his senses - smell seems to be a big one they’re leading with - are scambling to try and overcompensate for the sudden lack of sight that is getting worse as time passes. But because he had pulled away from basically the entire world post blindness setting in, spending the last year of his life in his room hardly interacting with anyone, his own mother and brother barely being allowed to touch him. That for Day, his sense of touch is absolutely frantic. Which is why it’s so important for Mhok to constantly place his hands on him, not only to help lead him back into the world but to allow Day to recognize him by touch alone. And it’s being shown that he is, Day already knows Mhok’s voice and it’s touched a bit on the way he smells (ciggs) but this last episode is really starting to show how the touch of people is starting to fully affect Day, especially when he’s out of the house and how Mhok is instantly recognized even though he always follows up his touch with a vocal confirmation that it is in fact him that is touching Day.

So that hand stroking scene, the way Mhok runs the pads of his fingers gently up the centre of Day’s palm, how he strokes the back of his hand like it’s a kitten. That right there could genuinely feel like sex to Day, if not sexual in manner at the very least. The fuzzy look Day gets in his eyes, going from blank, to blissful to bashful and then finally awkward. It wasn’t just because of the fact that the dude he lowkey is starting to have a crush on is rubbing his hand in what I’m seeing being called a ‘weirdly intimate way’. It’s because Day’s body and brain is reacting to that touch in a way that people with all five senses might not completely comprehend, imagine your most intense erogenous zone (btw the palms of the hands are occasionally considered one) now imagine if that intensity was ramped up by ten, or twenty or even fifty and then imagine that that erogenous zone was suddenly everywhere. The most innocuous part of your body could bring you the most incredible sensations, both sexual and emotional, that’s what Day is feeling.

Mhok, now Mhok, he’s not stupid. Far from it in fact, he’s clued in on that not only is Day queer but also that he has a bit of a crush on him. Mhok has also quickly adapted to how he needs to teach Day to see the world in a new way, hence all the touching and smelling and reinforcement that Day can in fact do things for himself, including asking for help when he needs it. So Mhok knew exactly what he was doing with the hand rubbing, sort of. Did he know the sensation would be heightened, my best bet is totally. But did he expect to have his reaction to it go beyond that of teasing? Given his own bashfulness, doubtful. When you’re dating someone with a loss of one or many senses, you tend to change your own preconceived notions of what intimacy with your partner is. For some people offering a foot rub to their partner is a clear come on, an offer for something to lead to more. But for a blind person, especially a newly blind person like Day. They use their hands to navigate their entire world - you literally read with your fingers - so a blind persons hands are basically their most important tools in a lot of ways. To have someone touch your hands with such care, such reverence, it’s not just intimate, it’s full on foreplay.

Mhok wasn’t just touching Day, he was touching Day. It was meant to be seen as intimate because it was intimate, so intimate, in a way I don’t think either Mhok nor Day were expecting it to be because neither had ever experienced something like that before. That scene was truly the beginning of their relationship shifting, that hand scene was kind of like their first kiss.

Gifs by @wanderlust-in-my-soul

[villain-crown]

cheat | @jegulus-microfic | words: 520

critical care, part 1 | (part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9)

a Jegulus nurse!AU

“Potter, I’ve got shit news for you.”

James snorted, finishing the last few letters of a name on the large dry erase board that announced the day shift nurses’ assignments on the medical-surgical intensive care unit. Their ward’s nickname, coined by its wealthy donor, was written at the top in half-erased red letters: Go Gryffindor! “No thanks, Marlene, I’ve got enough shit news already.”

“Peter’s cheating on us. He’s been floated to take patients in the recovery room. They took on three extra cases this morning.”

Jerking his head around, he stared at her.

No.

Peter could not do this to him. James had twenty-two sick as shit patients tripping over themselves to dive into body bags and just enough nurses to stop them from doing so. The acuity of their unit was through the roof. He would not be tested today.

“Pete wouldn't do that.” James shoved his hand into his scrubs to fish his phone out. On the home screen was the preview of an apologetic text from ✨🐀Wormtail🐀✨, reporting his marching orders to the post-anesthesia care unit. “Wow. I thought he loved me. What am I supposed to do? We’re about to start the bloody shift!”

“Well don’t worry boss, because I have slightly less shit news. They’ve sent us a nurse to replace him.” She paused. “From Slytherin.”

“I thought you said less shit news,” James grumbled, using the side of his hand to rub Peter’s name from the board. Slytherin, with its name derived from the benefactor who had funded its building, was the cardiovascular intensive care unit two floors below them. Their nurses were notoriously nightmares to get along with. “The last time they floated someone from there to here it was Snape, remember?”

“Oh yeah!” Marlene snapped her fingers. “Didn’t Sirius almost trick him into drinking nitroglycerin? It’s a good thing you stopped him. He could have actually died.”

“Yeah. Anyway, who are they sending us?”

Marlene consulted her phone. “It’s going to be… Oh! Regulus Black!”

“Black?” James repeated distractedly, writing it down.

“It’s Sirius’s little brother. Have you met him?”

“No.” James capped his marker and stepped back. “Have you?”

“Once.” She paused, then qualified that. “Sort of. I got to watch Sirius threaten one of the doctors for flirting with him. Does that count?”

That got his attention. “What? Why? Sirius has slept with half the staff in this hospital!”

“Yeah, but he’d put Regulus in a monastery if he could. No dating allowed for Baby Black.” Marlene handed over the charge nurse phone. “It’s too bad. Dorcas says Regulus is… sweet.”

James smirked. “Dorcas says, huh? I guess Pete’s not the only one cheating on us Gryffindors by consorting with the enemy units.”

“Fuck off, Potter. And I’ll give you a bit of free advice. When Regulus comes up here, you’d best try very hard not to stare. Sirius hates when people do that.”

James’s expression turned serious. “I won’t. Is there something physically… did something happen to him?”

Oddly, Marlene just smirked. “No, nothing like that. But if you know what’s good for you, don’t let Sirius catch you looking.”

[adorethedistance]

I Don’t Just Like You - Trevor Zegras x Hughes!Reader

Hockey Masterlist

Warnings: swearing, tension/fighting, jealousy, Dixie lmao

Words: 2161

Summary: Tension builds with Trevor over his new partnership until the two of you confess your feelings.

A/n: Y'all I am so not doing well rn. I am processing a break up and questioning my social circle and im so lonely that I needed to write some angst to cope with it all. Hope yall like this one and maybe it'll get a smut part two depending on whether or not I can handle writing that rn lol. Enjoy!

Moose: call me ASAP

Me: sorry Luke. can’t rn

Moose: Awesome 😎

My hands quake with anxiety as I fiddle with the tarnished silver ring adorning my pointer finger. The moisture of my skin eases the movement of turning the ring around my finger. I hiss when the gemstone catches on the skin of my middle finger and immediately drop my hands. 

Currently, I’m staring down at the risky text I just sent Trevor. About an hour ago he had messaged me:

Trev: hey sorry can’t swing tn after all 

Trev: rain check?

My jaw tightens with contempt and I huff out a sigh as my bottom lip trembles. I feel pathetic for just how impacted I am by his every word. I angrily hit the digital keys of my phone’s keyboard as I type my reply.

Me: really? 

Me: again??

Trev: don’t be like that

I’m not the most confrontational person. On any given day some might say I’m the furthest thing from confrontational. To put it rather plainly, I just don’t like it. I hate the way I get anxiety butterflies in my stomach. I hate absorbing the emotions of the other person, especially when rejection is involved. I hate what projections I’m opening myself up to receiving from the other person. There are too many pitfalls and not enough landing pads. Which is why it’s so out of character for me to press him on this.

Me: like what Trev?

This is the third time in a row Trevor has cancelled plans on me. I don’t know if he’s aware of that. I don’t even know what he’s been up to lately. He’s refused to tell me what he’s been doing instead, which didn’t raise my suspicions by any means until mom sent me an article. She knows about how my crush on Trevor has had roots in our childhoods. 

Trev: you know what I’m talking about

After I stopped playing hockey with my brothers, I was still always around to notice Trevor’s presence in our home. When I moved to California for college, I wanted to chase my music dreams but I didn’t realize it would come at the expense of my support system. Being long distance with my family put me in a hard spot, but having a familiar face to rely on made the adjustment easier. As we spent more time together independent of my brothers, Trevor and I became close friends. The problem was my crush has been growing ever since we became friends, hence why mom sent me an article called, “Did Dixie D’Amelio admit to dating Trevor Zegras?”.

Me: at least say it with your chest

Sent. Delivered. I wait. Trevor’s response bubble appears for a second. It disappears, then reappears, then disappears again. I’m about ready to toss my phone across the room when his message delivers.

Trev: call me

I groan out in frustration and this time actually end up chucking my phone onto my bed. I run my hands through my hair, along the warm expanse of my scalp. A self-soothing gesture by all means. I pace to one side of my room before using the momentum of my steps to start back towards my phone. Just as I have it in my hand, Trevor’s contact picture covers the screen and illuminates in my grasp. I scoff out a sort of half groan and then answer.

“What, Trevor?”

“Hey, Y/n I’m great. Thanks for asking! How are you?” He responds sardonically to my cold greeting. I bite my tongue, torn between tearing into him and the stronger desire to laugh through my rage. He takes my exhale as a cue to continue. “What’s going on, Hughesy?”

In a single moment, my anger dissolves. The tenderness of that nickname, which was once reserved solely for my brothers, now belongs to me. In this moment, I find myself thinking about how grateful I am that Trevor was there for me as I transitioned into college. But the looming threat of a smile quickly vanishes as I remember how that care is nullified by Trevor’s abundantly active dating life.

“Y/nnnn?” Trevor hums into the phone.

“What?” I respond dryly.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you cancelling on me for the third time in a row.”

“Is it really the third time in a row?” He asks under his breath, indicating he may not have intended to say it out loud at all. I roll my eyes, still actively fighting the urge to just lay into him.

“Yes, Trevor, it is!” I can practically hear him wince through the phone at the fact that I’m calling him Trevor instead of the default nickname permanently programmed into my phone. 

“Who’s that?” I hear softly over the phone. My heart flutters like a coal mine parakeet in a cage and I bite my lip, willing myself not to cry if it turns out Dixie is on the other side. Trevor whispers back,

“It’s Y/n.”

“Hey, Y/n!” Mason’s on the other end. 

“Not a good time,” Trevor tells him. Mason curses and then apologizes before retreating from Trevor’s general area. “Sorry, you were saying?” Trevor tells me at regular volume.

“You were cancelling on me again.”

“Oh. Right. I…” he switches the phone to the other ear, “I…don’t know what you want me to say.” Hello?! Could he be any more oblivious?!

“I want you to tell me what is going on!” I whine into the phone, “What is it you’re so busy with doing that you can’t see me for a week, huh? I get that you’re a professional athlete and you have a busy schedule. But I know your schedule and I know you still have a decent amount of free time. So what have you been doing?” Trevor breathes, in, then out and says,

“I’ve been seeing someone lately…” I feel my heart shatter into the tiniest fractals of what it once was and I cover my mouth to choke back the growing lump in my throat.

“I can’t do this right now,” I say with the utmost hurt lacing my voice, pulling the phone away from my ear to abruptly hang up on Trevor. I toss my phone on my bed once more, ignoring how the screen lights up with Trevor’s contact picture. It’s a new breed of psychological torture to sit here and ignore the calls, so I leave my phone in my bedroom as I go to splash cold water on my face. 

When I reenter my bedroom, I ignore the buzzing device to put on a comfortable pair of pajamas. He’s called once, twice, a fourth, and a fifth before finally giving up. Despite my phone being silent, I don’t trust it enough to take it with me and leave it to charge on my bed. I settle on the couch to open my new pint of Ben and Jerry’s, putting on my favorite show in the hopes of laughing through the pain. 

Somewhere between first and second episode, I had dozed off after returning the ice cream to the freezer. I’m not sure what it is about crying that knocks me on my ass like that, all I know is that it works. 

I’m abruptly pulled from my sleep when I hear the harsh banging on my front door. I jump up from the couch, the spike in adrenaline carrying me out of my sleepy haze. When I get to the front door, some of the tiredness catches up with me again and I groggily open the front door. Behind it stands Trevor, with sad puppy eyes and a sheepish expression. I can’t help the scowl that comes to rest on my face when I see him, but he doesn’t falter. Instead, he pushes past me to come into the apartment and sits on the couch expectantly. Since there’s no way to physically remove him from my space, I bargain, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch, as far from Trevor as I can manage. He doesn’t let the cold gesture phase him, and scooches obliviously into the center of the couch.

“What’s going on Hughsey?” I scoff at the nickname and Trevor cringes in frustration. “What is this?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“Why are you icing me out all of a sudden?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask, spiteful, with malice. 

“Clearly not since I’m here spending time with you.”

“Was that so hard for you to do? I mean, with your busy schedule and all?”

“What are you-” Trevor pauses for a split second. “Wait, are you… jealous? Y/n?”

I want to protest. I want to scream and rant and bite back, how he could be so conceited to think I’d be jealous of a relationship that I previously thought was rumored? But I can’t. 

Because he’s right.

I bite my tongue. There’s nothing else I can do. Not unless I want to make an even bigger fool of myself than I already have.

“Oh my god, that’s totally it. You’re jealous.” Trevor says, complete with a laugh and a sigh. The shame of actually being jealous of a girl I’ve never met, the disappointment of finding out Trevor is dating someone, and the exhaustion from already having cried earlier comes collapsing down on me at once. Hot tears well on the lining of my lashes and I stare at the ground, afraid to draw attention to myself. Upon seeing me cry, Trevor’s smile immediately vanishes and he scoots closer once more.

“Hey, shhh, it’s okay.” He envelops me in a hug that I’m too overwhelmed to reciprocate. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.” 

I merely shake my head, unaware of what I could even say in this moment.

“I was… I was just laughing ‘cause I should’ve known.”

“Should’ve known what?”

“That you’d be jealous.” I wriggle out of the hug and look at Trevor sincerely.

“How would you have known?”

“You know, for as long as I can remember, your brothers have talked about you having a crush on me.” I cower in humiliation, my face glowing hotter than the surface of the sun.

“I wish they wouldn’t have.”

“No?” Trevor asks, genuinely.

“It’s embarrassing,” I confess, fully recoiling from the physical contact he had initiated before. 

“It’s cute.” Trevor earnestly admits as he takes my hand in his. I scoff instinctively but don’t pull my hand away again.

“I don’t need your pity, Trev.” I say so softly he nearly misses the sentiment. Once he processes my worlds, I feel him physically relax next to me at the sound of his familiar nickname.

“Well, what do you need? I’m here now.”

“I honestly don’t know.” I finally dare to meet his eyes. He’s looking at me so sweetly, earnestly. As if I hadn’t just chewed him out two minutes earlier. Then, I look away before I can say what I’m about to say next. “I don’t just like you.” Trevor’s face lifts ever so slightly. The extent of which, one might miss had they not known him a lifetime the way I have.

 “You know… the only reason I started seeing her was to get over you.”

“What?” I ask, sharply whipping my head to stare at Trevor, as if awaiting the reveal that this was just some elaborate prank from the start.

“Yeah. I started dating Dixie because I thought dating someone different would distract me. You know, it’s not a good look to have a crush on your best friend’s little sister.”

My heartrate picks up with his confession. This feels too good to be true. As if real life is waiting for us right outside the front door. The real life that doesn’t see me and Trevor together ever in our lifetimes. Terrified of the change that would occur from letting him walk away, I reach up and hold his face in my hands, kissing him passionately. Trevor wraps his hand around my wrist and kisses me back with twice as much fervor. 

We break apart, out of breath and full of smiles. Trevor looks at me for guidance and we fizzle into a nervous laughter. I reach up and brush my thumb tenderly across his cheekbone. He grabs my hand and turns his head, placing a sweet kiss on my palm. I then reach up and break the moment by ruffling my hand through his hair to mess it up.

“Hey!” He yells, grabbing waist to dig his hands into my sides. I screech with laughter as I try to escape. Trevor eventually yields and slips his hands from my sides to interlace with one another and pull me closer. I scoot in to sit against him, sitting half on top of him as our breathing falls in sync.

“I don’t just like you, too, Hughesy.” I smile.

“...You should probably call Dixie.”

“Oh shit.”

***

A/N: not my best work but not my worst either!

[artist-emerald]

Trolls Band Together: The Branch Ending

(As many might know now, the original draft ending of the movie was supposed to have Branch captured and thus nearly die as Floyd did in the final cut. I decided I'd write out my interpretation on how that would have played out)

Poppy's heart was racing, her mind rushing with thoughts she didn't want to think about. In an attempt to get his brothers to safety, Branch was captured, and Velvet didn't look like she was giving him up any time soon. Everything was going so well. Brozone was all back together again. Poppy was reunited with her long lost sister. They were all supposed to make it back home all happy and hugging and singing.

Why was this happening?

Velvet and Veneer's performance was starting. Panic started to set in, but they weren't about to give up. Branch's brothers and Viva all kept reassuring Poppy that they'd make it and get Branch out of there safe and sound. Their words put her at ease, if only for a moment.

They chased after the phony pop-stars as they sang their songs of lies. The group bobbed and weaved through the Mount Rageous traffic. Dodging the vehicles by the follicles of their hairs, the got close to Velvet and Veneer's luxury vehicle, only for them to slip away again. Branch continued to get worse as his essence kept getting drained.

Bridget and Gristle emerged from the traffic to assist and get them to the yacht in the river. Velvet got ready for an encore, but Branch didn't look like he was going to make it. Velvet noticed the Trolls approaching her, and in a final gambit, she began spraying all of Branch's remaining talent into her. A desperate attempt to try and permanently get the talent.

Branch began to sing to his family, and they sang back as the made their way to stop Velvet and save Branch. As the perfect harmony was hit, the diamond prison shattered, blowing Velvet back. Poppy dove to catch her boyfriend, but he didn't move, nor made a sound.

She sat there, holding Branch in her arms. His hair snow white, and his body clear like a crystal. "Branch?" Poppy whispered, "It's me...it's us! We did it, we hit the perfect harmony! We got you out, you...you can wake up now! Y-you're safe now."

Branch's brothers had gathered around them, all pleading and apologizing. Not just in hopes to bring him back, but because of the guilt and regret for leaving him. Viva stood behind Clay and Poppy, placing both of her hands on their shoulders.

Tears began to slowly fall from her eyes. "Please Branch. I love you. I need you. We have so many more adventures to go on."

The Mount Rageons looked on in shock and awe as they witnessed this on the giant screens. Poppy began to sob as she held Branch closer, rocking him back and forth. She sobbed harder than she's ever remembered. Then, she felt it, a feeling she hasn't felt in a long while. Her colors began to fade. Just as they were about to fade past her hands, she felt something move on top of them.

"Now don't you dare," Branch said weekly, "I worked hard to get those colors of yours back." Branch started to come back, his body filling out, and his hair returning to normal. Poppy lit up as her tears changed from sadness to overwhelming joy. She squeezed her love and riddled his face with soft kisses. Branch's brothers hoisted him up in a group hug in celebration as Poppy and Viva stepped back to let them have their brotherly moment, before joining back in with more hugs.

The crowd cheered, Velvet and Veneer were taken away to prison, and the Trolls made their way back home.

All as a family, in harmony.

[couldyouimagine-that]

Dance Out the Blues

Genre; hurt/comfort

Word count; 1.0k

Warnings; just the reader feeling a bit down

Pairing; Gabriel (Supernatural) x Reader

The reader feels bad for no discernible reason (hey didn’t I write a Lucifer story that started like that? :D) and Gabriel knows exactly what to do to lift your mood.  

This is just a lot of Gabriel being goofy to make the reader laugh. I had fun writing it, let me know what you think - and remember, if you can put on an upbeat song and dance to it, it really does help!

Masterlist

-

You could sense the moment your mood changed. Your previously good day soured suddenly, leaving you feeling low on energy and inexplicably down on everything. You doubted anything about you changed in terms of your expression or body language, but one of the perks of having an archangel care about you is that nothing needed to physically change.

Gabriel could sense the moment your mood changed. He’d seen this happen to you enough times, he knew how it would ruin the rest of your day and how hard it was for you to recover from feeling the way you did. He had also silently paid attention to how you dealt with these situations yourself, so he knew what would help you recover.

Without wasting a moment, he strode straight over to where you were sitting at the table in the bunker’s library. You were behind a laptop screen, not reading the lore you had previously been poring over as you no doubt overanalysed what was going on and why. Gabriel had often spent time – days, weeks on end – doing the same thing. But one thing his many millennia of life had taught him was that it was no good. A complete waste of time in his opinion, particularly when he had such an easy fix for you waiting right up his sleeve.

You didn’t look up at him when he arrived behind you, but he grabbed the back of your chair and spun it with you still firmly seated so that you were facing out towards him. That had your attention on him where he wanted it, but you didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed at him for interrupting what you were doing. You went to ask what was going on, but he leaned down and snatched your hand up before you had the chance. One gentle tug – by an archangel’s standards at least – had you on your feet. He gave you an award-winning grin, mirth twinkling in his eyes, as he dragged you along the length of the library before you knew what was happening. He ignored all your aborted iterations of what’s happening, what are you doing, why are you doing it in favour of just speeding up. You clocked the suspicious (Dean) and surprised (Sam) raised brows from the Winchester brothers, but Gabriel ignored them too.

“Come on!” Gabriel encouraged you warmly, pulling your arm up above your head and drawing you into a twirl. You had to smile when he didn’t give you a second to recover, twirling you again at the end of the table then snapping his fingers. Your surroundings became a grand dance hall, all polished wooden floors and high ceilings. He snapped again and music filled the room, but it wasn’t coming through any speakers you could see. The song was upbeat, one which you held close to your heart and which filled you with enough energy to dance the night away if you had the chance.

You didn’t remember ever telling Gabriel that you loved this song, but the playful flick of his brows said you didn’t need to ask, he just had his ways. He started dancing by himself, moving his hips to the rhythm and backing away from you in light steps. He held his arms out in front of him, again encouraging you to follow, and giving you the most overexaggerated pout you had ever seen when you didn’t immediately go to him. That had you laughing in spite of yourself, but then he sashayed back over to you and swept you into his arms.

Gabriel made you work to keep up with his energetic steps until you started taking the initiative yourself, matching him with your hips, shoulders and feet moving in time. He stepped back, spinning himself in place and donning an excessively styled black mustache when he turned back around, curled up at the ends and stuck into place with adhesive. This was accompanied by a costume change, his casual jacket replaced by a white button up rolled up to the elbows and a patterned vest. His grin sharpened to a smirk and he dropped his head forward, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. You laughed openly, exactly what he was aiming for, and you were back in his arms before you knew it.

Gabriel managed to make it impossible for you to look away from him, spinning and twirling you until you could hardly keep up for your breathless laughter. He drew you into a low dip as the song ended then brought you back up to his chest. You held his shoulders for support, leaning your forehead against your hand as you caught your breath. When you moved back, still smiling, there was a challenge in Gabriel’s eyes.

“Feel better?” He asked, self-confident and cocky and yet still lovable for it.

“Shut the hell up,” you hit back, shoving him and turning away to hide your smile. He was behind you in seconds, arms wrapped around you and leaning over your shoulder to see your face.

“You feel better,” he stated, confirming the fact with himself by saying it aloud. “You can admit it, it won’t hold it against you.” He rested his chin on your shoulder, eyes bright and tone cajoling. “I’m waiting.” You condescended to meet his gaze but refused to move your head to do so, giving him what you hoped was an effective side eye.

“Your mustache is falling off, idiot.”

He leapt back with a horrified gasp, hands flying to his face to straighten out the offending accessory. Your snort was anything but graceful. Gabriel struck a pose with his newly fixed moustache which had you dissolving into laughter all over again.

“I do actually feel better though,” you admitted after a moment. “Thank you for – whatever you did. It worked.”

“I know,” he offered. Cocky. Self-confident. Still. “Wanna tell me how you’re gonna make it up to me?” Your head tipped back with the weight of your scoff.

“You wish.”

The good-natured banter went back and forth as Gabriel snapped you back to the bunker, Sam and Dean gave you identical looks to when you had left, and the hours of reading you had ahead of you suddenly didn’t feel so bad.

[thebiggerbear]

Let Me Set Your World on Fire

Summary: While on a hunt, you all get stuck in an abandoned cabin in the woods due to a snowstorm that comes out of nowhere. It's cold as hell (Cas' fact checking not withstanding) and both you and Dean are trying to fight off the icy temperatures. When Cas offers his coat to Dean, in usual Michael fashion, the archangel offers you something bigger and more to his liking than a simple article of clothing to keep you warm.

Pairing: Michael!Dean x Female!Huntress!Reader; background hints of Destiel if you squint

A/N: Inspired by this post by @angelicbros 💖💖 that had me laughing for a good five minutes because I could absolutely see that happening with those characters and dynamics. Idk if this turned out okay or not but it was so much fun to write.

I'll admit that I wrote about 5k more than what's posted here, which was mostly background of how Michael!Dean and the Reader's relationship came to be, how Michael looks the way he does, why Team Free Will puts up with him, where Jack is, etc., but ultimately, I really felt it got away from the theme of what I was going for so I cut it out. I think I might clean it up and post it separately.

And you just know that Dean would be super grumpy if Baby was stuck in a snowstorm. 😉

All unbeta'd.

Warnings: implied sex; language

Word Count: 2529

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Supernaural Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @just-levyy; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

@muhahaha303; @mariahoedt; @solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007

@onlyangel-444

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat; @deansbbyx; @lyarr24

You can also read on AO3

You blew warm air into your hands and rubbed them together. You and the Winchesters were stuck in a cabin in the woods while a snowstorm raged outside. Dean had complained earlier about Baby being stuck out there, getting pounded by ice, snow, and who knew what else. “I better not see a single scratch on her,” he warned Sam. He then groused about her probably needing a new paint job once this was over, a mere three months after the last one. 

You had been hunting a pack of werewolves, hot on their trail, when the blizzard from hell came out of nowhere, forcing you to find some form of shelter quickly. Cas had disagreed when you called the storm as such. It was a known fact that snow didn’t come from Hell, it came from a weather system on Earth. Besides there was nothing cold about the pit; Chuck and Lucifer had made sure of that. Dean and Sam had joined you in your stunned disbelief at Cas’ matter-of-fact tone before you all shook your heads and continued looking for materials to burn in the fireplace. Sam had managed to find some scraps of old newspapers in the long abandoned cabin and an old book of matches that had one good match left. So now, there was a small fire burning but from the looks of it, it wasn’t going to last long.

Sam kept checking for cell service but no such luck. You and Dean sat in two opposing chairs, facing towards the fire. “Anything?” Dean asked his brother. Sam glanced at the screen and shook his head. “Dammit.”

Dean blew into his hands just like you had and then crossed his arms, keeping his fingers underneath the material of his jacket. None of you were dressed for this extreme weather or temperature drop. If you didn’t know any better, you could swear some magical being or entity was causing this sudden storm to hit. Sure, Washington was known for its colder, wetter weather most of the time, including snow that could start falling at the drop of a hat, but this fast and this hard…you tended to doubt it. Especially when you had been closing in on the werewolf pack.

“Are you alright, Dean?” Cas asked, drawing your attention to the eldest Winchester.

“Yeah, just cold but I’m good.” He then blew more warm air into his hands. “Can’t believe this freaking place doesn’t have blankets or something,” he muttered.

Suddenly, Cas stripped off his trenchcoat and draped it over Dean.

“I’m fine,” Dean protested grumpily, trying to push the coat away, but Cas held firm.

“No, you’re not. It’s not much but it can provide a little protection against the current temperature.”

“What about you?”

“I’m fine. I don’t feel it.”

“And Sammy?”

Sam cleared his throat and took a few steps towards you all from the other side of the room. “I’m good.” You glanced at Sam to find him smiling knowingly in the direction of his brother as he watched Cas tuck the coat a little more around Dean despite more of his grumbled protests before looking around for more materials to add to the fire. 

“And you?” Dean asked.

You met his concerned gaze and waved a hand dismissively. “I’m good, too. I mean, yeah, I’m cold but I’m fine. Thanks, though.”

Suddenly, heavy but carefully measured footsteps made their way to the opposite side of your chair. “You’re cold as well?” 

You glanced up to find another pair of green eyes intent on you. That intense gaze used to make you uncomfortable, piss you off even, but now you were used to it. Though you never quite got used to there being two Deans around all the time. “A little but I’m okay,” you reassured.

His brows knitted together in displeasure before he lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. The fire in the fireplace suddenly grew without warning and sent Cas flying backwards. Dean and Sam both rushed over to him, making sure he was alright. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a cocky smirk form on the face that you loved as he watched as well. You dropped your head into your hands, shaking it.

“Michael…”

“Now, you will no longer be cold. As a matter of fact…” You heard another snap of fingers that made your head pop up. Not only did you suddenly have three different blankets covering you but you noticed a strange orange glow coming from the windows that hadn’t been there before. You threw back the blankets, making him tsk quietly in disappointment, and rushed to look outside. The snow and winds had stopped and there were flames everywhere. Trees, bushes, the ground — all of it was burning. 

“Did you just set the world on fire?” You asked in disbelief, turning shocked eyes onto the angel. 

He shrugged, not caring in the slightest.

Dean and Sam rushed to the other window to see what you were talking about while Cas, who was now on his feet, glared at his older brother. 

“Michael,” You had to be careful how you worded this; the last thing any of you needed was an archangel with an attitude. “I appreciate that you’re trying to make sure I’m comfortable, but setting the world on fire is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Once again, he gave you an unapologetic shrug with a smile. 

“My car is out there!” Dean yelled.

Michael’s smirk grew and he snapped his fingers again. “Not anymore.”

“You son of a bitch!” Dean started to charge towards him but Sam held him back. Michael’s amusement at the hunter’s anger was palpable. You decided later you would have to once again talk to him about the constant antagonizing of your best friend. You knew they were forever going to hate one another due to what happened before you came on the scene, but you were determined to keep things civil between them, for your sake as much as theirs. 

While Michael watched Sam attempting to wrangle his brother with clear enjoyment, you took the opportunity to approach the archangel. His eyes suddenly snapped to you as you got closer. “You don’t need to set the world on fire to keep me warm.” You shot him a look and he appeared pleased as he got your meaning. You watched as he snapped his fingers again and the orange glow was suddenly gone. The howling of the icy winds outside could be heard once more. 

“You couldn’t get rid of the freaking storm?” Dean threw at him. 

Michael’s gaze flickered to his doppelganger. “Do you ever stop complaining? I left the fire in the fireplace as well as the blankets. Be grateful I did.”

You took his hand in yours, urging him to look at you. “Michael,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“Are you freaking—”

“Dean, stop,” Sam warned. Cas glared at Michael but remained quiet, keeping himself positioned in between the Winchesters and the two of you.

Done with what he’d dubbed as the boring weak human sideshow, Michael pulled you closer and used his free hand to cup your cheek, tenderly brushing his thumb along your bottom lip. His gaze burned into yours and you immediately knew why he didn’t snap the storm away altogether. Sure enough, he used an invisible wing to sweep you off your feet and into his arms. You glared up at him as you held tightly onto him but he only chuckled in response. He knew you hated it when he did that; you knew he enjoyed it. 

He snapped his fingers again and a clean bedroom with its own roaring fireplace and fresh linens and pillows on the bed appeared that was suddenly boxed in by walls and a wooden door. Michael immediately began to carry you towards it.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” 

Michael didn’t look back at Dean or any of them, he only kept his focus on you. “I’m going to keep her warm. Maybe your pet should do the same for you.” More angry commentary from Dean erupted that Sam attempted to tamp down but neither of you paid it any attention. You buried your teeth into your bottom lip at the thought of him keeping you warm, his earlier transgression immediately forgotten, and your reaction caused him to flash his usual crooked smile at you. You had a feeling that the storm was now going to last until Michael decided it would end.

“You’re not seriously going in there to have sex and make us all listen to it, are you?”

Once again, neither you nor Michael paid attention to Dean’s question or his resounding groan of “Do they ever stop? They’re like rabbits” when he didn’t get an answer. Instead, Michael walked you into the room and the door closed behind him, locking itself. 

“See? You didn’t need to set the world on fire to keep me warm,” you teased.

“Oh, I’m going to set the world on fire.” He gently tossed you onto the bed, making you laugh, before crawling onto it to hover above you, watching you as you watched him. Your heart rate and breathing both sped up in anticipation. His thumb brushed over your lips once more. “Just yours.” He leaned down to kiss you then and as he’d said, your entire world ignited. 

Michael had indeed kept you warm, to the point where you had forgotten all about the craziest blizzard you had ever seen in your life still going on outside. You’d even forgotten about everyone else. Keeping his promise, Michael had set your world on fire, over and over and over again. Until your bare body lay there, blissfully sated and sprawled out over his. You were more than comfortable as you drifted off on his chest, feeling him running his fingers through your hair in gentle strokes as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

The storm didn’t begin to clear until you woke the next morning, finding Michael offering you his usual cocky smile when he murmured, “You slept deeply.” You tiredly swatted at his chest, making him chuckle, and he pulled you in for a kiss. He set you on fire one more time before you both finally emerged from the room, now fully dressed, to find both brothers asleep in the chairs under the blankets you’d left with Cas standing sentry at the window, his trenchcoat now being used as a pillow under Dean’s head. 

When you noticed the snow that had covered the window panes the night before was gone and the sun was shining through them instead, you turned a knowing look on Michael. And as expected, he gave you an unapologetic shrug and his signature smirk. You knew you should be annoyed, now knowing he had been the one behind the storm all along, but last night — and this morning — had been incredible. So you couldn’t be too upset at what he’d done, unless he was protecting the wolfpack for some reason.

As if he could read your thoughts, he yanked you up against him, making you quietly squeal in surprise. “No one has my protection. Except you.” His gaze was dark and serious, his meaning beyond clear. You slowly nodded and he framed your face with his hands, studying you before kissing you deeply. You understood his words for what they were; it was a combination of him reassuring you that he wasn’t surreptitiously working against you and him letting you know just how much you meant to him. Some might want the words said aloud, a declaration made in the form of a particular phrasing, but you didn’t need it. You felt it as he sent grace coursing through you from his hand on the small of your back. Reinvigorated from the icy hot tingles affecting your whole body, you grabbed at him and turned the kiss even more passionate, ignoring his infuriating chuckle and moaning into his mouth. You jumped into his arms and he easily caught you as you practically began mauling him, running your fingers through his hair and gripping fistfuls of it.

“They’re still going at it?” Dean gruffed out, the sound you made earlier having clearly woken him up.

“Looks like,” Sam grumbled.

“I believe this is the beginning of another round as you humans like to call it, after many successful copulations throughout the night and earlier this morning,” Cas stated, not sounding quite happy himself.

Normally, you would have told them all to shut up but right then, you were on fire, about to combust, and Michael was the only one that could push you over that glorious edge. A grace-infused orgasm was a world ender all on its own and who better to give that to you than the archangel you were currently playing a ferocious game of tonsil hockey with? The guys would never understand, just like they would never understand your relationship or how you could be with someone who had once wanted to literally burn this world to ash. They wouldn’t understand how now it was only your world that ended on an almost daily basis, that you were the figurative version of scorched earth that Michael created — repeatedly. He could send grace running through your body with any touch between you so when he pulled your legs over his broad shoulders and smirked up at you as he lowered his head…

The thought had you moaning again and him snickering as you squirmed against him and tore at his shirt and jacket, which actually ripped thanks to the temporary grace. He turned and slammed you up against the wall — something he could now do without you getting hurt — and the infrastructure of the cabin shook a bit. He sent more grace through you and you broke away, moaning as he attached his lips to your neck. “Oh God,” you gasped as more icy hot tingles flowed throughout your body.

He lifted his head, staring into your eyes. “No. Just me.” His eyes flared brightly before he kissed you again. 

“I say we go out there and try to dig Baby out rather than sit here and listen to them go at it for the six thousandth time. Whaddya say?” 

“Uh, yeah, let’s,” Sam quickly agreed with Dean the second you started to rock your hips against Michael’s, eager for him to stop torturing you and finish what he started.

You heard them get to their feet when Michael suddenly lifted his hand and snapped his fingers. Almost as if the storm had never receded, the howling of the wind sounded again and you didn’t need to look to know there was snow and ice whirling around outside once more.

It was confirmed the moment Dean yelled angrily, “Are you freaking kidding me?!?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Michael ignored him and walked you back into the bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him. The two men groaning in unison in the next room could wait a little longer. Michael needed to make you warm again and fast.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this character.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

[misc-obeyme]

For kinktober, maybe Leviathan and dacryphilia? I want to make that boy SOB-

So excited for this! I always love your work

Hello, anon! And thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying my writing! <3

Okay, hopefully I didn't go overboard with how much Levi is crying, but you said you want to make him sob, so here we are lol. I very much believe that it's praise that will make Levi cry every time. Is that based on personal experience? No absolutely not. I just want to praise him until the end of time, that's all.

Anyway, I'm hoping this turned out okay!

Thanks for submitting a prompt!

KINKTOBER 2023

GN!MC x Leviathan

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: dacryphilia, penetration (reader receiving), pet name (for Levi, also I almost never include pet names but it just felt right this time lol I'm sorry in advance)

It was a quiet day at the House of Lamentation. For once, you were almost alone in the house. Most of the brothers were out somewhere else. Lucifer was in his office working and Leviathan was with you, but otherwise the place was empty.

You had convinced Levi to leave his room long enough to come to your room because you wanted to watch anime with him while sitting comfortably on your bed. Levi was a blushing mess as you settled in beside him. It was clear he was trying not to react to the way you rested your head on his shoulder.

About halfway through the episode, you noticed that Levi was squirming quite a bit beside you. It wasn't like him to get distracted while watching anime, so you turned your head to look at his face.

You weren't surprised to see his blush, but he also wasn't even looking at the screen. You felt around for the remote, finding it under your fingers before pausing the show.

Levi blinked. "Huh? Why did you pause it?"

"You aren't even watching," you said, sitting up to look at him more directly.

Levi rubbed at the back of his head, his eyes on the ceiling. "Of course I was! The librarian was about to take off her glasses and reveal her beauty!"

This was proof of nothing because it was obvious that was about to happen next. Any otaku worth his salt would've been able to tell you that, even if he hadn't been paying attention. You squinted at Levi, trying to figure out what was really going on.

Your eyes traveled down from his face and that was when you finally figured it out. The bulge in Levi's pants was so obvious, you weren't sure how you didn't notice it earlier. You smirked.

"Oh," you said. "I see what the problem is."

"Y-you do?" Levi practically squeaked, still unable to look at you.

You leaned forward and put a hand on his bulge. "Why don't we take care of this so that you can focus on the show, hmm?"

Levi whimpered. "I'm so sorry, MC!" he burst out. "I'm just a gross otaku and I'm not even good at that! How could I lose focus like this during such an important episode! You don't have to do anything. Just let me go back to my own room in shame."

He was about to scramble off your bed, but you put your hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down. You straddled his hips before he could try to get away again.

"Absolutely not," you said, looking down at him. You put your fingertips on his lips. "You aren't gross, Levi. Right now? All I want to do is ride you."

Levi stared at you, seemingly at a loss for words. "Y-you want to…?"

You brushed some of his hair back and out of his eyes. "Don't you get it? I think you're beautiful. You're perfect."

The tears that filled Levi's eyes surprised you. He took in a shaky breath and closed them, causing the tears to spill over and run down his cheeks.

"No, no, baby," you said, leaning down to kiss the tears off his skin. "If you're going to cry it's because I'm making you feel good, got it?"

Levi couldn't even formulate a response. You had to take control, moving enough to pull down his pants and freeing his cock. It was still hard, even leaking, and you pumped it a few times with your hand. You were rewarded with a throaty moan, slightly tinged with the thickness of Levi's tears.

You moved enough of your own clothing to allow you to position yourself to take him in.

You paused, hands on Levi's shoulders, and looked into his eyes. They were still wet and he looked up at you as though he couldn't believe you were even real. You smiled and maintained eye contact with him while you lowered yourself down on his cock.

You weren't able to keep your eyes on him for long because they rolled back as you went all the way down, feeling the tip hit that perfect spot inside you. You moaned and Levi whimpered.

Levi's hands went to your hips, resting there almost hesitantly. You began to move and you weren't gentle. You already couldn't get enough of his cock, bouncing quickly in his lap. Levi's hands gripped harder as you did this, like he couldn't help it.

"MC, MC," he moaned out your name. When you looked at him again, you saw the tears had returned. They were trailing down his cheeks.

You put your hands on either side of his face. "These better be tears of pleasure," you said between your heavy breaths.

Levi only nodded, unable to speak. His eyes were closed now, tears continuing to seep out of them, running into your fingers.

You increased the pace, chasing that high you could feel yourself so close to. The build up and the tension filling you, as you felt Levi begin to thrust up into you, his cock hitting you so perfectly, his tears damp against your skin.

Levi cried out as he came, voice still thick with tears, and the sound of it pushed you over the edge. You clamped down on his shoulders as you felt your mingled liquids dripping down your legs.

You rested your forehead against his, gently wiping away all of his tears. "Hush now," you said. "You were amazing, Levi."

Later you would be able to finish watching the episode you had paused. But Levi insisted on keeping his head in your lap the whole time, seemingly unable to look at you. He was embarrassed about crying so much, no matter how you reassured him. You made a mental note that complimenting Levi a lot was the way to turn on the waterworks.

flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname

[daytaker]

Could you perhaps write something where gn!mc is just,,, a complete asshole. Fully standoffish and rude, I think it'd be hilarious [bonus points if they have a traumatic backstory for WHY]

No bonus points for me because my asshole MCs exist in a state of suspended animation and they're just like this Because They Are.

Now, I go on and actually explore my idea from an earlier prompt that MC being standoffish would derail the entire plot of OG Season 1 since it requires them to help Belphie get out of the attic.

And if you're wondering, yes, Solomon is quoting KJV Book of Revelation at the end there.

How Your Year-Long Vacation In the Devildom Ended in the Apocalypse

or; Asshole Standoffish MC says what?

Ship: None Word Count: ~1.3k Triggers: Uhhhh... (points to the title)

-----

You're not here to make friends.

And you're definitely not here to date any million-year-old demons who look like they stepped out of the pages of Esquire.

You're here because you're Fate's favorite bitch, and apparently you haven't been suffering enough lately.

So you go ahead and announce all that to your host family the first time you all sit down for dinner.

"...Are humans like that?" asks Asmodeus, looking between you and his brothers. "...I...I don't remember humans being like that."

"Wow. Okay," says Leviathan, staring at his Switch. "First of all, what's your damage. Second, you should probably find the demons who are interested in dating you and let them know, lmao." He fist-bumps Mammon without looking up from the screen.

"What's Esquire?" asks Beel.

"I'm gonna go eat in my room," you say. "Goodnight."

As you leave, you hear Mammon mumble, "Well, they were right about being a bitch."

------

Things aren't any less irritating at that stupid school. Honestly, who names a school after themselves and the fact that they're royalty? Was he just trying to make an easy acronym? Seriously. 'Royal Academy of Diavolo'.... It makes you cringe, hard.

So you sit in the back of all your classes and doodled your favorite sleep paralysis monsters getting closer and closer to the foot of your bed over the course of the day. You're just getting to where you can see the empty white scleras staring up at you when Dumb, Dumb, and Dumber turn up, A.K.A. the other exchange students, A.K.A. Simeon the Angel (dumb), Luke the Baby Angel (also dumb), and Solomon (dumber), the immortal human sorcerer and also the ancient king of Jerusalem? (Like, that Solomon? What the fuck, why does he look like a twenty-three year old anime boy?)

"You must be the newest exchange student," says the tall angel.

"Yeah, and?" you answer.

"Hey, you don't need to be so rude to him!" says the baby angel. His voice makes you want to throw yourself into a furnace.

"Yeah, and?" you answer again.

"Haha! So the new student has some spunk! I like that," says the Biblical king.

"Why are you all bothering me? I was drawing my sleep par--"

"We should all hang out at Purgatory Hall sometime," suggests Simeon, proving he hasn't been paying attention. "By the way, why did Diavolo end up putting you in with the brothers instead of situating you with us?"

"Because I walk around naked at night and I don't care who sees, and there's a child in your dorm."

"Really?" asks Simeon, covering Luke's ears. "Why do you do that?"

"Because fuck you, that's why. Leave me alone."

"I don't remember humans being like that," murmurs Simeon to Solomon as they walk away.

------

"I'm a human too," says the demon in the attic.

"Uh-huh," you say with undisguised skepticism. "And you want me to forge pacts because...?"

"Because then you can release me. Us humans have to stick together."

You let that hang there for a few seconds before dropping the ax.

"...So I know you're Belphegor. Because your fucking picture is up in the house. You absolute moron."

His expression drops.

"You idiot. You lying shit. Don't waste my time like this again. I'm not forging pacts with any demons. I know you missed my first dinner here, but to sum it up: I'm not here to make friends."

"I don't remember humans being like this," he mumbles to himself. "Wha- hey! Wait! Where are you going?! Come back! Come- come back!!!"

-----

It's Diavolo's birthday party, and Lucifer forces you to come.

By that, I mean he physically picks you up and drags you there while you struggle and rage.

"I don't remember humans being like this," Diavolo says to Barbatos with some concern as he sees you carried thrashing through the entry.

"Oh, they absolutely are," argues Solomon. "I only calmed down after I'd been around about a hundred years. But for their stage of development, I'd say they're pretty much par for the course."

Barbatos stares blankly at Solomon as Diavolo nods sagely. "I see, I see... I suppose I'll have to keep that in mind when selecting our next exchange student."

-----

"Finally! The year is almost up, which means this loser's going back to the human world, and Belphie's gonna come back home!" cheers Mammon.

"Very expository of you," Satan replies dryly.

"Oh, Belphie is Belphegor, right? Your youngest brother?" you ask, looking up from the knife you've been sharpening. It's one of the chores you reluctantly accepted over the course of your stay here. You're taking care of your knife duties while brothers 2 and 4 cook dinner.

"Uh, obviously," snorts Mammon. "Why, what do you care? You'll be gone before he gets here."

"I forgot I never mentioned this to any of you. He's in the attic."

Mammon and Satan stare at you. Mammon chuckles nervously. "Whaaa? Don't be stupid, there's nothing up in the attic. Lucifer doesn't even let us go up there."

You stare back at him, unblinking. The two brothers glance at each other.

-----

You sit on your suitcase in the front hall of the House of Lamentation as the place goes up in flames.

Beelzebub is in a mindless rage, cursing Lucifer and breaking down walls. Every now and then, the entire house rumbles, indicating its structural integrity is just that much less solid.

Leviathan summoned Lotan in a moment of panic when Mammon kicked his door in and announced that Belphegor was going to war against the human world and Lucifer and Diavolo and he'd better pick sides before he got drafted, so the entire ground floor is soaked in a few inches of water and tentacles keep reaching out from the depths of the house. You swat them away whenever they get too close. You're not sure where Levi is now, but based on the fact you can hear Mammon screaming and pounding at the bathroom door, you can make a good guess.

Asmodeus released Cerberus from the basement after charming him, and when he realized the dog was too enraptured to obey Lucifer, the pressure got to him and he fled. Now the two are on the war path to Majolish, because 'all this drama is stressing [them] out' and 'this is how [they] cope, okay?'

Lucifer is grappling with Belphie and Satan, who, upon hearing that Belphie intended to rebel against Lucifer, joined his cause. He keeps trying to bang their heads together; you can see it happening in front of the fireplace down the hall. But Satan's tail keeps slashing at him like some sort of prehensile melee weapon and it's clearly at least somewhat effective.

Looking up, you see what appears to be a pair of dragons grappling in the sky, and all around you are the sounds of screams and sirens. The earth rumbles around you, and even the stars seemed to be falling from the sky.

"I can't believe you did it!"

You turn around in surprise as the door opens. Solomon stands there, beaming at you like a proud father. "You really did it! You broke the sixth seal!"

"Sorry, what?"

"'And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great earthquake; and the sun became black as sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood!'"

"Sorry, what?"

The roof begins to cave in, so you step out of the way, and Solomon laughs maniacally.

"It's still going! 'And the great kings of the land said to the mountains and rocks, "Fall on us, and hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne!"'" Another chunk of the ceiling crashes directly in front of you.

"Are you high?"

"Yes!"

"Share."

So we smoke a joint, staring up through the broken roof into the starless sky, watching demons and brawl, awaiting the breaking of the seventh seal: silence.

[apothe-roses]

I Wanna Ride

Modern Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Part 3

Previous Part | Next Part

Summary: the deal is struck between you and Aemond

Warnings: none, really

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I’ve been really busy with work, and this part was kinda hard to write. That’s also why this is shorter

Word Count: 1.6k

“And he didn’t tell you what he wanted?” Aly looks over at you while adding a slice of turkey to the sandwich she’s making? You shake your head. It had been a few days since everything went down, yet you were still trying to wrap your head around it all. The fact that Aemond would consider helping you at all—foreboding debt aside—just didn’t make sense to you.

“Why does he have to be so cryptic and spooky,” Aly asks, adding a generous amount of mayo to the sandwich.

“Beats me,” you reply. A shout startles you both out of your conversation. You and Aly turn your heads to the living room area. Benji Blackwood and his two friends Kermit and Oscar Tully—“the muppets” as Aly likes to call them—are sprawled across Aly’s couch, cursing at a video game they’re thoroughly engrossed in.

“Oi! You tryin’ to wake your dad up?” Aly calls to them. Currently, Aly’s brother Sam was down the hall, trying to sleep off a migraine. The boys cringe slightly.

“Sorry,” one of the Tully boys stage whispers back to Aly. She sighs. “Anyways, lunch is ready.” In a flash, the boys were on their feet, making their way to the kitchen. Aly pushes the sandwich with the mayo mountain towards Benji.

“Would you like some sandwich with your mayo?” She teases. Benji scowls back, but his expression quickly morphs into a grin. The boys make their way back to the couch. Aly turns to you.

“Listen, if he tries to pull anything with you, just say the word and I’ll kick his ass. Then I’ll call Cregan and he’ll also kick his ass.” You laugh in response. “What’s his deal with them anyways? Are they friends?”

“Acquaintances is more like it. They get along well enough, but Creg’s friendship with Jace sorta puts him on thin ice.”

“…Yeah, I still don’t get it.”

“Look, rich people friendships are weird, okay?” Aly explains. “Sometimes it’s better if you don’t ask questions and just go with it. I find the truth usually comes out on its own time.” She starts resealing containers and putting them in the fridge. You follow suit, deciding to take her advice. You two clean in silence for a couple minutes, until your phone buzzes. You look at the name on the screen, suddenly feeling very nervous.

You show the conversation to Aly. Her eyebrows raise, and she notes the tense expression on your face. “You know you don’t have to do this right? I’m sure I could find some time to give you lessons.”

You think about it for a moment. Aly would certainly be a nicer teacher than Aemond. But her Raven is much different than your Meraxes. Plus, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking for an excuse to learn more about the enigmatic, handsome Targaryen.

“I don’t want to cut into your time with your family. I know how important it is to you,” you tell her. “Besides, we’re all adults. I can handle a little tough love.”

“Alright then. Lemme know if you change your mind,” Aly relents, leaving the kitchen. You turn back to your phone to text Aemond.

Saturday morning comes far too soon, and you find yourself heading back to Aemond and Aegon’s shop in the passenger seat of Aly’s truck. One of the doors is rolle up, and you can see Aemond working on a bike. He lifts his head when he hears the engine.

“Well,” you breathe, “here goes nothing.”

“Remember, I’m only a text away,” Aly reassures you. You grin then exit out the passenger side door. Before you turn away, you see Aly glare at Aemond, pointing at her eyes then at him before making a u-turn and driving off. You take a deep breath, then walk over to Aemond. By now, he’s standing and wiping his hands with a cloth. He’s wearing the same outfit as when you two first met, only this time the coveralls are unzipped with the sleeves tied around his waist. The white singlet he’s wearing does nothing to hide the definition of his chest or arms. A few streaks of grime decorate his body, along with a few tattoos. He’s not overtly bulky, but he’s definitely in shape. His biceps flex slightly as he cleans his hands; you try not to bite your lip.

You both stand in awkward silence, waiting for someone to break it. You decide to bite the bullet yourself.

“Where’s Aegon,” you ask, peering into the garage, but there’s no sign of Aemond’s brother.

“He doesn’t typically come in on weekends,” Aemond answers. “Prefers to sleep in.”

“Oh.” You’d hoped he’d be here; his easygoing nature could’ve served as a good mediator.

“So I take it you’re interested?” It takes a moment for you to realize he meant the training.

“Oh I’m yeah. But I want to know what exactly you’re hoping to get out of this,” you reply quickly. Get your shit together you mentally chastise yourself. He’s not worth it.

“Hmm, yes. I’ve been going back and forth on what I want from you,” he starts, setting the rag on a nearby workbench. He turns his back on you.

“And you’ve decided on…” you prompt. He drums his fingers on the table, silent. Then…

“The Conqueror’s Gala. I need someone to go with me,” he states. That’s it? He needs a date to some fancy event? You thought you’d have to do something like clean his house or shine his bike for a month. Not this.

“If you want me to pretend to be your girlfriend, Targaryen-“

“No. Gods no. Nothing like that.” Aemond hastily replies. “My mother is always on my as about bringing a date. Normally, I’d just go with Helaena, but this year she’s decided to side with mum. They want me to prove that I’m capable of spending time with people I’m not directly related to.” His mouth presses into a thin line, and he averts his gaze. He starts drumming his fingers again. It looks like that’s something he does when he’s agitated. You let the silence simmer, silently enjoying the way his jaw clenched.

“Hmmm. I suppose I could spare one evening to get all dressed up and rub elbows with the Westerosi elite,” you sigh in pretend annoyance. He gives you a disgruntled look. “Trust me. It’s not the fun time you think,” he says sharply. Of course a cryptic like him wouldn’t enjoy social events. You try not to laugh at the thought.

“Well, fun or not, I’ll take it,” you tell him. His shoulders relax a little.

“Good,” he says stiffly. “Shall we?” he gestures his hand towards the bike. You realize it’s his own, the bronze coloring of the Vaghar catching the late morning light. You make your way over and take your seat. The bike has the same controls as your Meraxes, but his has extra side mirrors affixed.

Aemond leans over you, one hand on the handlebar and the other on the seat behind you. It takes all your willpower not to gawk at his arm.

“Alright,” Aemond says softly. “Now I want you to start the engine.”

You turn and look at him, incredulous. “You think I don’t know how to start a bike?”

Aemond levels a flare at you. “I’m just being thorough.” You scoff and roll your eyes, but you do as he says.

“Good,” he muses. He’s inches from your ear. The soft timbre of his voice sends a shudder through you. “Now what?” You choke out. You hate the effect he has on you.

“I want you to shift to first gear,” he instructs. All you can do is obey blindly.

“Good. Good,” he praises. He has you go through all the gears and how to break, giving a little praise each time you do something correct. It’s all painfully easy, and you should be insulted he’s making you prove such basic knowledge. Instead, you silently relish the rush of warmth you get with each praise. Hell, you’re almost tempted to get something wrong on purpose just to see how he’ll react? Would he gently explain the correction, or would he go back to being rude and insult you?

“Well then,” Aemond says, pushing off his bike. You mourn the loss of his warmth on your shoulder. “It seems you really do know the basics.” He drawls the last part. Oh yeah, that’s what it’s like when he insults you. You get off the bike, and he starts to wheel it into the garage. “But the Dragon Rally isn’t for the feint of heart. You’ll need to be able to ride long distances in potentially rough weather. You need to be adaptable, ready to make a decision at a moment’s notice. And that’s not even including the Rally itself.”

“What happens at the Rally?” you ask.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Aemond replies, turning his back on you. You scoff. “Yes. I would. That’s why I asked”

He smirks. “All you need to know is that you need to build up your endurance. I’d like to take you on a ride through the Kingswood when you’re next available. Once you’re comfortable, we’ll take more challenging treks. Sound good?”

You nod your head. At least you won’t have to have weird conversations with him when riding.

“Good. Check your schedule, and give me your next available date,” he says before pulling the garage door closed in your face.

You stand there in stunned silence. What the fuck is up with this guy?

You text Aly, and a few minutes later her truck pulls up to the sidewalk.

“Well that was quick,” she observes as you put on your seatbelt.

“You’re telling me,” you reply, looking back at the garage as Aly pulls away.

You were confused. You were intrigued. Something told you this was only the tip of the iceberg that was Aemond Targaryen.

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[garbinge]

THE CASE THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

Mike Franks x F!Reader // Leroy Jethro Gibbs & F!Reader // Word Count: 10.3k Summary: When an unexpected, all-hands on deck, case unravels you, Mike does everything he can to try and keep you grounded. But it's not enough. As the investigation continues, so does your unravelling which ultimately starts to push you down a path neither Mike or Gibbs want to see you on. As the pieces of the puzzle begin to fit together and your luck seems to be running out, you're left to make a decision that you're not sure is the right one.

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst. Mentions of reader having a brother who has PTSD/trauma/manic episodes. Brief mentions of a side character having suicidal thoughts/struggling. Stress, anxiety, as the kids say these days 'crashing out'. Case is focused on murder, drug addiction, violence, overdosing. All canon-like things. Canon-level violence. Hurt/Comfort. Fighting. Giving up a dream. Dealing with family members with mental illness. Light fluff at the end, but not like a happy go lucky ending. Let me know if I missed anything! Know this is heavy-stuff so please do not read if any of that makes you uncomfortable. A/N: Mike Franks brain rot really took over on this one. I tried really hard to make this case make sense but if it doesn't, apologies. I have a new respect for people who write investigation stories lol. More from this universe

The sound of the pager beeps going off made both of you turn over and haphazardly search your nightstands. 

“It’s me.” Mike groaned as the security department number flashed on the tiny screen, sleep still in his eyes. 

“Mine’s going off too.” 

That made both of you sit up rather quickly in bed, if you both were being paged then something serious had to have happened.

Without thinking, you both got dressed, rushing to get out of the door as fast as possible. You threw on your NIS sweatshirt, grabbed the first pair of sweats you could find and put your slippers on. 

The jingle of keys turned your attention to the door as you stood in the dining room. Mike was standing there in his long sleeve gray henley and jeans, attaching his badge to his belt and opening his safe to pull both your weapons out. 

“I’ll drive, your car takes 10 years to warm up.” His voice still had traces of sleep behind it. 

You were at his house phone, dialing the security number to get the info of the alert. “They’re not giving me anything. Just ‘dead body on Pendleton Beach’.” You lifted your hands up, frustrated that they weren’t giving you typical details but you also knew that being woken up like this didn’t exactly put you in the best mood either. 

“S’alright. We’ll get answers when we get down there. Giddyup.” He tilted his head to the door, your gun being held out in his hand for you. 

With a nod you put the phone back on the receiver and moved toward him, grabbing your gun from him and badge.

The car ride was silent, the wind howling from the windows being down and the calm of the night being the only noise to fill the space. Normally you’d have the radio on, but it was incredibly early for either of you to be thinking straight. 

Your eyes moved over to Franks whose eyes were glued on the road, the wind doing a good job at blowing his hair back to its normal position compared to how it was when he woke up. As your eyes trailed down you realized he was wearing jeans. At 4 in the morning. 

“You put jeans on.” Your eyes jumped back up to his face. 

“And?” His gravelly voice didn’t seem to care why you were making that statement.

“It’s 4 in the morning, we’re barely functioning and you put jeans on.” You were more embarrassed by your own brain not making the decision for yourself. Mike looked put together, it wasn’t his normal work attire but it was presentable. You were in a damn mismatch sweatsuit for fucks sake. 

“Ain’t no one gonna notice, babe.” It was like he could read your mind. 

“No one would notice if it was you, Franks. I’m one of the only women leads here, people notice everything I do.” You were looking around the car, searching for something, anything to make the situation better. “I mean I don’t even have a place to put my gun, what the fuck was I thinking?” Now you were frantic, unbuckling your belt so you could pick through the back seat. 

“You left a pair of jeans back there a few weeks ago.” You didn’t need to be looking at his face to know he had the biggest smirk on it, and him lightly slapping your ass as you were bent over the middle console doubled down on that. 

But despite his teasing, he wasn’t wrong, you did leave a pair of jeans back there. Quickly grabbing it, you fell back in the passenger seat, pulling your sweats off using the backrest of the seat to hold your balance as you did. Mike couldn’t help but let his gaze trail down to your bare legs, taking in the sight of you in your underwear next to him in the car was driving him nuts. 

“Eyes on the road, Tex.” You smirked, now shimmying into the pair of jeans before letting out a deep breath when you plopped back down on the seat, buttoning them and adjusting your badge on the belt loop. 

“Have a second holster in the glove box if you need it.” Mike pointed and you were fast to grab it and clip it onto your jeans. It wasn’t as utilitarian as hooking it to a belt but it was a lot better than the sweats you were wearing just minutes ago.

“2 minutes out, hot stuff.” 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” With one more deep breath you took in the scene as you pulled up to Pendleton Beach. There were tons of cop cars, multiple caution tape perimeters, it would’ve been hard for a passerby to keep track of just how much was going on, but not for you or Franks. 

“Press is here.” Your breath hitting the window fogged it up slightly as you passed a press van that was chatting with a local officer. 

“Means every agency with an acronym is about to show up.” He went white knuckled on the steering wheel, pulling into the farthest open spot. 

He got out of the car so swiftly you double checked to make sure he put the car in park before getting out yourself. As you stood up out of the car, you looked around, past the red and blue lights, past the caution tape to the beach that was packed, but your eyes followed it down to where no one was. Where it was peaceful and calm, the horizon was a bit distorted, the heat coming up from Mike’s car engine was making it wave in and out. The sun wasn’t out yet, but on that side of the beach you could see the sky get just a bit lighter as the morning slowly crept up. 

Mike was in front of you, NIS hat in hand, a protocol for all crime scenes. He was dangerously close to you, likely why he parked so far so no one would see you two show up together. For someone who had just woken up, he was so damn sharp. 

As he stepped even closer to you, you felt his hand rest against your front, right where your jeans were buttoned, the warmth of his hand just placed there as he stared into your eyes. Just as you were about to question him, you felt his fingers touch the zipper that was sitting at the bottom seam and heard the metal starting to zip together. He started off slow but finished zipping it up fast, hard enough that the seam of the crotch in your jeans rubbed against your sensitive area and you let out a small moan. 

“Fly was down.” He whispered before taking a step back and putting on his own hat. “We’re about to walk into some shit.” He said it as he turned around, taking in the beach himself. 

There was no answer from you because from across the way you saw two people from your team pull up and you were already jogging over to them. 

You were the first person on the beach from NIS. Franks was debriefing with the local team that responded to the call. Your team was chatting with witnesses. Leaving you standing over the body. 

He was just a kid. Maybe 20? 

“Witness called in saying they saw a lifeless body on the beach around 3:25.” Mike’s voice was speaking to the rest of the team that had gathered around you. “We got a time of death, Dr. Tango?” 

“Bout an hour ago.” The medical examiner you knew as Tango was standing up from looking over the body. “Have to take a look officially but unofficially, looks like an OD.” 

“Why’s the press here?” You heard Lala’s voice now. She likely had just arrived on scene.

“Marcus Pardo.” You could tell Franks didn’t want to say the name. But it was all that needed to be said for everyone to understand why the press was here. “Deputy Director’s kid.” 

It was a Navy town, this–this would be on the local news and papers for days. 

“Dominguez, start taking photos. Randy, measurements. Gibbs, I want you canvassing the area, make sure these local uniforms didn’t cut us short in their perimeter.” Franks was calling out directions for his team while you stood there taking everything in, letting the information soak in your brain before giving your own team orders. 

You felt Mike’s eyes on you, it wasn’t the only set, the three people on your team were waiting for your word too. 

“Mac, I want you to go back to base, start researching every OD in this area in the last 6 months. I want dealers, users, drug names, what’s popular on the streets, how much, where they're getting it.” Cassidy Monroe was a computer genius, it’s why everyone called her Mac. She was the only one who knew those machines inside and out, the microfilms, computers, fax machines, how to find ways into other online databases to find information that was otherwise untouchable. If it was tech related, she was a natural at it. 

“Teo, talk with more locals, take the jacket and hat off if you need to. Charm it up, see what you can get that they normally wouldn’t tell brass.” Mateo Rivas wasn’t just a looker, but he had a way with words that made anyone and everyone comfortable with him. He could get pretty much anyone to open up by just flashing a smile. 

“Nash, work with Gibbs on the perimeter, think the local blues cut us off too short and used their tape to block off press more than the scene. Do that until you see FBI, DEA, NSA, HOMESEC–you see anyone with a fuckin’ acronym that doesn’t say NIS, I want you to pull Teo and do what you do.” Nash was a force to be reckoned with. He was confrontational, didn’t take no for an answer when it came to his job, but with that said he respected the hell out of authority. Never argued or pressed a single thing you said. Him and Gibbs were cut from the same cloth, a little reckless but loyal. He’d talk someone in circles so much he’d eventually get them on their side, and if that wasn’t working he had a very intimidating way about him. 

“We’ll debrief with Franks and team when we’re all back at HQ.” It was then that you broke off to the side. The sand didn’t stop you from picking up your pace as you broke from the crime scene’s outer edge, your hand lifting up the tape as you b-lined for the rocks by the shoreline. The tide was low and would stay that way for another 30 minutes. 

Your eyes searched the area, you weren’t sure what you were looking for, just that you were looking for something. 

“What’s that gut telling you?” Franks had followed you over. He was standing on the sand while you were 2-3 feet higher than him on the rocks. 

“When Auggie had to go to rehab— the program that was part of his settlement...” 

Your brother had been dishonorably discharged a few months ago. After the death of his long-time girlfriend, the trauma of losing someone he loved to a murderer ate at him. His time in the Navy became weathered. He dove straight into active duty, happy to take on any tour they assigned him to. The issue was, he was dealing with trauma, he’d have manic episodes all the time and one thing eventually led to another and he started getting violent, disappearing off base in the middle of foreign countries. When he punched his C.O. in the middle of an airstrike that’s when he was sent home.

“The days that Paratransit couldn’t take him, I’d drive him in, wait for him, then grab burgers and eat them on the beach.” Your eyes moved along each crevice of the rocks, looking for any sign of something abnormal. “He’d tell me that on the days he’d come here by himself, he’d sit on the rocks and hope that the tide would take him.” 

Franks was looking out to the horizon as you spoke, his hands on his hips, head falling when you mentioned the dark thoughts of your brother. He was fully aware of everything with Auggie. How it wrecked you seeing him this way, how you’d give up anything for him. He was at your place when August showed up on your doorstep having an episode, searching for his deceased girlfriend. He also was there when you found out he had been dishonorably discharged, a fact you learned about a few months after he was already home. Mike supported you in the best way he knew how. Watching out for you. He saw how much this all had broken you down, made you more erratic, your mind wasn’t 100% on the job anymore and while that was perfectly fine for a regular 9-5 office job, NIS was anything but that. NIS called for a lot more than a regular job, and Mike was doing a lot on his side to fill the gaps for you, even if he’d never admit it. 

You picked up on the energy shift from him, Mike might not have said much about it, hell, he usually kept his mouth shut whenever you’d have to deal with someone regarding Auggie, but you could tell he had opinions.

 “My point is, every time he’d come out here, he didn’t let it.” It was at that moment you saw something about 20 feet from you, right where the water was starting to come up to the rocks. 

“You’re thinking this wasn’t accidental suicide.” Franks was staring at you now, seeing how your personal life was coming to play in how you were breaking this case apart. 

“I’m thinking that Marcus Pardo was freshly back from war.” Your voice was getting louder now as you walked away, projecting out to him as you bent down and grabbed the object with a gloved hand. “The Deputy Director talked about it a lot–about the trauma his son endured and how he was finally coming home to accept his accolades. Was actually pretty vocal about it– especially for a promoting year.” 

The Deputy Director knew he had an opportunity to be moved up the chain, and it was clear he was tugging at people's heart strings to get there. ‘The next NIS Director whose son was going to be receiving stars and ribbons.’ 

“What you gettin’ at here?” Franks was stepping up on the rocks to start following you, curiosity floating around as he tried to put his own pieces of the puzzle together. You were insinuating a lot in your words and while he picked up on that, he was still racking his mind around it all. 

“I think Marcus would come here to let the tide take his thoughts instead of him.” Now you were holding the bracelet in your hand for Mike to see. It was a dainty chain with the letters M and L on them with a heart in between. “Someone was here with him.”

Franks was always impressed by your process, this time being no different, but he always challenged your thoughts because he knew not only would your boss, Wheeler, challenge it but so would the courts. They needed substantial evidence. 

“All circumstantial evidence, could be anyone's bracelet and even if he wasn’t alone, doesn’t mean he didn’t OD and the little lady left him here. Hell, she coulda been the one to call it in.” 

“You arguing with my gut, Franks?” You were walking toward him now, slowly as you maneuvered through the rocky terrain. In front of him, he pulled an evidence bag from the gear bag he had acquired on scene. Holding it open for you, his eyes didn’t leave yours. 

“Never.” It was one word that he needed to let marinate in the air for a few seconds before continuing. “We’re just gonna need this one to stick like gorilla glue. No gaps.” 

“I think Marcus Pardo was struggling.” Dropping the bracelet in the bag, you kept your eyes trained on Mike just as his were on you. “I think he was struggling and it made it hard on everyone around him.” 

Franks did everything in his power not to flinch at that statement. It was a direct projection of your own current issues with your brother. 

“I think someone turned their back on him.” Those words were haunting for you.  

It was at that moment that the tide had started to come in and the slight blanket of water washed over the rock you were standing on causing it to get slippery. You began to lose your balance but Franks so easily gripped your arm to steady you not losing an inch of his own footing as he did.

He kept his hand firm on your arm, letting you know he was with you.  “And we’ll get the sumbitch who did.” His teeth weren’t gritted tightly together, but there was a tightness to his lips as he spoke. Reading his eyes you could tell he was saying a lot in his head. 

—

“You hear me?” Mike’s voice got a little louder as he tried to break through your focus. When you looked up, he was at the furthest point of the table from you. His brows furrowed, eyes squinting as he stared at you. Your head was in another place, which might not have seemed like a big deal but everyone on the team knew keeping some part of your mind grounded when working on a case was a necessity. 

“Huh?” You looked up, trying to bring yourself back to reality. 

The TV in the conference room was on, your eyes focusing on it along with some of the other team members who had been watching it. A press conference where the Deputy Director was addressing the town about the loss of his son. 

“Said I’m gonna go pick up breakfast for everyone, wanted to know your order.” His eyes were still so focused on you. He was searching for something on your face and you were looking everywhere but his.

“Whatever breakfast sandwich is fine. Black coffee, lots of sugar.” You went back to looking at the file in front of you, searching Marcus Pardo’s squadron logs from his two tours, trying to find anything that would put you closer to finding out what happened.

“Why don’t you come with me, pick it out yourself. Let the team take a stretch without their overworking, married to the job, bosses breathing down their backs.” He let out a laugh looking around at Teo, Nash, Cassidy, Gibbs, Lala, and Randy. 

“Think we could all use some fresh air ‘nways.” He was standing up now, putting his holsters through his arms and situated on his back. He still had on the same outfit from the night before like you, none of the team having the chance to swing by home yet. 

“I’m good, the rest of you take a lap, a bathroom break, grab a coffee, I’m good.” You waved your hand as you flipped to the next folder. It wasn’t that Marcus had gotten into that many incidents, but you were reviewing every log his squad had, looking for a morsel of a clue to help your theory move forward. 

“I insist.” Mike’s face was back on yours, he was trying not to sound pissed or like he was talking to the woman he was sleeping with, he tried to keep it professional. Hopefully the others on the team would think that… he was technically senior to you. He was a supervisory agent longer than you which in theory put his rank above yours but in the chain of command on paper you both were at the same level. 

Gibbs seemed to be the only one to pick up on the tension, the other team members happily taking Mike’s words as an order and moving out of the conference room to take a breather. 

Gibbs was staring at you, his own hand going through the incident reports that you split up between you. “Hey, I’ll look through the rest of the reports, I’ll call if anything pops out.” His face was softened as he looked at you. 

Gibbs and you had sparked up a friendship about 6 months ago when you were at the office late working on an old cold case and he was stuck with probie paperwork. He wasn’t a member of your team, you’d only work together on cases in situations like this, which made your friendship easier to navigate. Neither of you ever felt like you fell in the giving and taking orders flow. Him offering to go through the papers was because he was just genuinely offering. Now, there was the added element that he was the only one on the team who knew you and Franks were a thing. He’d never spoken a word about it since the night he drove you home from the office and Franks was on your front porch, but he could tell that there was something else happening with you—something Franks was very much in the know of. 

He knew Franks well enough to know he wasn’t and wouldn’t practically demand you went with him because of relationship issues, it had to be something else. Gibbs noticed you were a little off your normal kilter. He tried to talk to you a bit when you were at Daly’s some nights but he also wasn’t the type to pry. His actions were how he’d support, like right now offering to take this off your plate for now. 

“We can stop by the forensics lab on the way back, see if Woody has anything with that bracelet.” Mike’s eyebrows were raised now, like he was getting impatient but also reaching at straws, anything to get you out of this conference room. 

“Alright, yea.” Standing up, you handed the stack of files over to Gibbs. “Got through the top 6, there’s 3 more. Only pattern I’m seeing is that he’d log at the mail tent everyday.” 

“I’ll take a look.” Gibbs smiled, which was unusual for him and that made your brows furrow, just as you were about to ask him about it, Mike cut you off. 

“C’mon, I’m hungry.” 

— 

As you walked into the deli, despite Mike holding the door open for you, you let him take the lead. It helped that the guy behind the counter called out to him. 

“How’s it goin’, Joey?” Instead of putting a cigarette to his mouth, he grabbed a toothpick from the top of the clear glass counter and popped it between his lips, letting his tongue twirl it around. His arms rested on the case, waiting for who you assumed to be Joey to approach him. 

“Let me get my usual. But triple it, gotta bring some back for my guys.” He looked over his shoulder at you. “You good with the sunrise sandwich?” It was what you’d get normally, it was half of what ‘Mike’s usual’ was. It was then that Joey looked at you, a small smirk playing at his lips before looking back down to the register. Mike always ordered two sandwiches, but you were never usually accompanying him to get them so you were a mystery who finally had a face. 

“Yea my usual.” You nodded and made yourself seem busy in the back, staring at the photos on the wall of every person of notary who had eaten here. 

“I got chipotle hollandaise today.” Joey called out looking directly at you. 

You smirked, sometimes you’d have to settle with a mayo ketchup mix, but whenever the hollandaise was available, that’s what Mike would get. It was funny how this man, Joey, who you never met before knew your sandwich preferences. 

“Put a little extra on it then.” You went back to looking at the photos, feeling less awkward than before which allowed your mind to start thinking back on the case. Reasons why someone would go check for mail everyday verse waiting for it to be handed out. The thought was mulling over in your head. Waiting for something important, too eager to wait the extra hours for it to be delivered out. Letters from family could do that. It could have been a routine thing, your brother told you he’d try and get out of his space as often as he could when he was overseas, take a walk around the camp. 

“Keep at it like that, and you’ll be runnin’ on fumes.” Mike knew better than to be overly affectionate when you were still on the clock, but since it was just you two, he got close to you, his chest against your side. 

“When you were enlisted, if you were expecting letters would you go check if things came in? Or wait for them to come to you?” You were still looking at the wall but your eyes were focused on what you were working on in your brain. 

With a sigh and a drop of his head Mike closed his eyes and brought his hand to scratch his head. “Uh,” he pushed his original thoughts aside to think about your question. “Would depend on the day, some days when I knew I was gettin’ a letter from my mama or sum I’d stop by the mail tent.” 

“He was expecting something. Something that came consistent enough that he’d check back everyday.” 

“Or he was expecting something that never came.” Mike hated to feed into the gears turning in your head right now but he’d be lying if you weren’t on to something.

“Something that never came.” It was spoken under your breath as you thought through it and then you turned to look at him. “Who interviewed the Deputy Director, did he mention Marcus having any close friends– a girlfriend?” 

“Randy and Mac did, put Teo in the room too.” Mike’s face was serious. 

“You used it as an opportunity to get the quiet ones some face time,” you let out a laugh,  “you’re twisted you know that?” You saw straight through it, in a case like this it was unspoken protocol for someone like you, Franks or even Wheeler to do the honors of interviewing someone like the Deputy Director.

“You’re the one who reminded me. It’s a promoting year.” He wasn’t wrong, it was the year they were going to appoint agents up, every second counted to earn face. 

“He mention a girlfriend?” You asked the question again that he purposefully avoided the first time. 

“No mention of a girlfriend, just a best friend that Lala went to interview last afternoon. He just landed back in town at 1PM yesterday, was in Bozeman Montana visiting family when our T.O.D occurred.” 

Dead end again. You turned to Mike as the first statement he made clicked in your head. “What did you say before?” Your face twisted up in confusion. 

“You’re runnin’ yourself ragged.” He had a coffee in his hand that he was holding out to you.

“And here I was under the impression that you thought I was pretty.” Teasing him, you took the coffee and immediately took a sip that earned a bitter look on your face while you searched for the table with sugar packets. 

 “Put damn near 5 packets of sugar in that thing.” He brought his own cup up to his mouth.

“You act like we haven’t worked all-nighters before.” You were focused on taking the lid off the coffee and pouring more sugar into the steaming cup, not wanting to discuss your coffee with him. 

“Not since your brother came back, no.” 

That made you stop what you were doing and look at Mike, reading his face was always more difficult than you cared to admit. 

“My brother came back when I started working on that cold case. I had plenty of all-nighters.” You corrected him. 

“I meant since you found out he was dishonorably discharged. Since I got his case put on my desk. Since you’ve been practically living at my house because you can’t find it in yourself to go home and share the space with him for more than an hour.” 

It was harsh, but that was something you could always count on Franks for. Not holding back. 

But despite knowing that, you couldn’t help but feel your ego get bruised a little bit. “If you don’t want me staying at your place you just had to say that, I’ll pick up my stuff when we wrap this up.” 

“Now you know that ain’t what I meant. Hell, I’ve told you just to pack up the rest of your shit and move it in. I want you there. But I also want you here.” His hand pointed to the ground and then to your head. “And with whatever you got goin’ on there, it’s taking you away from here.” 

“I’m fine.” You turned your attention back to the coffee and took a sip, it wasn’t perfect–not the way you liked it, but you didn’t want to stand there anymore. You popped the lid back on and moved away from Franks, hoping if you got closer to the counter and the people working behind it, he’d drop it. 

“You know I’m right. I know you feel yourself losing it, that part of yourself that keeps grounded. You’re putting too much energy into your gut and not the evidence. You’re doing exactly what you beat yourself up for.” He was whispering it, because he didn’t want the employees to hear, but he also wasn’t going to let this go. 

What you beat yourself up for. The case that started your fucking issues. When your brother’s girlfriend went missing, NIS was assigned to the case, when there was a second victim, you practically begged Wheeler to be assigned on it. That was when you had your first big fuck up. Following a lead that had no legs, and even though your gut told you not to, you lost valuable time. From that day forward you never doubted your gut, but now, with how things were mentally for you, maybe you were taking that so true to heart that you were making the same mistake again. 

“You don’t think my theory is right?” With that sentence, your head snapped to look at him, your lips pursed and nostrils flared. 

“If you were 100% here, you wouldn’t be asking me that.” His nostrils flared back. “I have never once questioned your gut. Still ain’t. Don’t think you're wrong either, or that this theory of yours is. But that’s the thing, it’s a theory, and you’re spending all night chasing it verse connecting something we already have to it. You’re getting lost.” 

It was then that the bags of food were being placed on the counter. “I’m havin’ my guys deliver the rest to the office for you, Franks. Bagged up both your orders, though.” He was smiling, like he had finally cracked the case of Mike Franks’ mystery woman. Another day, you might’ve been more inclined to chat with him, tease Mike together and bask in the glory of being the mystery California Sunrise sandwich girl, but not today.

“Thank you, Joey.” You offered a soft smile and grabbed the bags but it was short lived before Franks politely took them from you. It was likely a chivalrous thing, but you got annoyed, shooting him a look as you made your way to the door. 

“Hope to see you next time, hollandaise!” It was the first time you had earned that nickname, and while you wanted to laugh, it’d probably make Joey’s day if you did, you just gave a slightly bigger smile and waved before stepping out the door that Franks was holding open for you. 

“Yea, I do too Joey.” Mike called out while you walked to the car. He knew he was on thin ice with you right now. 

“Let’s get to the lab so I can start connecting my theory to real evidence, yea?” You yelled it to him as you plopped in the passenger seat. It was crazy to think it had been 24 hours since you were in this car driving to the crime scene. The time really was getting lost and you were spending most of it following your theory. The difference in your head was that you weren’t putting your team on it, you were giving them the evidence to follow, so you weren’t wasting time or following dead ends. 

Mike handed you the sandwich as he backed out of the spot, sunglasses perched on his nose, one hand on the wheel as he looked around but still just barely. He acted like he owned the road, like he knew better than it. If you weren’t running on 4 hours of sleep from the day prior, it probably would have been hot, but mixed with what he was just saying inside the deli, you felt like you were just staring at a very entitled Mike Franks in this moment. 

—

As you entered the lab, Woody was looking into a microscope. “Michael Franks.” 

“Curly.” He nodded at him as Woody stepped back from the microscope. 

“Good timing, just processed that bracelet. Was taking one last look to see if we missed any prints.” 

“What’d you find, Woody?” It wasn’t like you to rush the man, but you weren’t in the mood to fuck around right now. 

He looked at you and then his eyes moved to Franks. He was about to ask what was up with you but Franks cut him off, knowing it’d be the best for everyone involved. 

“Missed any prints? That mean you found some already.” He was stepping towards the table. 

The entire room was fluorescent white from the lights, it gave off a sterile feel but once you moved past the horizon line of the room, that feeling disappeared as the mess of the lab took over. 

“Matched one print to the deceased, but couldn’t pull anything else. We did look into manufacturing and it was done by a local jeweler, cheap metal, probably one of those pick a chain pick a charm shops.” 

You felt defeated. Like all the work you just put in was nothing, you were hoping there was at least one print from who it belonged to. 

“Let’s get back to HQ.” 

Mike’s face was in its usual resting position but you could tell there was something in his mind. 

“We know Marcus had to have been with our mystery bracelet lady and that it’s not just a random piece of jewelry. I’d like to think that’s a step in the right direction, agent.” Agent. Yea, he was reaching his limit and so were you. 

Before you could respond, your beeper was going off. 

NIS HQ

“Woody I’m using your phone!” You grabbed it off the wall and hit the numbers for HQ before taking a step out into the hall. 

“NIS, Mary Jo speaking.” 

“It’s me. Got a page.” Your voice fell into a more cheery tone, it was almost impossible to have anything but when talking with Mary Jo. 

“Hey sweetheart, yea, it was Gibbs, let me transfer you.” 

It took longer than normal to be transferred, and you knew it was because Gibbs had no clue how to answer a transferred call. 

“Hello?” His voice sounded flustered, confirming your suspicion. 

“You gotta just hit the line number that’s flashing, Gunny.” 

“Where are you?” He skimmed right by the question. 

“Forensics.” 

“Think you were on to something about the mail. The sergeant that gave us these folders put the mail log in the files so I pulled the registry, he was getting letters from a Lauren Carey.” 

“Our mystery bracelet woman.” You nodded, and started walking back to the lab. “You got an address for me, Gunny?” 

“She lives two blocks from the lab. 45 Mulberry.” 

You smiled at that, it’s why he asked where you were before starting to tell you. Smart ass fucking agent. 

“Thanks, Jethro.” 

Before you made it to the door, you stopped short. Walking in there you’d have to give a break down, you’d lose valuable time, so instead you dropped the phone and made your way there. 

“She takin’ a while to you?” Franks began his steps to the door. 

“I wouldn’t say she’s being quick.” Woody shrugged and turned his attention back to the microscope. 

“Goddammit!” Franks yelled out as he pushed out the door to see the corded phone abandoned on the ground. “This woman is going to be the death of me.” He mumbled that line as he let a hand trail down his face.

—- 

You walked up to the apartment, knocking twice before letting your eyes keep scanning the area around. Plants were mostly dead, cigarette buds were tossed in an ashtray next to a rocking chair on the porch, but you could tell they were old based on the aging of them. 

“Yea?” The door opened and the woman looked like she saw a ghost as you made eye contact. 

After giving her your name, you went to grab your badge to show when your head was being slammed into the side of the door frame. Everything went black after that. 

—- 

“Hey, you seen our girl?” Mike was walking back into HQ, stopping at Mary Jo’s desk as he mindlessly searched through the files on her desk. 

Normally, she’d swat his hand away but with the information she’d have to share, she decided not to. The endearment Mike used wasn’t what made her look at Franks that way, a knowing way, it was something he’d call you to Mary Jo because well, you were both their favorites. 

Her knowing look had a flicker of something, Mary Jo was the eyes and ears of NIS headquarters, and Mike knew better than to question the flicker. But he did question the fact she wasn’t her normal self. 

“Mary Jo?” He repeated now dropping the files. 

“She’s at base medical, got hurt when going to question the bracelet girl. Last I heard it was a concussion, maybe some stitches.” 

Franks was walking down the hallways with swiftness and purpose, the steam from his anger fueling his speed as he skipped over every other step to get to the medic upstairs. He practically took the door off its hinges as he opened it, freezing as he saw you on the table with a bandage on your forehead. 

“Jesus Christ, Franks. You’re lucky they were done stitching me up, I’d need to get stitches from my stitches.” Your hand fell to your heart and you took a deep breath. “I’m all good here, doc, thanks.” The doctor nodded and left the room past Mike who didn’t even look at him, his eyes were glued to you, staring between your head and your eyes. 

“Don’t freak out, please. I have a headache and can’t deal with another.” Your eyes closed. 

“You’re a supervisory special agent.” You weren’t sure where his statement was going. “Right?” 

“Where you goin’ with this, Franks?” Your cheeks raised as your eyes squinted. 

He stepped closer to you now, standing in between your legs, it was the closest you two had been at work ever. His left hand raised and cupped your face, his hand so large that his fingers brushed along the gash that was about half an inch on your forehead and another full inch onto your scalp. 

His face had softened as he looked at you, you flinched at the grazing over the wound, your whole head pounding from the concussion. 

“You’re a fuckin’ supervisory agent.” It was spoken through gritted teeth at a whisper, the anger growing back on his face. “And you’re acting like a damn probie.” 

You pushed his hand away then, the pounding getting worse. 

“Going to question someone alone is not only incredibly stupid but against the book.” His voice was raised now. 

“Don’t lecture me about the book, Mike. You haven’t even seen the cover of the damn book.” Now you jumped off the table and went to gather your things. 

“What about our book? Our rules.” He was stepping closer to you again. Our rules. You had a small set of them, something you put in place when you both decided to start extracurriculars together outside of work. 

“I got hurt because our number one lead slammed my head into a door frame when I went to grab my badge. I didn’t go looking for shit.” 

Rule 4: Don’t go looking for trouble without backup. 

“You did the dip. If you had a partner with you, it could’ve been clocked and you could’ve been out of there without a scratch!” Now he was fully yelling. 

“Stop fucking yelling!” As you raised your voice you immediately regretted it, the pounding in your head was felt everywhere. 

“And what about the fuckin’ forensics lead? Because there’s no prints you just hit a dead end? You’re not thinkin’ straight! Woody got the information on the store that fuckin’ made it, we could’ve found her from that but you’re so caught up in your own head you’re missing shit–important shit!” 

“We didn’t need the forensics lead, we had gotten something from the fucking letters Mike!” 

“We didn’t get shit. You did. A fucking concussion and 5 goddamn stitches because you wanted to handle shit by yourself!” His voice was getting louder with each sentence. 

“Gibbs was on scene two minutes after I got hit. He brought me to the ambulance before chasing after Lauren. Who he caught, I might add.”  

It was then that it clicked. He realized who was on the phone with you when you pulled your disappearing act. Within seconds, the doors were being slammed open and Mike was moving just as fast as before back through the halls of NIS. The only time he slowed down was when he found the doctor that was in the room with you earlier. Stopping dead in his tracks he stepped in front of him. 

“The good doctor!” He called it out to get his attention. “I want you to run every diagnostic and test you can on that young woman up there. Full work up. Alright? And if she asks why make some shit up!” He was back to moving to his bullpen before the doctor could even argue with him. 

All eyes were on Mike when he entered the room. 

“Whose team are you on?!” Mike was leaning on Gibbs’ desk, his fist slamming onto the table when he didn’t answer within half a second and everything on his desk jumped in the air and if it didn’t topple over, it lost its balance for a second. “Who do you call boss?” 

They were rhetorical questions, but Gibbs was still very much married to military life so he went to answer Franks but he shut it down pretty quickly. “You got a tip, you call me. Everything goes through me. You know who calls her?” 

Another rhetorical question that Gibbs had enough time to answer this time. “You.” 

That made Mike even more mad. He knew Gibbs knew. But it was never spoken out loud, the two just went on without any word on the matter. To Mike, Gibbs one worded answer felt like he was throwing it in his face and that didn’t sit right with Franks. 

“Teo. Nash. Mac.” His voice was dripping in frustration, correcting Gibbs on this felt so entirely personal. “That’s who the fuck calls her. Her team.” His finger was slamming into the desk now, his frown was drooping down his chin and his face was wrinkled in anger. “She’s up at the medic with a concussion and gash the size of a fuckin half dollar on her face. So the next time you want to give tips, follow the right channels.” He was pushing off the desk to go into interrogation now, planning to start questioning the girl you had attempted to bring in. “And you pull some shit like this again and you’ll be off the damn roster.” 

Gibbs didn’t realize you were back yet, he had assumed you were in the hospital but he should have known better than to assume you’d put your health first. 

He knocked on the door before peeking his head in. You were back on the exam table, this time with a folder across your lap. When you saw who was at the door, your face softened and you let your lips pull together a brief smile. 

“Hey, Gunny.” 

“Didn’t think you’d be back.” He entered the room fully now, being careful as to closing the door softly so it didn’t make too much noise. 

“I’d be in interrogation right now but the doctor came back wanting to do a full work up. Extra precaution he said. Apparently concussions are NIS legal nightmares or something.” 

“Probably for the better, Franks just went down.” 

You nodded at that, looking back at the folder. “She say anything when you brought her in?” 

“Lauren? Yea, she was going on about a set up but it was hard to understand her, Lala turned the radio up because she was still having a fit.” Gibbs explained as he went to lean on the exam table across from you. “How you feelin’?” 

“Like shit.” You answered looking through your brows with a smirk. When you looked at him, you could see through his expression, you could see him hurting. “How bad was he?” 

“I should have called him first.” There he was. The Gibbs who respected authority to a fault.

“It was a job I assigned you, you did it by the book.” You thought if you got technical with the probie, it’d make him feel better. 

“Technically I volunteered. I should have called Franks.” 

“You were being a good friend.” Maybe that angle would resonate with him better. 

“Yea, a great one.” He pointed to your head. 

“You had no idea I’d go all cowboy on this. I’ve shown no track record of being impulsive like this. This isn’t on you, Gibbs.” 

“I knew something was off, I picked up on it this morning, s'why I took the files from you.” His arms were crossed. 

“It that obvious to the team?” 

“No, just me.” 

With a sigh, you took the file off your lap and placed it next to you on the exam table and leaned your elbows on your thighs to catch your head. Massaging your figures on your scalp, you were hoping the small release would relieve the tension, spoiler alert– it didn’t. When you sat straight up again you caught Gibbs eyes with your own and shook your head. 

“I’ll argue with him all day about it but he isn’t wrong. Franks– he knows me too damn well. My head isn’t here.” 

“You’re running on empty. We got woken up in the middle of the night and haven’t slept since.” Gibbs was defending you to yourself and you had to appreciate it. 

Smiling, you nodded. “I wish it was just that, Jethro.” What you were about to say was hard and you weren’t able to look him in his eyes when saying it. “I’ve been struggling since my brother got back. I was able to disconnect from that shit after that damn murder case wrapped and we found Jessica’s killer. August was back on base, waiting for his deployment papers and I just put myself so deep into work, it was a couple years of me just not having to deal with it.” 

“When he came back, so did everything else.” Gibbs wasn’t a stranger to that, to grief flooding over you, to not dealing with it. 

“He came back so broken, I felt like shit that I was just okay.” 

“You weren’t okay.” Gibbs corrected you. “Just because you acted like it doesn’t mean you were.” 

“It just all came crashing down but I didn’t deal with it again–I couldn’t. I had to be okay because Auggie wasn’t.” Remembering back to when your brother came to your front door, thinking he couldn’t find Jessica, his memory flashing back and forth between past and present, reliving the trauma of losing her. You didn’t find out he was dishonorably discharged until Mike pulled you aside at work one day. 

–

After Mary Jo left the bullpen, the post-it note on top of a folder that she left on Mike’s desk made his heart drop. He stared at it for a bit before reading through the papers and then staring at the note Mary Jo left for him again. Everyone in the room was either in their own conversations or nose down into their paperwork. Mike getting up went unnoticed by everyone, even you, until he tapped his knuckle on your desk and tipped his head for you to meet him. 

With no words, after a few minutes you got up and walked to the bathroom, taking one last look around before entering the men's room and locking the door behind you. 

“Couldn’t wait till shift change?” You teased before you got a chance to clock his face but when your gaze moved from the lock to him against the sink with his arms crossed, one hand rubbing his face along his mustache, you knew something was up. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Look, this ain’t easy news.” He lowered his hand from his face, letting it now rest against the sink. “It's your brother.” 

“August?” His full name was saved for moments like this, tense ones. 

With a nod Frank’s lips pursed for a minute before speaking. “Few months back, when he showed up, wasn’t because his tour was over, Navy sent him back.” 

“Doesn’t shock me if they discharged him for health reasons, he was struggling–still is.” 

Mike nodded again, seeing how the desperation was starting to pool around your eyes. You knew there was more, you were just waiting for Franks to say it. 

“He was dishonorably discharged, kid was starting fights, going AWOL. Enough times to cause serious concern.” 

Those words felt like boulders dropping on your head. While you were here, laughing with the team, drinking after work, getting tangled up with Mike, your brother was crying out for help.

“How long did you know?” 

“Just found out. But I had a feeling there was more to the story.” His head dropped down, staring at the floor, it was clear he was as upset about it as you were. This was more than just someone he worked with’s family member. This was you. He had gotten to know Auggie pretty well over these last months. Shared drinks with him, a cigarette or two as well. They’d go out together to Daly’s when you were working late. Sometimes even would hit the range together, or go fishing from time to time. 

“Why are we finding out now?” 

His expression turned tight, each step of this conversation was uncomfortable for him. “Just got word that he made a threat to his old C.O. NIS has been called in to investigate.” 

The room got smaller, you felt like it was taking all the air with it too. Your mind started to jump from thought to thought. You knew you wouldn’t be on the investigating team. It was a stretch that Wheeler put you on Jessica’s murder case when the second victim was found. 

“What kind of threat?” The dread was soaked in your tone. He didn’t speak, just looked at you with knowing eyes. “Tell me it’s not serious, Mike.” 

“I don’t want to lie to you.” He didn’t break eye contact. “It was bad enough to raise some eyebrows. Mary Jo left the report on my desk. He’s on the radar now. Wheeler pulled favors and got me on the case. I'm not going to pull the team on it though, I’m going to work it with Strickland. Keep it quiet.” 

“What’s your thoughts on the final outcome?” Now you were trying to jump back into your professional brain. How was this going to play out? You needed to think logically. 

“Best-case? Community service, mandated rehab and anger management, few restraining orders towards his squad and some places on base and a huge dark mark in his file.” 

“Worst-case?” You could come up with the idea in your head of both case scenarios but since Mike had read the file he knew more in depth realities. 

“Worst-case? He puts in some time in lock up, waters still murky on if it’ll be civilian or military since the assaults and threats are spanning across active and inactive service. He already lost his benefits, salary, and housing. He won’t be allowed on any base for any reason.” 

“He’s being washed out.”  You’d seen it with a few vets since starting at NIS, luckily in those scenarios their family helped them get back on their feet. You would be that. You would do anything to help him get back on his feet.

Mike pushed off the sink and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, bringing you in for a hug and quick peck on the head before making sure the coast was clear in the hall. “C’mon. Let me drive you home.” 

—

“I would do anything to save him. I think that’s the thing with this job, we get used to it. Being able to solve things for people. I wish I could just shake him out of it. I wish I could shake me out of it.”  You looked back at Gibbs when you spoke that line and his eyes looked knowing until there was a shift in his face. 

I would do anything to save him.

Gibbs tried to bring his face back to neutral and it seemingly worked because when he went to say goodbye by squeezing your shoulder and offering his help wherever possible, you let him go without a second thought, bringing the file back onto your lap and diving right back into work. 

As soon as Gibbs was out of your view, he was fast-paced headed in the direction of interrogation. Lala was in the room where the TV was hosting the live feed of the interrogation room. 

“She’s claiming to have gotten the drugs from a new source.” Lala’s pen was attached to her mouth as she spoke, focused on the screen. “Gave us a description–guy, glasses, widow's peak. It’s not much to go on but Mac’s research shows there’s no new sources in the Pendleton area, so it’s gotta be someone on the outskirts, she’s casting a wider net on her fancy computer program.” 

 That information on top of the gut feeling your words had caused him was all he needed. He remembered the news broadcast he caught this morning in the conference room, where the Deputy Director spoke out at a press meeting about his son passing by suicide. Next to him was his assistant, who had glasses and a widow's peak. 

“The Deputy Director did it.” The words were spoken with finality, like he had no room to be swayed. 

“That’s an intense accusation.” Lala had moved the pen down from her mouth, frowning in pure confusion. 

“He’d do anything to save his son. He was trying to get rid of the girlfriend. She had been writing Marcus letters, tons of them, everyday. When he came home, Marcus leaned on Lauren versus him.” 

“Lauren got Marcus mixed up in the drugs.” Lala was slowly starting to wrap her own understanding around the accusation. 

“The Deputy Director was trying to drug Lauren. Wasn’t expecting his son to be with her that night.” 

Franks voice made both him and Lala turn around. “You better have some damn good evidence to back that up, probie.”

— 

He did. Lauren identified the man who sold her drugs as the Deputy Director’s assistant, who very quickly unraveled in interrogation. Admitted to the whole thing. Gibbs’ theory was correct. The drugs had a chemical in it that would have killed anyone who did them. It was meant for Lauren, who they knew had dabbled in her fair share of drugs, but before she took her share, Marcus took his. They even pulled the letters between Marcus and Lauren, all detailing how Marcus’ father was trying to get him into NIS and use him to buff up his own legacy, despite his very vocal disagreements with both things. The Deputy Director was losing his son and in his attempts to pull him closer, he pushed him directly into what would cause his demise. 

“Rumor has it, Elaine Peschi is being promoted up to Deputy Director.” Mike had just gotten in, you were on the couch, staring at the TV showing the press conference where both you and him were at earlier in the day together. 

“A woman Deputy Director, makes my decision a little more bearable.” You smiled, not a real smile though. One that was filled with many emotions. Sorrow. Understanding. Inevitability. 

Mike didn’t give you a verbal response, just looked at you, his eyes squinting as he tried to search your face. He knew the look you were wearing well, he’d been around you long enough to recognize it. There was a feeling he knew what you meant, and by the look on your face there wasn’t anything anyone could do to sway your choice. 

As he kicked his shoes off, he moved closer to you, his eyes only jumping from you twice. Once to look at the group of you on the TV and twice to see that your badge wasn’t on his entry table where it normally was. Now he fully realized. 

“You sure about this?” He spoke quietly. 

“No.” It was blunt but true, that was something you and Mike could count on each other for. Being honest. “But if I don’t leave now, I’m gonna get someone besides me hurt. And I can’t live with that.” 

Mike nodded, moving to sit on the corner of his coffee table, not directly in front of you, but so your right leg was in between his. With one hand resting on the inner section of your knee, he squeezed it in a comforting manner. 

“That pull to walk away before it eats you alive…it’s the hardest choice to make. Selfishly, I wanna tell you to stay, tell you that it’ll get easier.” 

“But you’d be lying.” You smiled, placing your hand on his. 

He nodded, staring directly at you with a look only a woman Mike loved could get. The team would never believe it. The softness in his features, the kindness in his eyes. 

Pushing off the coffee table he plopped down next to you, his left arm moving around your back to pull you against his chest, his right securing you in that position before he rested his chin over your head. 

“Tell me I’m making the right decision.” You spoke it at a whisper, if the TV volume had been any higher he wouldn’t have heard you. As he stared at the screen, seeing you and him stand next to Wheeler as he spoke at the podium, he mourned it a little. Not having you in the office with him anymore, not looking up from his desk to see that dimple that would form when you were in deep thought, no more driving in together, sneaking out together. 

His jaw tightened, he wanted to take a deep breath but he knew that’d give off the wrong message. So he just took a few more beats, letting this sink in before he answered you. 

“It’s gonna feel off for a bit.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “But if you need me to tell you you’re doing the right thing, I will. Because I trust you know you’re making the right choice.” 

It was such a Mike Franks answer and you couldn’t help but laugh at it while bringing a hand up to wipe a stray tear. 

“Gonna miss this.” You pointed to the screen where you two stood tall next to each other. 

His mouth mumbled against the top of your head. “We’ve always found a way,” he pursed his lips and left a kiss there, then brought it down slightly to kiss where your stitches were lightly, “this’ll be no different.” 

“We can make out at the holiday party now without worrying that anyone is going to write us up.” Sure, it might’ve been a joke to ease the tension, not think about the weight of all of this anymore, but there was definitely some truth in the joke. “If you’ll take me as your plus one.” 

Now it was Mike’s turn to laugh, the chuckle causing your head to move against his chest. “If I don’t bring you, Mary Jo or Lala would be the first to rope you in as theirs.” 

“You pawning me off already?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He kissed your head again and then frowned at the screen. 

“Good because now that I don’t have to act professional, those parties are about to be a lot more fun.” Squeezing into his side you tightened your own grip on him. 

He teased back with you. “I’m countin’ down the days till Christmas.” 

You both sat quietly, watching the last few minutes of the press conference, the weight of the decision sitting heavy in the room but right now, you felt safe in this little bubble on the couch with Mike. Like the weight couldn’t get to you there. He must’ve thought so too because neither one of you moved from that spot on the couch, both falling asleep there and letting tomorrow be the day that you faced this head on. 

Dividers by: realitycanbewhateveridesire ♡ 🕵️ NCIS Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 @ilovemark1951 @shamelessturtlebeliever @babebaber @that-one-fangirl69 (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

More from this universe

[goldlockets-and-redwine]

You're The Worst | Chapter 1

Pairing: Touya Todoroki x Reader

Word Count: 875 words

Summary: Paw's and Claw's has a fun staff. However, the nosy bad boy, Touya, loves to pick on you. What will happen when he notices the array of bruises hidden under your sweatshirts? Maybe he isn't so bad after all.

Author's Note: So, this fic idea has been in my mind for a while. I hope everyone likes it. This will be a multi-chapter fic as I don't have a ton of time to write. Oof. Please be patient with me. Also, I inserted my cat Thomas because it's almost been a year since he passed, and I think of him every day. I know. So self-indulgent.

TW: Domestic Violence (Not from Touya), Fem!Reader, Violence in general (There will be a fight, not in this chapter though.), drinking, smoking, cursing. Let me know if I missed anything!

“That looks like shit.”

Good god, I wish he would just shut up. This is the third time today he’s butted into my work.

“No, it looks great Touya. You’re just an ass with shit handwriting. Jealous much?” We looked over my work. The sign looked great honestly. I really outdid myself this time. In delicate script it read “Tom” adorned with little hearts around the name. I put up the sign on Tom’s’ kennel, a large grey and white cat sitting at the farthest possible corner of the kennel away from the door. “Do you have his bio?”

“Of course, what am I? Incompetent?” He made quick work of putting up his bio underneath the name card I made. He typed his up like normal. I gazed sadly at the big tom cat sitting in the cage. “Hey doll, he’ll get adopted. You always get too attached.”

I grimaced at the pet name. He always looks for a way under my skin. However, he took it upon himself to never call me by name. I need to come up with my own for him. Maybe he’ll leave me alone if I come up with something heinous.

“Some of us have hearts, jackass.” Wait, that one fits. Still not original enough. I glanced at him to see him already staring at me. If looks could kill. You would think working in a shelter there would be nice coworkers here. Everyone else was nice. Not this guy. His intimidating look didn’t help his case. Tattoos were everywhere but the one on his face gets the most frowns from potential adopters. The row of flames over his left brow. Wait is that… “Touya, did you redye your hair? You should do a better job of not getting that shit on your skin. You look insane.”

“Why you lookin’ at me so hard? Like what you see?” My face was already showing my irritation before, but now I could feel it twist in disgust.

“No. The hair dye stains are really not doing it for me.” I do a swift 180 degrees and make my way out of the cat room and into the lobby once more. “Hey Toga! Any new applications come in?” Her face lit up as she looked up at me. Her sharp canines stuck out as she smiled.

“(Y/N)! We had one come in for Mochi!” She was practically jumping out of her chair. “Dabi! Come and look at the place!” Touya leaned over the counter and looked down above the monitor as I walked around the desk. It was a beautiful house in suburbia with a huge fenced in back yard. “Mochi will love it, don’t ya think?”

“He’ll love it little vamp.” I said. My eyes hovered over the screen to notice the time. “You should head out. It’s 5:30! You know the boss won’t be happy about you staying over too much.”

Toga pouted, but I was right. Tomura gets so pressed when she stays over. It must be that big brother dynamic. She got up to gather her things for the evening and shut down the computer. “He’ll be fine, but I’ll tell him you guys said hi!” With that she gave me a big hug and skipped towards the door and out to the parking lot. Touya turned and stared at me as soon as he had locked the door. Without saying a word I got to work cleaning the lobby. Working with animals was messy and there was a mix of dog and cat hair being swept up. I heard Touya’s heavy boots moving towards the hallway leading to the dog kennels. I instantly relaxed and continued my chores, completely blocking out my thoughts.

-

“Doll,” My body was on autopilot as I put away the cleaning supplies. “Don’t ignore me doll. It’s time to bail.” I quickly finished putting things up and grabbed my bag. Both our footsteps synced as we made our way to the door. Touya held the door open. “Ladies first.” I could hear the cockiness in his voice. He wasn’t going to get a reaction out of me so late in the day. My car’s taillights blinked as I unlocked it. Today was a hot one. The evening sun was shining on me. I pushed up the sleeves to my sweater and was nearly to my car when I heard Touya’s deep voice closer to me than expected. “That’s a nasty bruise.”

The sweaters I wore for the last 6 months were to avoid these questions. It was no secret Kai, my boyfriend, wasn’t the best guy. His record was a mile long. No one would know he mistreated me, however. Kai made a good show of being a loving boyfriend while also being a piece of shit in every other aspect of his life. He won me over with gifts and treated me like a princess. He said I was his perfect girl. Do men treat perfect girls like this?

“Mind your business.”

Touya’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a dumbass, (y/n).” With that he got in his black 5.0 mustang and pulled out of the parking lot leaving me standing next to my car.

[seokith]

book thief! ㅡ song eunseok

00 : start of the villian arc 😈

sypnosis : song eunseok and y/n didn't know of each other's existence till an incident happened on the 25th of july, summer 2023. after the little incident in the dreamscape bookstore, they had accepted that they were enemies, or that's what eunseok had assumed. they met again at the start of a new school year, and eunseok had wished that they wouldn't cross each other's paths but the universe planned otherwise . .

warning : beware of.. horrible writing 😢

ೀ wc ; 753 .

back ㅡ masterlist ㅡ next

finally, it was time.

as yn tapped on her phone screen, it reads out 16:50 pm meaning, there was enough time for her to reach the bookstore right on time. she quickly put on her shoes with a smile on her face as the thought of kageyama and kenma filled her head and she lowkey.. well.. giggled like a crazy person. even her younger brother who passed her gave her a weird look.. not that yn cared, of course.

once ready, she bolted out of her newly moved-in house and headed straight for dreamscape bookstore. she knew that if she arrived late, she wouldn't stand a chance of getting the newly released volume of haikyuu, so she ran as fast as an olympic sprinter. the hot summer air, mixed with a light breeze, kissed her face as she ran, making her look like she was in a k-drama.

the loud sound of the bookstore door being thrown open filled the air as yn barged in. mr nanami, sitting at the counter, frowned at the sudden interruption of his peace.

“yn, i told you to quit opening the doors like that. you’re going break it.” mr nanami scolded the young girl as she rushed to his desk.

“i’m sorry mr nanami, i wont do it again but do you still have t-the—“ her words were shortly cut off as she tried to catch her breath.

mr nanami raised an eyebrow at the state she’s in and once he understood, he couldn’t help but to chuckle and took the last remaining copy of the haikyuu 37th volume.

“holy shit! mr nanami are you being serious?!” she exclaimed with her eyes shining… literally.

“why? don’t want it? i can just take it back.” mr nanami responded with a bored tone, clearly trying to threaten her and of course, yn fell for it since.. its not his first time doing it.

“no, no! you did this last time and you actually did! no way in hell im letting you take it back when its in my hands.” she replied in a panicked voice.

just how bad had mr nanami traumatised her, geez..

as yn was about to leave, another loud opening of the door echoed through the store and mr nanami couldn’t help but to groan louder. seriously! the store is going to break its door one day.

“mr nanami, do you still have the copy of the new haikyuu volume?” a young man hastily walked over to mr nanami’s desk.

“no, she has it.” mr nanami answered curtly.

the young man snapped his head towards yn and swiftly moved to her location with a determined gaze and asked,

“can i have that book? i usually get it when it’s released here.”

“what? can’t you see its already in my hands? better luck next time.” yn answered sassily.

irritated with her tone, the young man stretched his hand and tried to take it out of her grasp but yn was quick enough to grip the book hard.

“give it to me!”

“no! i got it first, the fuck!?”

“im the one who always gets it first!”

“maybe its not your lucky day!”

and so it continues.. they kept that on going for god, knows how long and mr nanami was far more than irritated than before. ‘fine whatever, they’re teens,’ he convinced himself but he felt himself ticked when they bumped into a display in the corner.

“for the love of god, can you two take this outside!? be careful of that book! if any of you tears it, you guys have to pay at a full price, i dont care!” mr nanami suddenly burst from his desk.

“yn, eunseok, you’re both old enough to not act like kids so stop it! even haku who’s a five year old, behave better. out of my store, now.” mr nanami shook his head in exasperation.

sensing the young man who she knew by now is named eunseok distracted, yn quickly took the chance and ran out of the bookstore as quickly as possible.

“h-hey, wait! you book thief! wait up!” eunseok snapped out of his trance and went out of the bookstore seconds right after the girl blew off.

as he went out, he tried to take note of where yn ran off but to his luck, she couldn’t be founded. with an annoyed sigh, he scrambled to take out his phone to let out his frustration without forgetting to sigh,

“tsk, that book thief.. ill catch you when i can.”

taglist 🐾 @gacktsa @secretiny @molensworld