#you can see the marshal kind of questioning everything in that minute

[promiscuousasexual]

marc marquez crashes at the motogp 2019 americas grand prix

[junrenjun]

but even after this, you're still everything to me

choi seungcheol x reader, formula 1 au

genre: heavy angst

wc: 5.5k

warnings: fem reader, enemies to lovers, misogyny, death threats

a/n: another request by @straykidsstanforeverandever. lot's of heavy f1 jargon and such in this. if you aren't super in tune with f1, there may some references you don't understand. read with caution. title is a lyric from the grudge by olivia rodrigo.

Imola has always been one of your least favorite tracks to drive. And after today, you never want to come near it again. Maybe you’ll fake an illness when the time comes around next season. It would be nice to let the development drivers get some real racing time and you wouldn’t have to drive this cursed track again. 

A voice in your ears distracts you from the little pity party you’ve started in your brain. “Are you okay y/n?” 

Your race engineer’s question reminds you that your radio is being publicized on live television right this moment. Sighing, you quickly respond, “yeah Will, I’m fine. Today’s just not my day.”

The answer is half-hearted, but the man knows better than to question you right now, when you’re being recorded. He settles with, “okay, red flags are out for you. You can hop out of the car when you’re ready.”

You don’t think you’ll ever be ready. But life is tough and Formula 1 is tougher, so you undo your belts and pull yourself out of the car. You take a minute to inspect your blown out tire, before taking your helmet off. Marshals surround you, asking if you are alright, but you brush them off. You just want to be back in your driver’s room already. 

The journey back to the paddock is a painful one, both mentally and physically. Your knee is throbbing from where it hit against the side of the car on impact. You pray the cameras don’t pick up your limp. It takes all of your energy not to cry when you see the pitying expressions of the rest of the McLaren crew. Another potential win out the window, just like that. 

The rest of the race passes by in a flash. Between going to medical as per your trainer’s request (the cameras did in fact pick up the limp) and changing out of your race suit, you only catch the last three laps. One of the Mercedes cars wins by practically a mile. And it’s fucking Choi Seungcheol of all people. 

You have half a thought to turn the TV in your driver’s room off the second he crosses the finish line, but you don’t. You’re itching to hear whatever dumb thing he says in his interview today. The man is a walking PR nightmare. 

Sure enough, the camera is chasing after him the second he steps out of the car. After a few second water break, he turns to the interviewer, who asks him, “Great win today Seungcheol. You worked your way up from 5th to 1st within a few laps today. How does that feel?”

“It feels great. I mean I couldn’t have done it without y/n’s tire of course…”

You turn the TV off, cutting him off the second he mentions your name. Slumping back even more on the couch, you throw an arm over your eyes and let out a frustrated sigh. Whatever possessed you to choose a male dominated sport?

You’re thrown out of your thoughts once again by a voice from your doorway. “At least it was kind of a compliment, eh?”

When you peek out from under your arm, Oscar is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. You remove your arm from your face, scooting farther down the couch and patting the spot next to you. The Aussie moves to join you. 

After a few moments of silence you turn to face him. “You made it back to the paddock pretty fast.”

It’s his turn to groan this time. “I retired 7 laps from the end. Engine failure. I was in 3rd.”

You hum, wistfully. Then turn to look out the window. “Bad day to be Papaya, I guess. Think we can convince Jungwon and Pato to take our places at Imola next season? I think I have PTSD from this track now.”

Oscar simply snorts in response. For the small amount of time remaining before you have to face the nightmare that is media duty, you simply enjoy sulking together. 

A little less than a week later, you’re standing on one of your all-time favorite tracks: Monaco. Your mood now is starkly different than it was at Imola. You’re practically bouncing on your heels waiting for FP1 preparations. Jungwon is by your side, instructed by your team principal to “learn from the best,” since he’ll be driving here for F2. 

The kid is clearly a little nervous, but he’s endearing and a pretty decent driver, so you don’t mind. You’ve already gone over the track layout with him, giving him tips for certain corners and telling him where he can make up extra time. There’s not much feedback left to give until you see him drive in person, so you resort to small talk.

As you both walk up and down the pit lane, Seungcheol saunters up to you. You resist the urge to walk away, trying to keep a good display of sportsmanship in front of your junior driver. The Mercedes driver however, clearly does not care, because he says, “is this your replacement after the Imola incident y/n?”

Jungwon, bless his soul, looks mortified. It takes everything in you to not fire a sarcastic remark back. You’re both saved from the awkwardness by Oscar though, who steps in between you and Seungcheol. He clears his throat and tells you, “Andrea is looking for you. I’ll take Jungwon for now.”

You know Andrea is most likely not looking for you. You saw him ten minutes ago when you left the garage. Thank god for Oscar’s ability for thinking on the spot. Now you have some personal time to cool off before free practice.

Both Jungwon and Oscar watch as you jog back to the garage. The Aussie lets out a relieved sigh once you are back safely. He turns to make sure Seungcheol has walked away. Thankfully, he has. 

The younger driver looks at the other quizzically. “I didn’t really realize the rivalry was actually real. I thought it was an act for the cameras.”

Pushing around a stray rock with the toe of his shoe, Oscar sighs again. “Would you believe me if I said they were teammates once?”

Jungwon’s jaw practically unhinges from his face with how far it drops. The kid is probably too young to know them in any capacity other than their rivalry. “But they hate each other…” he muses aloud.

Oscar urges the kid to keep moving along the track with a hand on his back. “Yeah, well they used to not hate each other. They were F2 teammates. It’s none of my business to tell you everything that went down but something happened that year. By the end of the championship they wouldn’t even speak to each other.” 

Jungwon nods in response, but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear that Oscar won’t give up much information, so he drops the subject. But every once in a while, his mind turns back to it. What could’ve been so bad that you guys couldn’t even talk to each other as teammates? If it was some sort of on-track collision he’s sure it would’ve been talked about in the media constantly. Now he’s really going to have to find out. 

And there’s no one better to consult than his own teammate, Lee Chan, who happens to be in the Mercedes Junior Driver Programme.

“You want me to do what?” he asks incredulously. “He’s my mentor, I’m not going to bring that up. Are you dumb?”

“Dude, aren't you curious too?” Jungwon questions.

Chan rolls his eyes at his teammate. “Yeah I’m curious but not curious enough to risk my spot in this program just to ask Choi Seungcheol why he has rivalry with y/n.” 

“You don’t even have to ask him directly,” Jungwon tells him. “I asked Oscar about it, not y/n. Maybe you can ask George or Jeonghan about it.”

Chan throws his hands up in exasperation. “Oh even better, not only do I involve two of the biggest names in Formula 1, I involve one of their trainers and their teammates. What a genius idea!”

Jungwon covers Chan’s mouth as quickly as he can. They’re still in the paddock after all. “Dude keep it down.” 

The man just stares back at the McLaren junior driver, who sighs and says, “listen, I’ll try my best to get something out of y/n too. It’s not just you doing something.”

“Yeah that’s so motivating Jungwon,” Chan says sarcastically.

“Okay, okay,” he finally lets up. “I’ll pay for all of your afterparty drinks this weekend if you figure something out.”

This is motivating enough for Chan apparently, because he reaches his hand out for Jungwon to shake. They come to an agreement and part ways, heading back to their respective hospitalities.

Chan watches in the Mercedes garage as you set the fastest lap at the very end of Q3. He knows Seungcheol is going to be pissed when he gets back. Not only did you qualify P1, but he only qualified P6. His temper is much worse when he’s mad at both himself and someone else. 

Following Chan’s prediction to a tee, Seungcheol steps out the car practically fuming. He tosses his helmet at Jeonghan, who, as his trainer, is quite used to his behavior at this point and catches it. He marches right up to Toto, who is watching a replay of your final lap, and says, “she should’ve had a track limit violation at the chicane.”

Toto turns to him, surprisingly calm, and simply tells him, “She didn’t cut the corner enough to incur a limit violation.”

This is not the answer he wanted to hear, so he turns on his heel to stomp off to his driver’s room. Toto shouts at him from over his shoulder. “Take Chan with you. If you’re going to overanalyze every single mistake you made, at least someone should learn from it.”

Seungcheol whips his head back around to look at Chan, who nervously gulps. He wants to be mad at the kid, but he can’t find a reason to when he’s practically shaking like a leaf. Clearly he didn’t want to be thrown into this situation either. “C’mon,” he mutters and gestures at the junior driver to follow him. 

Back in his driver’s room, he unzips his suit, tying the arms around his waist before plopping down on the couch. When he looks up, the kid is still hovering by the door. Grabbing his iPad from the table, Seungcheol gestures for him to come sit down.

But Chan hesitates. “I can leave you alone, you know? I won’t tell Toto.” 

Seungcheol just rolls his eyes and gestures to the couch again. “C’mon kid. As much as I hate him right now, he’s right. You might as well learn from this and you’re already here.”

Chan makes his way to the couch rather cautiously and sits as far away as possible from the man, who is scrolling through the footage from qualifying. Without even looking over at him, Seungcheol says, “you can sit closer. I’m not going to bite.”

Not wanting to make him mad, Chan scoots a few inches closer. When he looks over at the iPad again, Seungcheol’s fingers are hovering over a video. He hasn’t clicked on it yet. He just sits there and stares at it. When Chan looks a little closer, he can make out your car in the thumbnail. 

Seungcheol clears his throat, looking away for a second. And then he turns back to Chan and says, “is it…uh okay if we watch y/n’s lap first?”

The question kind of stuns him. He was expecting Seungcheol to avoid any reminder of you at all costs. Scared that his voice will betray him, he just nods.

Seungcheol clicks on the video and they watch. The video is on mute and there’s no commentary from either of them. Just silence. As the lap ends, he pauses the video and whispers, “that was a good lap.”

Chan is even more surprised now. He was expecting a frustrated sigh or any sort of mean comment. But he doesn’t get any of that. Now, Chan’s scared that it’s a setup. That he’s trying to get him to agree just to berate him for it. He doesn’t know what to say.

Seungcheol senses that he’s not going to say anything and takes it upon himself to start the conversation. “She’s always been good at Monaco. Even since the first time she drove the track.”

This has really piqued Chan’s interest. Since her first time? Seungcheol was there the first time she drove Monaco? That had to be what? F2?

And then it dawns on him. Jungwon said something about them being teammates in F2. Hoping that the information is public knowledge (it should be, practically their whole racing lives are on Wikipedia) Chan decides to ask about it. “Was that when you were teammates?” He cringes the second the words come out of his mouth. Jungwon owes him big time.

While Chan was expecting him to look angry, Seungcheol just looks at the iPad dejectedly. “Yeah. At Prema. Do you…know about that whole thing?” he asks the boy.

Jackpot. Seungcheol willingly talking about it? He’d never thought this would happen. Then Chan remembers he actually has to respond to him. “Uhm, no I don’t think so. Jungwon said you guys were more…amicable back then.”

“Jungwon’s your teammate at MP?” he asks Chan, who nods in response. Then, Seunghcheol throws a curveball at him. “You’re not attracted to him right?”

Chan sputters at the question. “What? What does this have to do with anything?” When he looks Seungcheol in the eyes he’s dead serious. So he humors him. “No, I’m not attracted to Jungwon. I’m not even gay.”

Seungcheol just nods. “Okay, good. I mean good that you’re not attracted to him. There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”

This is getting weirder by the second. Chan gives him a questioning look. Why the personal questions?

Exasperatedly, Seungcheol sighs and says, “I don’t want to tell you this if it’s too relatable. I don’t want to scare you and make you not pursue a relationship because of something that happened to me.”

Chan is finally starting to put the pieces together. Then the light bulb goes off and he shoots out of his seat. “You and y/n were together?” he practically shouts.

The older driver drags him back down to his seat and shoves a hand over his mouth. “Be quiet, would you?” Then he releases Chan and slumps back against the couch. “I wouldn’t call it together. We weren’t dating, we knew that F1 would ultimately cause heartbreak for the both of us. We were just messing around. But we were exclusive, I guess.”

Chan doesn’t say anything. He just nods and waits for him to continue. “It was stupid and we both knew it. Especially y/n. She knew that if we got caught, it would affect her career more than mine. Even if we both knew that she was a better driver than I was. This sport isn’t kind to women.”

Seungcheol looks like he might cry. It’s so different from the Seungcheol that Chan witnessed 15 minutes ago in the garage. He doesn’t know what to do. He frowns and lets the man finish his story. 

“Y/n was a part of the Red Bull Junior Team at the time. She had been promised an F1 seat within 3 years if she won the championship. I was in the Mercedes Academy at the time too. So we attended a lot of F1 events together. And I was stupid enough to drag her to makeout in a hidden corner of the paddock at one of them.”

He paused, like the next part of the story would pain him to say. “A member of the press caught us. We both knew we were so screwed. He could easily out us right that second or even use it to blackmail us. Luckily Angelo from Prema was there with us that weekend and helped us negotiate with the man. Turns out this press guy is a big fucking misogynist because the final deal was that he wouldn’t out us if he could tell Christian Horner about our relationship. Said he ‘didn’t want no bitches in Formula 1.’ Prick.”

“Christian kicked her out of the junior program when he found out. He’s also a misogynist. I’m glad she didn’t end up there. He told her that he prefers people who win championships through dedication, not those who sleep to the top. But instead of being mad at him or the press guy, she was mad at me. She told me that I ruined her career. That she would never get into Formula 1 because of me. So she never spoke to me again unless it was at work.”

Chan looks at him skeptically. “But her career turned out fine.”

Seungcheol just shrugs. “Exactly.”

Chan is even more confused now. Understandably, you were upset by this whole situation. But why is Seungcheol a dick to you now? “But the whole rivalry? You seem to have started the hostility in that. Not her.”

The man sighs. “Her career turned out fine, Chan. But she continued to be mad at me.”

It’s starting to click in his brain. “So you’re mad at her because she never forgave you?” Chan asks. 

All Seungcheol says is, “bingo.”

They’re interrupted by Jeonghan knocking on the door and letting the F1 driver know that he’s due in a few minutes for media duties. Seungcheol leaves Chan on his couch without another word. 

“You’re buying my drinks in Barcelona too,” Chan tells Jungwon the second he opens his hotel room door.

Jungwon gapes at him. “What? We only agreed to the afterparty,” he says as the boys walk further into the room, away from prying eyes and ears. 

“Yeah well that was if I got you any information. I got you the whole fucking story, dude.” Jungwon’s eyes are as wide as saucers and he immediately starts asking about it. Chan recounts Seungcheol’s monologue to the best of his abilities. 

“Holy shit, dude,” Jungwon says once he’s finished, flopping down on his bed. “It’s like the opposite of enemies to lovers.”

Chan rolls his eyes at his teammate. “It’s sad, Jungwon. Y/n lost her future job and Seungcheol at the same time. And now they can’t even be civil with each other because they’re holding grudges.”

Jungwon mulls over his words for a minute. “Maybe I’ll ask y/n about it when she’s drunk tomorrow.”

“How do you even know she’s going to be drunk tomorrow, Won?” Chan asks his teammate.

He turns to flash a cheshire grin at Chan before plainly stating, “she’s either going to podium and drink to celebrate, or she’s going to do bad and drink to mourn.”

Chan rolls his eyes once again. “Speaking of which, I’m going to bed. No matter how well I do tomorrow, you’re paying for my drinks.” He drags himself out of Jungwon’s room and down the hall to his own.

You and Oscar are sitting at a table in the far back of the club, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the afterparty. Mingyu from Ferrari, his trainer Jungkook, Mark from Red Bull, and Chenle from Aston Martin are also gathered around. You’re enjoying the light conversation, basking in the high of your win.

Mark catches your attention after a minute of you spacing out, pointing toward the closest bar. “Isn’t that your little shadow, y/n?” When you look over you see Jungwon conversing with a blonde kid around his age. 

“Yeah,” you muse. “Kind of recognize the kid he’s talking to too. Can’t put a finger on his name though.” 

“That’s his teammate from F2. Lee Chan I think,” Oscar pipes up from across the table. “The kid with the otter helmet.”

A collective “ohhh,” leaves everyone at the table. “I’m going to get another drink,” you tell them. “Might bring the kids back with me.”

Mingyu snickers at you as you leave. “You can’t adopt them all, y/n!” he shouts as you leave. You flip him off behind your back. 

Approaching the bar, you order another drink for yourself and saunter over to where Jungwon is standing. “Hi Wonie,” you say, catching him by surprise as you ruffle his hair a bit. You turn to acknowledge his teammate too. “Hi Chan.”

Chan points back at himself like he’s surprised you know his name. “Is your name not Chan? Oh fuck I’m too drunk for this.” you berate yourself out loud. 

“Uh no ma’am, my name is Chan. Just surprised you know me, that’s all.” he says. 

You giggle a little bit. “Don’t call me ma’am, it makes me feel old. You’re the kid with the otter helmet, right?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, before correcting himself. “No, I mean, yes. Yes, I’m the kid with the otter helmet.” You can hear Jungwon cackling at his friend behind you. 

You smile at him again before turning back to Jungwon. “Well I’m heading back to sit with those four dumbasses,” you say, pointing back to your table where Jungkook and Mingyu are arguing over something on Mark’s phone. “You two wanna keep me company so I don’t have to deal with them by myself the entire night?”

Jungwon lights up at the question. “Of course!” he practically shouts, and drags a begrudging Chan by the arm to follow you.

When you reach the table, you pat the empty seat next to you, gesturing for Jungwon to sit. Chan grabs the chair next to Mingyu, who messes with his hair and murmurs something about, “the otter kid.”

Jungwon seizes his opportunity ten minutes later, when Mingyu and Oscar are engrossed in a conversation with Chan, Jungkook has gone to the bathroom, and Mark and Chenle are on a video call with Mark’s boyfriend.

“I’m surprised you’re okay with Chan being here,” he says to you as quietly as possible, while still trying to be louder than the music. 

Your eyebrows scrunch at the comment, clearly confused. “Why?” you ask him.

You follow his eyes as they search around the crowd. They land on Seungcheol. Still facing your rival, he says, “Chan is a Merc Junior. Seungcheol is his mentor.”

Letting your eyes wander back to Jungwon, you steel your face into something more serious. “Jungwon, just because Chan is being mentored by a driver I hate doesn’t change my opinion of him.”

“You really hate him?” Jungwon asks. “I understand you guys don’t like each other for whatever reason, but hate is a strong word, right?”

You sigh at him. “Hate is in fact a strong word Jungwon,” is all you say and you leave it at that.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, he decides to push his luck again. “...Chan said you guys used to be really close. When you were in F2 like us.” 

“Yeah,” is all you say in response. The conversation is just barely hanging on by a thread.

“I don’t want me and Chan to end up like that.” It’s kind of a low blow, he thinks, especially when you’re a little drunk, but it works. You turn to him with sad eyes and reach out to rub his hand comfortingly. 

You whisper so lowly, Jungwon can barely hear it. “You won’t end up like us, Wonie. I promise.”

The near tears in your eyes have him getting emotional too. All signs are showing that Seungcheol’s story is likely true. One last test to find out. “Why not?” he asks.

The tears are getting closer to spilling over and you turn your head to blink them away. While you’re still facing away, you mumble, “your relationship isn’t like ours. At least I hope it’s not.”

Hook. Line. Sinker. Jungwon’s got it now. Seungcheol was definitely telling the truth. He feels a little guilty about prying it out of you like that, but you seem to have sobered up with the conversation. Oscar’s voice breaks both of you out of your little bubble. “Y/n, everyone is going to head back to the hotel soon. You ready?”

You nod vigorously at the man, probably to hide the fact that there are tears in your eyes. You hop off your chair, grabbing your bag and your phone. Then, you lean down to ruffle Jungwon’s hair a bit. “Goodnight Wonie. You and Chan be safe tonight please.”

After bidding everyone else goodbye in the lobby, you and Oscar take the elevator up to your floors. Oscar’s room is one floor beneath yours, so he says goodnight with a comforting hug and a congratulations on the win. As you ride the elevator up once more, you think back to your conversation with Jungwon. Next time you see Seungcheol, you need to tell him to keep his mouth shut.

The elevator doors open and you turn to head to your room. You see a familiar flash of blonde hair round the corner. What convenient timing. You pick up your pace and grab his sleeve, and he whips around with a deadly look in his eyes. It only slightly softens when he realizes it’s you. You shoot him an equally deadly look back. “You want to tell me why my mentee was asking me questions about our relationship?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” is all he says. You roll your eyes.

“Don’t play stupid Cheol. You know Jungwon and Chan are teammates. What did you tell Chan?” As much as he wants to hate you right now, his heart can’t help but skip a beat when you call him Cheol. It’s been so long since you’ve called him that. 

“I didn’t tell Chan anything. Why would I tell him about anything other than racing?” he counters back.

It’s not believable enough for you, so you push. “Jungwon said something about Chan knowing we were close in F2.” 

Seungcheol, tired and wanting to just go to bed, tries to pull his sleeve out of your grip, but you relent. “You can look that up on the Internet y/n. Would you please let me go to bed?”

“No Seungcheol. This concerns both of us. He was asking all the right questions. If you told Chan about us, there’s no guarantee he keeps it to himself. He clearly already told Jungwon.”

He finally frees his sleeve from your grasp. “Can we at least take this somewhere private?” he whispers. You nod and he pulls you down the hall. He’s taking you to his room, you realize and the thought makes you sick.

Once safely inside of his room, he turns back to you with a fire in his eyes. “You wouldn’t have to worry about any of this if you forgave me.” It’s not the words you were expecting to hear, but they also don’t surprise you. 

You try your best to compose yourself. “You ruined my career Seungcheol. Of course I never forgave you.”

He throws his hands up in exasperation. “I clearly did not ruin your career. Look at yourself right now. You’re getting paid more than me. You’re way ahead of me in the championship. Your career is perfectly fine.” This comment starts what is basically a slightly hushed screaming match. 

“I had to fight my way in and got lucky with McLaren. I had a guaranteed seat at RB and you know that.” 

“You know it’s for the best that you didn’t end up there.” 

“That doesn’t make it okay!”

“What was I supposed to do, y/n. I couldn’t have stopped that press guy, I couldn’t have stopped Christian from releasing you, I couldn’t have controlled any of this. But you were the one that stopped talking to me. Just because we cut things off doesn’t mean I had to deal with radio silence for the next year.”

You pause, thinking over what you’re about to tell him. “I had to.”

He crosses his arms and he straightens his posture. “Bullshit.”

“I had to because of the press guy,” you tell him, urgently. 

“We took care of him, y/n,” he deadpans at you. He’s getting uncomfortable with the conversation now. He can’t sit still. 

Tears well in your eyes at the thought of releasing your biggest secret to the man you once loved. “He’s your fucking superfan Seungcheol. He’s been following you since your karting days, like a creep. That’s why he found us in the paddock that day. He was following you. And when he saw us together he took it as an opportunity. He saw me as a threat to your career. He didn’t just get rid of my Red Bull seat. He threatened me for months after through phone calls and emails, saying that if he ever saw me talking to you, he would end my career for good this time.” 

The tears in your eyes have finally spilled. Seungcheol’s heart breaks, both at your words and at the sight of you crying. After a minute of gaping at the revelation, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you. He rests his chin on top of your head as he lets you sob into his chest. 

“He,” you stutter, “he told me that if I didn’t let you win the F2 championship, he would kill me. That’s why I crashed at Baku and didn’t podium the rest of the year.” You rest your head back against his chest and sob again, harder this time.

Seungcheol reaches up to slowly stroke the back of your head, trying to calm you down. “I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so, so sorry.”

He already knew everything was his fault, but this makes it so much worse. People were threatening to kill you because of him? Suddenly, it dawns on him. How much of an absolute dickhead he’s been. For years he’s been pretending to hate you, throwing mean comments at you, picking fights with you, all while you were trying to protect yourself. “Why did you play along?” he asks.

You don’t look up. Instead, you just let out a questioning hum into his chest.

“The rivalry,” he says. “Why did you play along with it if you didn’t really hate me?”

“It’s good for publicity” you joke. There’s the y/n he knows and loves. Loves. He hasn’t thought about you like that in a long time. Now that he knows the truth, he wants you back in his life so bad. But he knows he doesn’t deserve it. 

“Is the guy still threatening you? Is that why you played along?”

You shake your head. “No. I was trying to negotiate for a bodyguard in my McLaren rookie contract and Andrea asked why. I didn’t want to tell him, but I had to. It would’ve gotten out eventually I think, had Andrea not had him arrested.”

“But why y/n? I’m still trying to understand why you didn’t tell me this. Why did you make it seem like you hated me too?”

You finally look up at him again, brave enough to make eye contact once more. “I thought it was too late to tell you. I had already lied to you, ignored you. That’s not the best way to come back into someone’s life.”

“It was for your own safety. I would’ve understood that,” he tells you softly. Your eyes are bloodshot and the area underneath them is puffy. His heart aches. This is all because of him. 

You shake your head again. “I didn’t think like that at the time. And you had already brought the rivalry into the media. Of course I would be mad at you when you were talking shit about me to the press.”

It’s not a guilt trip on purpose, but it still hits him where it hurts. “Ok, y/n. I get it. I’m a dick.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” you mumble, helplessly.

Silence overtakes you both. Despite the circumstances, it’s not an uncomfortable one. Just two people mulling over their thoughts. Eventually, he breaks it with a whisper of “I miss you.” 

You whisper back an “I miss you too.” It’s real and genuine. You don’t say it because you feel like you have to. You say it because you want to. You hope he can pick up on that. 

He does. His forehead comes to rest against yours as his hand strokes your cheek. His eyes flick to your lips and you hold your breath. As his lips find yours, you feel years of tension release. A stray tear runs down your face and he brushes it away with his thumb. He pulls away.

“Do you,” he breathes out, “do you want to try again?” All you can do is nod in response. 

[moody-alcoholic]

Broken

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. Slow burn (sorry but not sorry). 3.6k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: Lot's of guilt, lots of self hate, but lots of fluff, hurt/comfort.

Previous parts - masterlist - next part

Enjoy <3

You don’t remember much after being moved to the medbay. You would have brief moments of consciousness, hear snippets of conversations, people moving you, poking you. Your body hurt even with the amount of drugs being pumped through your system. At first you thought it was all a dream, like you were in one of those coma’s were you’re still aware of what’s going on around you. 

“She needs to be moved to Damascus to continue treatment, they can only do so much here.” It’s Price’s voice you think, low commanding, he sounds sure in everything he’s saying. It sounds like he’s talking to someone only the other person is being too quiet for you to hear.

There is always someone holding your hand. Johnny you think, his hands are soft he massages your palm or strokes your head. There are new voices, people you don’t recognise. You never hear Jack again but you hear his name, people talking about him. You never hear Simon’s voice, maybe he thinks you’re still guilty. 

“You can’t move her without the commanders permission!” An unfamiliar voice calls.

“The same cunt who put her in this position.” It’s Johnny’s voice he sounds mad. 

“There’s a helo 15 minutes out, we’re taking her to Damascus, you can tell major Gray to contact me if he has a problem with it.” Price again. 

“You’re not her commanding officer.” The voice pleads. Are they fighting? You can’t tell, everything’s hazy. Sometimes you open your eyes, you see nothing but blinding lights, blurred vision, it sends shooting pains in your head causing you to groan in pain.

You dream too, dream about being home, it’s not your flat you dream of though it’s Johnny and Simon’s. Sometimes they’re there, sometimes they’re not and everything feels wrong. You dream about laying between them, your head resting on Johnny’s chest as Simon strokes your back. You miss him, miss hearing his voice, his kind voice the one you fell in love with.

Do you still love them? Even after everything they’ve done. They never hurt you. That was always Jack, but they let it happen. They were following orders. They would never hurt you. But they let it happen. You try to justify it in your head, thinking about it causes a pain in your chest like something you have never felt before. Betrayal? Anger? Sadness? 

Johnny never leaves your side, you can always sense him. Sometimes he talks to you, sometimes he just sits there, rubbing your hand, stroking your arm. 

“You really should get some sleep, some proper sleep.” That’s Simon, it’s the first time you’ve heard him in what feels like forever, his voice is kind, low, it’s the voice you remember.

“4 days, we let her suffer.” Johnny says, he sounds tired, his voice filled with guilt. It didn’t feel like 4 days, it felt like longer. 

The nightmare's come next, Jacks voice etched into your brain. Always the same questions. 

“Why did you betray 141?”

“Why do you hate them?”

“Are you pretending to love them?”

“Do they know you’re a traitor?” 

When you dream about Jack reality becomes warped, you remember the doctor, you remember your hands pumping on his lifeless body. New memories come, you in the store room taking out insulin. You imagine his wife, his son, sobbing, you have to stand there and watch them as Jack tells them what happened. You’re in a court room, being court marshalled, striped of your medical licence. You look up in the gallery and see Johnny and Simon, the disgust on their face as the charges are read out. The smacking of the hammer as you’re dragged to a cell to spend the rest of your life.

It’s cold you’re lonely, maybe this was all the horrible reality, you were guilty. Jack said you were guilty, Jack said you betrayed 141, he said Johnny and Simon want nothing to do with you. That makes you sad, you love them, you would never hurt them. You need to apologise to them, beg for their forgiveness, if they will even give it to you. After this nap though, your body feeling heavy, sleepy like you’re being pulled into a black pit, it feels strangely comforting as your mind goes blank. 

——————————  

This time when you come too you know you’re conscious. You can smell antiseptic in the air, you blink your eyes open looking down at your hand, the same hand you know you’ve felt Johnny holding, you’re hooked up to an IV. Your head hurts your vision still a little blurry. You turn your head to the other side of the room.

Gaz is sat in a chair reading a newspaper, he looks tired his head resting on his hand propped up by his elbow on the chair arm. You don’t want to disturb him but you’re confused, you need answers. The fever dreams you’ve been having have blurred your sense of what is real or made up. You’re about to open your mouth when he looks up and sees you. He puts the newspaper down sitting up straight in the chair. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” You’re just staring at him with your mouth hanging open your head scans the round the room again before you look back at Gaz. 

“My head hurts.” You say, you don’t know what to say. 

“Yeah you’ve been out of it for a while.” He says reaching over for his radio on the side table.

“How long?” You ask.

“2 days, I’ll get Price.” He says. You don’t know if Gaz is aware of the situation with you and Johnny and Simon. Where are they? You want to see them, you want to apologise. You look over at Gaz talking into the radio. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks as your hand moves its way up to your head, the dull throbbing pain is making you dizzy and you lie back on the bed. 

“No, I’m okay,” you say automatically, trying to ignore the thumping. You wait for Price to come you feel more parts of your body aching, you want to reach over and grab your chart from the bottom of the bed but the thought of moving right now is horrible. Gaz sits watching you fiddling with his radio until Price walks in. 

“Nice to see you awake.” He says moving to the side of the bed. “How are you feeling?” 

“Confused.” You say, you’re desperate for answers now. Price nods and smiles.

“You’re in Damascus, you were moved yesterday, turns out your injuries were more serious then we first anticipated. You’ve been out for the past 2 days, we’ve been waiting for you to wake up.” Price explained. 

“Where are Johnny and Simon?” You ask before you can stop yourself looking up at Price’s response. He smiles, his eyes quickly switching to Gaz then back to you. 

“I’ll go get them.” Price says, heading out the room. You look back over at Gaz. 

“I remember you coming in during..” The words catch in your throat, you swallow hard. 

“You were always so kind.” A smile appears on his lips. 

“It wasn’t fair what happened to you.” He says as a matter of fact, you don’t know if you believe him, you’re not sure what you believe right now. 

“Well, thank you anyway.” You say looking away, you fidget with your hands, not knowing what to say. Johnny rushes into the room next, making you jump as you see him. It’s like everything goes in slow motion, you don’t know if he’s going to be mad at you, upset, happy. Then a smile spreads across his face and he steps over to you wrapping his arms round you as he buries his head in your neck. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay lass,” he whispers into your ear, you look over your shoulder for Simon but you can’t see him. You wince as Johnny pulls you tighter and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

“Easy Johnny.” It’s Simon's voice. You open your eyes as Johnny lets you go and goes to sit on the chair beside your bed, he takes your hand in his rubbing your palm with his thumb. You swallow, it’s almost enough to make you start crying, you don’t know why. You look up at Simon, he’s wearing the mask of course he is, you wish you could see him without it. Your eyes switch to Price who is standing at the end of the bed.    

“C’mon Gaz let’s give them some space.” Price says. You look over at Gaz, you guess he has to be aware of the situation with you, Johnny and Simon. He smiles at you as you watch him leave the room, his presence is calming, you like him being around. Simon wait’s until he hears the door close before pulling a chair over next to Johnny. You look at them both not knowing what to say, they don’t seem angry or disappointed, you can’t really tell what Simon is thinking under his mask, but his eyes look softer, kinder then the last time you saw them. 

“What happened?” You ask. Simon explains the situation while Johnny rubs your arm. It took them longer then they expected but eventually they were able to clear your name. The soldier with the twisted ankle you were treating, him and the others were able to vouch for you. The time it’s suspected the doctor was overdosed, you were on the other side of the base. The most damming evidence though was the fact that your card was swiped in the medbay store room then at the loading dock within 3 seconds of each other. 

“What about Jack?” You ask. Johnny squeezes your hand. 

“We don’t have to talk about him right now.” Johnny says. You shake your head.

“I need to know.” You say a little harsher then you want. You think back to the doctor, you want justice. 

“He’s been moved to another base, at the moment they’re still waiting for a more thorough investigation to be done before they do anything, it’s all a waiting game right now.” Simon says his voice level. You feel a tear escape down your cheek, shit. You turn away blinking and using your other hand to wipe it. No tears here, you remind yourself. You look back at them.

“Sorry, I- It must be all the drugs I’m on.” You say, Johnny looks sympathetic. Simon leans forward in his chair his hand on Johnny’s neck.

“You are not allowed to apologise for anything, you are innocent, none of this is your fault. Jack will be punished.” You dip your head at Simon’s words. His hand grips your leg squeezing it.  

“Hey, look at me.” He says, you force your head up to look at him. “He’s not going to get away with this, I promise you.” You see Johnny nodding in agreement squeezing your hand. 

“What about the doctor?” You ask. “Has his body been sent back to his family?” 

“Not yet, they need it for evidence.” Simon says, you nod sniffing.

“He has a kid, a son who’s 4 at the end of the month. A wife Alice, she loves to paint.” You squeeze Johnny’s thumb. 

“Overdose by insulin, it can be reversed, if we knew..” You sigh looking at Johnny. “I just want to get out of this hospital.”   

——————————  

It’s a few hours later when a doctor comes to check you out. You’re taken down for a scan, apparently you took a good enough beating from Jack that your brain started to swell. Although when Johnny explained it to you it to you.

 “Your head was going to explode, I’ve worked on bombs that are less temperamental.” That made you smile as you laid in the CT machine waiting for it to be finished, apparently if all this was clear you were going to be discharged. That’s all you wanted, to get out this hospital, you didn’t know what was going to happen now though. Would you be sent home? Have to finish your tour? Your body was still aching and you felt like you were going to be relying on painkillers for a while.

The thought of a medical discharge made you feel sick, you wanted to be near Simon or Johnny. When you’re taken back to the room Johnny is still there, he has never left your side and you don’t want him to, the thought of being alone makes you panic. Great, being tortured has made you clingy. Simon and Price come in a few minutes later, they insist on waiting with you for the results.

“Who’s my commanding officer now? If Jack’s been moved.” You ask. 

“Me,” Price replies. “With what happened, you’re under our protection.” 

Protection?  

The word spins around in your head what do you need protecting from?

“He came to see me, Jack. The second night on the base.” You look up at Price. 

“He wanted me to spy on you all, gather intel and tell him about you and your unit.” You shake your head looking down. “He threatened, me he knew about the flat in Canary Wharf. It could have ended badly if a random nurse hadn’t heard him.” You look back up Price who moves his eyes to Simon then back to you.

“What did you say?” Johnny asked.

“Told him the truth, that I didn’t know anything about 141 and I wasn’t going to be his spy. Then ordered him a mandatory psych evaluation. He didn’t like that.” You can’t help but smile a little. You watch as Price pats Simon on the shoulder and they both leave the room. You flick your eyes back to Johnny, who’s smiling and squeezes your hand. 

“Johnny.” You say squeezing back. “Please don’t leave me, I-I don’t want to be alone again.” His hand reaches up to your face stroking your cheek. He pulls you in for a kiss, it’s nice feeling his hot mouth on yours. You wrap your hands round his neck as he pulls you closer to him. You sink into the familiar smell and touch feeling Johnny’s fingers run up your back. He breaks away from the kiss but keeps his arms around you. 

“We’re not going anywhere.” He says, his forehead on yours. You know he won’t have a choice if he’s called to work, you too but right now it’s what you need to hear. You break as you hear the door to the room opening. A doctor walks in followed by Simon and Price. 

“Good news.” The doctor says picking up your chart. “There is no more swelling and other then a broken rib physically you’re fine.” 

“Does that mean I can be discharged?” You ask. 

“Unfortunately, you’re still dehydrated and your blood sugar is low, that’s only to be expected with you being out of it for the past 48 hours. Regardless I want to run you through one more round of IV fluids and monitor you over night. Then I will be happy to discharge you in the morning all things going well.” The doctor explains. You nod feeling slightly disappointed but understanding. You lay back in the bed feeling somewhat exhausted already you can see through the high window of the room that the sun is already setting. You thank the doctor and he says he will send some food up for you to try and eat. Price and Simon leave following him and you’re left with Johnny again, not that you mind.

You thought Price or at least Simon would be back soon but instead your food comes first. You don’t really have much of an appetite but if you want to get out of here you know you need to eat something. Johnny’s sat there slicing the mystery meat up while you picked at whatever pasta was being served with it. Typical hospital food, dry and tasteless, Johnny ended up eating most of the meat leaving you with the pasta and veggies when you said you were full after half a plate he continued to feed you spoonfuls of what tasted like bread pudding. By the time you were finished you were tired and desperate to use the bathroom. That’s a good sign at least, your bowels are all still in working order. 

“Let me find a nurse.” Johnny insisted until you grabbed his arm stopping him. 

“I am a nurse just help me to the toilets and I’ll be fine.” You insist. Johnny doesn't argue with you just helps you out of bed and to the bathroom down the hall. As you walk you can feel how stiff and sore your body is, how much pain your rib is giving you. You manage to finish up in the bathroom without assistance but lean up against Johnny the whole way back. When you get back into bed you’re exhausted. Johnny takes his seat again by the bed as you pull the covers over your legs. You look at him for a few seconds, watching as his hands run through his fluffy mohawk, his hair could do with a trim you find yourself smiling at him. 

“Johnny,” you say. He turns to look at you reaching out for your hand but you move. 

“Come lay with me.” You say the bed is big way too big for you, plenty of room for Johnny to climb in. You move your body up to the side of the bed. Johnny takes his boots off as you pull the thin sheets back. He slips into the bed and you let him wrap his arm round your shoulders pulling you onto his chest. You can smell him the familiar musky smell you find comfort in. He pulls the sheets over you and you relax into him. He kisses your head. You know this isn’t allowed, this is a military base, you didn’t care feeling yourself in Johnny’s arms again makes you feel safe. 

“Hey Johnny,” You whisper as he kisses your head. 

“Yeah?” He asked his voice low breathing in your ear. 

“I can’t wait to go home.” You say stroking his chest, the thought of being in their flat laying on the sofa or cuddling in bed. Just being in a closed environment with them shutting the outside world off for a few days sounded like heaven on earth. 

“We’ll be home soon.” He replies kissing your head pulling you tighter into his arms. “Just get some rest.” You listen to him closing your eyes, finally feeling safe for the first time in days.

—————————— 

Johnny slips out the bed early before the doctor comes. He checks your vitals then discharges you, Johnny pops in as the doctor is leaving to drop your kit off so you could change out the hospital gown. 

“I’ll be back in 10 minutes and we’ll go see Price.” He says before darting out the room again. You debated changing into your scrubs, the thought of the tight belt round your stomach was not exactly appealing. You change into your standard uniform not wanting to do anything to show Price up. You were expecting to see him already, expecting him to tell you you’re being send home on medical leave. No one comes though, it’s been at least 20 minutes, you’ve already rearranged your bag twice you’ve been so nervous.

Price intimidated you, not in a mean way more just in a boss way. Your mind keeps going back to what he said yesterday. ‘With what happened, you’re under our protection.’ Is that what 141 did? Protection? You heard they were something to do with terrorism, probably counter terrorism. That’s a big thing, you defiantly didn’t want to get involved with that, you’re just an army nurse after all. You hear voices in the door way pulling you out of your thoughts.

“You don’t have to wait I’m changed.” You say pulling your bag off the bed onto the floor. Okay that hurt your broken rib, seems like you’ll have to avoid heavy lifting for the next few days or weeks. 

Price walks in followed by Johnny, then Simon then Gaz. You smile seeing them all. The smile is quickly wiped off your face as Johnny moves to pick your bag up. They look sad about something. Your eyes flick to Simon, he won’t look in your eyes. 

“What is it?” You ask a wave of nervousness washing over you. For a second no one talks.

“Does Chloe have a key to your flat?” Simon asks. That’s random you scoff, thinking you got yourself all nervous for nothing. 

“Yeah of course she does,” you reply shaking your head. Your eyes flick to Price, then back to Simon. Something still felt wrong. 

“She was killed yesterday.” Price says. Your breath catches in your throat, you look at him shaking your head. You feel Johnny’s hand on your shoulder. It’s like the ground beneath your feet is being sucked down, you lean up against the bed to support yourself.

“I’m so sorry.” Price says. Your hand balls up into a fist. You know who’s responsible for this. Who else would have it out for Chloe, why did they want to know about your flat? This has Jack’s name written all over it. 

“How?” You ask, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Gunshot.” Price says. All you can think about is her dying alone, alone and scared. You should have protected her. This is your fault, you should have done something. 

“This is my fault.” You whisper looking down at your feet. You feel Johnny squeeze your shoulder. 

Chloe’s dead, your best friend is dead and it’s all your fault.

Next part

[ejzah]

A/N: Since I’m still thinking of Neal revealing more of his past to Peter, here’s a little fic on that topic. Yes I’m, shockingly, taking a tiny detour from my usual fandom. Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.

***

The Conman Revealed

Peter has known for some times that Neal didn’t exactly come from a stable family. Most people didn’t end up criminals because they had a happy childhood. Plus, there were the various kernels dropped over the years, dolled out almost like strange gifts or slips of the tongue.

He’d never graduated high school, his dad was a dirty cop, and on it went. A part of Peter had wondered if some of these details were the complete truth or just another example of Neal Caffrey creating his own legend. He could usually tell when Neal was being completely earnest though; not to mention Neal didn’t reveal more than the bare minimum in those moments.

So, Peter sits at a crappy picnic table, eating his fancy takeout, and listens to Neal unravel his past. Neal’s voice is a little softer and quieter than usual, even though it’s just the two of them out here. Peter knew this would be a difficult conversation, but didn’t anticipate how vulnerable Neal woul be.

“When my dad went away, my mom just checked out. I mean, she was around, but she wasn’t around, so Ellen looked after me,” Neal says. His eyes shift from Peter to just beyond and then back again.

It takes Peter a moment to process Neal’s revelation, and another to decided it doesn’t make sense.

“Well, how could she look after you if you she was in witne—” breaks offs, and now Neal looks him in the eye, his look knowing as he lets Peter put the pieces together himself. “You grew up in witness protection,” Peter says, and Neal nods, his voice a little rougher when he confirms,

“I was three when the marshals took us away.”

Everything makes sense now: Neal’s ability to create new peronas, to live those personas so vividly, his strange mix of self-preservation and extreme recklessness. His impressive ability with firearms; Peter smiles a little when he thinks of that particular skill.

In the following weeks, Peter learns a little bit more each day about Neal’s childhood. He’s slightly more open now that the biggest secret is out in the open and Ellen shares bits and pieces with the kind of calculation that makes Peter believe she must have been an excellent cop. He even sees signs of Neal’s shrewdness in her.

One morning a couple weeks after Neal’s revelation, they’re set up in Peter’s office with a stack of fraud cases. Every so often, Neal throws often a question or observation, which Peter makes note of. It’s not the most riveting work, and Peter finds his mind wandering back to Neal, his parents, Ellen.

“What’s stumping you? You’ve been staring for the last five minutes,” Neal says, catching Peter off-guard.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been staring or that Neal had noticed. Peter briefly considers deflecting, but quickly shuts that notion down. They’re trying to be more honest with each other, even if it’s not always pleasant.

“I thinking about what you said about being on WITSEC. If your mom was dealing with her own issues and I assume Ellen was working some of the time, what did you do during the day? Who took care of you?” Peter asks as neutrally as he can.

Neal doesn’t bother looking up from his file. “You’ve been talking to Ellen,” he surmises and Peter shrugs, not denying it.

“She tells some pretty good stories.”

“What do you want to know Peter?” Closing the file, Neal sits back with his arms crossed, perturbed but not completely closed off. That’s a good sign.

Peter sets his own work to the side since it’s not like he was making any progress with his thoughts on Neal’s past.

“Between what you and Ellen have shared, it sounds like you were left to your own devices a lot,” Peter starts, approaching the topic carefully. Even so, Neal visibly bristles.

“Ellen did the best she could,” he objects emphatically. The fact his mom isn’t included in that defense doesn’t go unnoticed.

“I’m sure she did.” Peter holds up a hand to head Neal off before he gets too worked up. “I didn’t mean anything against her. I can tell she cares about you a lot.”

That seems to mollify Neal for the moment and he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Sorry. Touchy subject.” He smiles, maybe at the understatement. “Ellen tried to take care of me as much as she could, but she did have to work and especially when my mom,” he sighs again. “Sometimes my mom could barely even brush her own hair. She wasn’t in any state to take care of an energetic little boy, so I figured out how to do things for myself when she couldn’t.”

“That had to be a lot of responsibility for a kid.”

“Well, I didn’t have a lot of options.” Neal says with a shrug, his eyes softening with a combination of fondness and melancholy. “I remember when I was seven, there was one day that Ellen had to go into work early, and mom was still asleep. There wasn’t anything ready to eat, so I pulled a chair up to the stove and started making eggs for both us. Mom came out about halfway through. I thought she’d be so proud of me, but she was furious—in restrospect I realize she was terrified I would burn myself or set the apartment on fire—and told me to never touch the stove or oven without an adult around.”

Peter feels profound sadness and a touch of disquiet as Neal finishes the story with a slight smirk, which looks somewhat genuine. He conceals his reaction, knowing that Neal will not appreciate pity or worse, horror, in this moment.

“So what did you do?”

“I learned how to use the toaster and be a lot quieter until I was about ten and she randomly decided I was old enough to handle open flames without supervision,” Neal says, like it makes perfect sense, and Peter sees a little bit more of how the conman was born.

“I imagine you got pretty good at pulling the wool over adults’ eyes wherever you went,” he observes. For once, Neal doesn’t take it as a compliment.

“I had to if I wanted to stay with mom, and Ellen. I mean, it wasn’t like I was being hurt, I just didn’t have anyone around some days or mom wouldn’t have signed the paperwork for a field trip, so I learned to do it for her. My crimes were pretty harmless back then.”

“It’s a shame it came to that ,” Peter can’t help but observe. He wonders what Neal would have been like if he had a solid parental presence in his life, if he hadn’t felt forced to lie and fight his way through his childhood. Clearly Ellen had done her best, but she had her own demons and life to deal with.

“Hey, I could have turned out worse,” Neal points out with a charming smile that lacks the sincerity of moments ago.

“That you could have,” Peter agrees, chuckling as he shakes his head. He tosses his open pen on his desk, grabbing his suit jacket off the back of his chair, and stands, gesturing to Neal. “C’mon, let’s go get a coffee. I’ll even buy.”

Neal makes a show of checking his watch. “It’s only 9:45 and I thought we had important acts of fraud to uncover.”

“Are you going to turn down a free cup of your fancy, small batch roasted coffee?”

Neal tilts head, eyeing Peter suspiciously for a few moments, then his mouth morphs into a massive, and this time genuine, grin. “Peter, are you attempting to make up for my crappy childhood with overpriced drinks and quality time?” he asks, clearly delighted.

“Hey, if you don’t want the coffee, then we can just go back to—”

“Oh no, I’ll take any excuse to leave.” Quickly pushing his file to the side, he stands and doffs his hat with an extra flourish. “If you really want to make it better, I’ve been dying for a cinnamon scone all week.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Peter warns him, though there’s no heat behind it. They walk down the stairs, through the building, and outside together, they’re halfway to Neal’s favorite cafe when he nudges Peter’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Peter.”

[exceptionimagines]

Being married to John Marshall (after he had his daughter) would include~

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(I hope this is what you had in mind! I'm more used to writing dating headcanons first so it was a little difficult to decide what I should focus on)

- After his first marriage, John was convinced he'd never walk down the aisle again. Watching his ex-wife go from somebody that he loved; loved enough to start a family with, to the literal bane of his existence had him swearing off of matrimony and the concept of love in general. John isn't a man who believes in second chances, but you somehow manage to change his mind.

- Things are different with you: different from the very start. Without even taking your looks into consideration, you're the exact opposite of Brittany. You're understanding, you're logical, you're supportive. You're everything that he's needed these past few years and he finds himself falling for you very easily.

- The minute he finds himself crushing on you, all of his claims about love being bullshit and relationships getting in the way of what's important go out the window. He switches up the minute he gets close to you: pretends he doesn't know what someone's talking about when they quote the "old" him or insinuate that he's changed after meeting you. It's honestly kind of amusing to see how fast he changes his tune.

- He once thought that marriage made having a career even harder, but after the two of you tied the knot, that never seemed to be the case. If anything, you made things easier. A clean house, home cooked meals, a support system: any and every little thing you do is one less burden weighing down on his shoulders, and the lack of stress helps him to be a better man; and husband, in the long run.

- There's a clear change in him when the two of you get together. His head is clear, he's happier, he's communicating better, his angers under control, he's less of a workaholic, etc. At times, he thinks that maybe he's learned a little something from his previous marriage, but no, he really just thinks it's you. You've changed him for the better, and honestly, everyone in town thanks you for it.

- John doesn't do the whole "parallel play" thing. He can't focus on something else if the two of you are in a room together. He can claim that he'll leave you alone and do his own thing, but you both know that that isn't going to happen. The minute he decides to stay in the room with you is the minute you know you're not getting anything done; even if he's got his own work to do. Whether he does it purposefully to get attention or because he genuinely forgets you're trying to focus, it isn't long before he starts asking random questions/making random comments and interrupting your train of thought.

- He's sort of clingy and he likes spending as much time with you as possible: time where he has your full attention. I kind of hinted at it before, but you'd likely be a stay-at-home wife. John doesn't mind the concept of you working, he thinks motivated career women are kind of sexy, but the reality of the situation is much less sexy. It's already difficult trying to see and make time for each other with just his hectic schedule in the way; imagine trying to do it with two. He makes enough to comfortably support the two of you anyway.

- "If my wife wants it, she gets it" sort of guy. He might not understand your need to decorate the house for every holiday or season, or why you want to do a certain craft/home project, but he'll still drive you to the craft store and buy you your materials/help you build whatever you had in mind. He might side eye you a little and/or ask a bunch of questions, but he's still swiping his card at the register; even if it's obvious he doesn't quite get the appeal. Definitely asks if you want to go to your favorite stores whenever he wants to apologize or notices that you're sad.

- Speaking of not understanding the appeal: John fucking hates cats. He's one of those people who thinks that they're little demons who attack you for no reason, ...but he'd still "let" you get one; with enough convincing. Literally any other pet would be easier to obtain with his permission. He'd sooner let you buy a tarantula than a shorthair.

- Taking walks around town whenever it's particularly nice out.

- Drinking coffee together is sort of your thing; whether it includes going out to get it or brewing it at home. He'll go and set the coffee maker the minute he gets up for work: pushing the button before he hops in his shower and gets dressed. You'll get out of bed a little while later and make the two of you your cups, meeting him at the table when he's finished getting ready. If he's leaving at the ass crack of dawn, he'll make you a cup in bed before he leaves for work: not wanting you to have to get up too early. If you don't drink coffee then expect to be teased for it.

- Spending your mornings together. The two of you linger around each other as you get ready for the day: making plans, talking, eating, getting affection in before his undoubtedly long shift. Sometimes he'll get called in early, but most of the time, you get to be together without interruption.

- Wearing his clothes around the house.

- Snuggling up on the couch together. He likes laying on you and having you rake your fingers through his hair while you watch tv or talk about your day. Sometimes the two of you fall asleep in front of the fire and the person who wakes up first has to usher the other one off to bed: he just picks you up and carries you, but you'll, obviously, have to wake him up and shepherd him up the stairs; undoubtedly having to stifle your laughter when he stubs his toe or sleepily hits into something.

- It always warms his heart to see you waiting for him on the couch after a long shift; whether you're still awake or fully asleep. He loves that you want to see him enough to try and stay up late in order to greet him the minute he comes home. Sometimes he just lays down next to you and falls asleep himself.

- He gets really into your "girly" shows; even if he mocks them at times or insists that he isn't interested. He always asks a lot of questions because a) he never watches them from the beginning and refuses to ask you to watch with him from the start, and b) he doesn't want to ask you to wait to watch new episodes with him so he only ever catches parts of the show here and there. That being said, even if he did watch from the start, he'd still struggle to keep track of things: it's the old man in him.

- But when you're watching tv together, it's less about the shows and more about just being with you: sitting with your legs in his lap and a drink in his hand, unwinding from both your days while he absentmindedly rubs your ankles.

- You are a victim of the sassy man apocalypse. You're constantly being outqueened and outbabygirled. Fight back.

- Play wrestling and teasing tug of war. It helps him relieve stress and he actually really enjoys it; particularly if you're taking it a bit seriously/actually being competitive about it. It also might evolve into something more, but I digress.

- He tends to pretend that everything is fine even when it's not. And it's not always in really serious ways either. He'll break something of yours and he'll beat around the bush the same way he would if somebody died. Well something happened to it.... No, it's not broken. I mean it's broken, but.... No, it's not ruined. I'm going to fix it, but you know, just so you know. No it's not an easy fix, but I'm gonna fix it.

- He somehow immediately knows what's wrong with things around the house. It's like a six sense. He'll also insist on trying to fix them himself, even if he doesn't quite know how to do it.

- He has incredibly good hearing. He'll hear something drop from several rooms away and yell out to ask if you're okay. He'll be able to locate the strange sound you're hearing in a minute flat. He'll hear everything you say about him or something he's interested in even if you're talking quietly on the phone. He also just knows when something is wrong: he can feel it.

- He honestly really loves terms of endearment. He used them even before the two of you were officially together: it was mostly nicknames until you actually started dating, but he let a few sweethearts slip from time to time. Most of the time, he calls you "honey" and/or things of the like. He likes the feeling exclusivity that it brings.

- Leaving him romantic or sweet notes, little post-it's with words of encouragement, etc. He usually either writes back that he loves you or takes them with him, keeping them in his desk or glove compartment for whenever he's feeling stressed.

- John isn't used to people doing nice things for him. It makes him a little sheepish, a bit shy; especially when it's coming from you. He grew so used to being on his own and being talked down to or belittled that having somebody make him feel important sticks with him for a long time. You treating him sweetly was probably part of why he fell for you in the first place.

- Diner dates.

- Getting your moments in wherever you can. You grow used to meeting him at places for lunch or visiting him during late nights at the station, things of the like. He tries to make time for you as much he can, but sometimes you just have to make do.

- You need to be okay with cancelled plans and things of the like. John takes the weight of the world on his shoulders, he feels the need to prove himself so he takes on responsibility that he doesn't have to. You need to be patient with him, and maybe convince him to go to actually therapy.

- Check in texts. He likes to keep you in the know whenever anything happens or if there's a change in plans. He doesn't like getting your hopes up or making you worry too much, and he likes knowing what you're doing and how you're feeling throughout the day. He's a dry texter who uses a lot of thumbs up emojis, but he's still considerate and sweet.

- He really only uses Facebook, sometimes Instagram but that's mainly to keep up with whatever Jenna's doing. He sometimes looks through your posts or sends you different videos whenever he misses you. Sometimes he'll see your updates months after you post them, sometimes it's literal seconds later: it's always a surprise as to when he'll see them, but trust that he'll see them.

- He needs you to agree with him: to give him praise and validation. He needs you to tell him that he's right, to give him your opinions and to help him organize his thoughts. Get ready to hear a lot about crime scenes because he'll undoubtedly bounce his ideas off of you all of the time. He also wants you to give him your opinion on how he looks: whether you think his haircut is okay, if it's too short, if he should get better jeans, etc. Give him a compliment and a kiss on the cheek, it'll ease his mind.

- That being said, though you usually tell him he's right with everything else, you typically take his daughters side in a lot of their arguments. You try to mend their relationship as much as you can, and since you're a woman yourself, he trusts you to know what to do with her. He'd rather her be more like you than his ex-wife so if you give him your opinion on something or tell him to do something, he usually agrees.

- Jenna's likely off at college by the time the two of you get married, but you're still her stepmother and the two of you have a really good relationship. She's not used to people making time for her or making her a priority so she really appreciates everything that you do for her; even if she insists that you didn't have to.

- Awkward ex-wife interactions. Expect her to say things about you, it's just who she is.

- He's especially protective of you and combative towards other people in regards to you now that you're his wife. He's immediately pulling the wife card whenever someone is rude to you: "what did you just say to my wife", "that's my wife, you bastard", etc. Expect him to get you mace and probably self defense classes. Also expect him to worry about you a lot, even when you're just dealing with normal sickness: like you're gonna die if you puke a couple times during the night.

- He's surprisingly decent at comforting you, and trying to work your problems out from an outside perspective. It's skills and therapy speak that he's learned from AA and maybe doesn't fully believe in, but hey, if it helps you, it helps you, right?

- He lowkey likes when you worry about him. He's not used to it and it kind of makes him giddy. He gets butterflies when you yell at him for scaring you: it makes him feel like you really care, probably because it's so similar to how he shows his love and protectiveness. It's like you're speaking his language.

- Your husband does not do well with pressure: it's something you have to work on him with and set up precautions for. You learn how to calm him down, make things easier for him, comfort him, etc. It's usually your touch that does it: it just has a way of making him feel better.

- You know your husbands a bit of an asshole; everyone in town does, but you do your best to get him to apologize or make things right whenever he snaps at someone. You send him a look when he starts giving attitude; especially to you, and he usually sighs, grumbling and apologizing because he knows you're just trying to help. He's a bit of a wife guy so he shut's up and backpedals whenever you respond to him with attitude.

- That being said, John is usually different with you compared to everyone else. Blame it on having a daughter, on loving you, on being a gentleman; to some extent, on being vaguely misogynistic, etc, but he views you as being sweeter and more sensitive than others. Because of this, he tries to bury his anger and not take it out on you whenever something is overwhelming him. He's always apologetic if he ever misdirects his anger or accidentally snaps at you because you catch him at a bad time or because someone else has riled him up. It makes him feel really bad. And even if he isn't always successful; or even if he's nicer to you for the wrong reasons, it's the thought that counts, right?

- I don't see him as wanting any more kids. Though he loves his daughter with all his heart, I don't see him as particularly enjoying fatherhood. I think he knows he isn't a great dad, and that things would never be different enough in his life to make having another child easier the second time; even if it's with you. He's sure you'd be a great mom; you're already a great mom with Jenna, he just isn't one of those guys who wants a "do-over".

- Overall, it's not easy being with him, but you love him enough to work through whatever trials and tribulations you may come across.

[yellowsugarwords]

Can we get some reactions for the HIMYM gang of reader being taller than them?

oooo this is gonna be a fun one

Ted: Ted had been having a great time with Y/N, so much so he wasn’t noticing the time slipping away. They had run into each other at MacLaren's and struck up a conversation. Suddenly, hours had passed. It had only felt like minutes. “I better get going,” Ted admitted sheepishly, standing and sliding his coat on. “I work in the morning.” “Me too,” Y/N said with a chuckle, standing up and grabbing their coat as well. Ted’s eyes widened, stunned at the height of his apparent date. “Wow,” he said softly and under his breath. It was involuntary, but Y/N heard. “What?” Sheepishly, they gave a meek smile, sliding their coat over their shoulders. “My height, huh? Wearing heels probably isn’t helping my case.” Apparently, they got this often. Ted smiled, cheeks warm. “I think it’s great. You’re great.” Y/N smiled, buttoning up their coat. “Maybe we’ll need to meet up here again, just without the heels.” “I don’t think it’ll change much,” Ted teased. The two chuckled.

Robin: Robin chuckled, thankful for deciding to bite the bullet and go out on their date. She had been nervously postponing actually planning something but decided it was time to stop stringing them along and go for it. Truthfully, she had a better time than she thought she’d have. She often hated first dates. They were far too awkward and nerve-wracking. “Thanks for agreeing to come out,” Robin said, grinning from ear to ear. “This has been a lot of fun.” “UI agree,” Y/N said gently, pushing themselves to their feet and grabbing the coat off the back of their chair. Robin’s eyes widened and she choked on the last sip of beer she was attempting to finish. She sputtered and coughed, snagging Y/N’s attention. “Woah, are you okay?” Robin nodded, waving her hand to dissuade them from worrying. “Yes, just, wow.” She coughed once more. “You’re, uh, tall.” Y/N chuckled, offering to help her to her feet. “I get that a lot.” “It’s not a bad thing!” She rushed to say. “It’s a great thing.” She meant that.

Barney: Barney smirked to himself as he sipped away at his beer, content with the way his date was going so far. He arrived fashionably late - as always - and Y/N had already selected a table or the two of them at the bar. “I’ve already ordered your go-to,” Y/N said. Barney smirked. Maybe, just maybe, this one might last. Even just a little while. They talked and chatted for hours, about anything and everything, about values and mindless blabber. Then, just as Y/N excused themselves to go to the bathroom, Barney practically choked on his beer. He swallowed and tried to play it off, staring at them, craning his neck. “Wow,” he finally managed to say before they left. “You’re very, uh,” he hesitated, trying to find the right words to use that wouldn’t offend them. “Tall?” Y/N smirked and chuckled. “Hope that doesn’t threaten you.” With that, they left for the bathroom and Barney was left stunned, shocked that his date was just as confident as him, if not more so.

Marshall: Marshall fiddled with his fingers - a telltale sign that he was nervous - as he and Y/N made small talk. It had been a while since they had caught up - practically over a decade - but it was nice regardless. It felt so new. So strange. He wasn’t quite adjusted to seeing them again yet. “Hey, it was really good seeing you again.” Y/N said, setting their empty glass on the MacLaren's table. “It’s been too long since we actually got to hang out.” “Agreed,” Marshall said with a smile and nod. “Do you have a ride?” Y/N nodded at his question. “I do, thanks. Ordered a cab 20 minutes ago.” As they spoke, they stood, tossing their jacket over their left arm. “Holy--” Marshall caught himself before he blurted out what he was thinking. “You’re like a building.” Y/N smirked, chuckling to himself. “I get that a lot. More than you’d think.” “What kind of steroids are you taking?” He asked jokingly. Y/N pat his shoulder and started away without another word, just a smile.

Lily: Lily smiled, cheeks bright and full of life. Lily had run into a childhood friend at a coffee shop. It was her day off, and she was treating herself to a warm coffee and a brisk walk through the park to clear her head, but spotting Y/N, those plans went out the window. “It’s been so good to see you,” Lily said, squeezing Y/N’s hands sweetly from across the table. Just as the two went to stand, Lily’s eyes widened. “Woah!” Lily said, immediately clamping her hand over her mouth. She chuckled to herself nervously. “S-Sorry, you’re just so much,” she hesitated, “taller than I remember.” “The last time you saw me was, like, 5th grade.” “Exactly.” The two chuckled, Lily left in awe. Both of them had changed so much, especially Y/N, it seemed.

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘮 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 💌☕️♡

[nonsupe]

glad all this time hasn't skewed your judgement. " not a chance. " there are a thousand questions he wants to ask him, a thousand things he wants to say but bites his tongue. he needs time before all else, room to settle and breathe. the world is all together different and the same since he last saw of it, and he can't begin to imagine the toll that takes, even if minute in comparison to everything he'd been through. its one card stacked on top of the other in a fragile game waiting for the inevitable. forty years is a long time. stuck in a hellscape he couldn't get out of, it does something to the mind and shiloh has already heard the news of one break.

it wasn't his fault. none of it was his fault. everything that happened and will happen is on vought as a company, stan edgar, the individual members of payback and them alone. they have no idea whats coming for them. all in due time. there are things they have to take care of first, things shiloh has to take care of. namely him, leon. who takes steps cautiously after shiloh had taken his hand and led him to the kitchen. i won't hurt you, i could never hurt you, he wanted to say. deep down he's sure he already has.

he didn't find him. there are years worth of documents scattered in his office, newspaper clippings from every source he could get his hands on that held frankly zero leads but gave him a hope in earlier years; articles with theories and hundreds of satellite pictures of a frozen tundra, buildings circled in blood red ink and still, in spite of all of that, he never came. he doesn't even know if he came close. vought was good about burying certain secrets they never wanted to see the light of day again, most especially this one.

and it almost doesn't feel real, he hates that perhaps the most. that at any moment he swears that he'll wake up in the darkness of his home and there will be a familiarly empty space next to him: cold beckoning. he doesn't want this moment to end. he doesn't want to wake up.

double the order, he said and shiloh can only kind of laugh. it takes only a few clicks on his phone and its done, tucked away into his pocket when he's finished downing his water and already asking for something stronger. to which shiloh smiles and holds a finger up to him. i have just the thing. back turns to him for only a second, reaching above the fridge to pull down a saved bottle of scotch. a leon marshall favorite. " remember this? " a glance over his shoulder to him. he's still there. he's real. shiloh grabs two glasses on his way back to him, sets both on the counter and cracks it open. " i saved this after ... " after you disappeared, after i thought you were never coming back. steadily he pours leons glass first, then his own and sets the bottle between them. " for a rainy day. or a special occasion. "

it had been deadpan, the way he’d responded to shilohs first words after decades had passed between them.    𝗬𝗢𝗨'𝗥𝗘 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗠𝗬 𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘-𝗢𝗨𝗧, but something told leon that given the choice between take-out and this reunion that splayed between them, the other man would’ve chosen this—— this very moment.  because frankly leon would’ve chose it as well, especially with the agreement that yes he was indeed better than any take-out shiloh would get in the previous lifetime, in this lifetime and the lifetimes beyond it however many there end up being. the moment felt like no time had passed, like he hadn’t stepped out of what essentially had been a time capsule, like he was just coming home from the   ‘ routine ’ mission it was supposed to have been. “ glad all this time hasn’t skewed your judgement. ” and those are the reminder words that snap him back to the reality in front of them.

leon could feel shiloh’s chocolate eyes upon him, and he isn’t sure if the other man was waiting for an explanation as to why he’d been gone so long. then it dawned on him, shiloh probably knew, not the details but that vought had something to do with it—— they always had something to do with something. it was something leon held within his mind, ever since frederick vought died, the father of compound v, the company would never look out for his, for shiloh’s, for anyones well-being. that much had been evident when he’d found out vought had been behind his ‘death’, when he’d seen stan edgar standing up in that window on his special training grounds in russia. for that moment he thought the novichok and everything else they had been pumping into his veins had finally made him completely insane.

he doesn’t even want to think about kenneth baker his imposter, the rest of payback, how they’d put on the crocodile tears. doesn’t want to think about how they’d constructed multiple memorials in his honor only to be the ones responsible for it, orchestrated for months. if voughts first and golden boy wasn’t safe, it truly meant anyone under the companys thumb was too. somewhere along the span of time, it had become less and less about ‘doing what was right’ and more about how much money they could make, how much their companys empire could grow. and it seemed shiloh had become subdued to it, not that leon exactly blamed him for it. the lesson not to speak against vought, was learned perhaps at his ‘death’.   leon was glad the other man was there, standing before him, seemingly physically unharmed. he doesn’t know how much his anger would hold if he had returned and the one person he could trust  (loosely) was no longer breathing.

from what legend told him, bits of pieces that he didn’t care to take too much to heart because the older man was a pathological liar afterall, payback was no longer team. in fact, they’d somehow dropped in ratings which had made him snort. while leon had remained high in ratings even after all those years, no matter how much of him vought tried to bury—— they’d still wanted to make money off of him. typical. it also had been a big risk of him to show up there, considering his explosive exit from his captivity back in russia. but the moment he’d learned about where his actual ‘relics’ ; his shield, his eagle-headed knife, his helmet, the complete package of his suit, that was the end of his interaction with all people of his former life until this very moment.

when it came to payback, he had and still was infuriated, when it came to anything vought he was infuriated. at one point in time, he’d been infuriated with everyone in his life, including shiloh. It was hard not to think of EVERYONE else as the enemy when no one came for him—— strapped to that table naked, the most vulnerable he had ever felt,   ( save for the time he had to wait three days before his legs grew back, but the situation had been entirely different,  there were people he could rely on ). on that cold table, taking whatever they decided to do to him that day, wishing so desperately that he could go home;    if the iv wasn’t such a high dose, if he hadn’t have felt so powerless. those moments were perhaps the ones where he was the most scared, considering the varying change in the way he was before compound v, bruising so easily   to being the strongest man in the world. but standing here before shiloh, he wondered why he even grouped the man with the rest of them in the first place. 

there was visible sadness etched behind the other man’s chocolate eyes he sought to hide, and leon knew there was an echoed sadness behind his. but it’s there, and he knew it was because he’d spent fighting alongside the other man, the soft way his heart raced when leons dirty hand found it’s way to cradle shilohs face. he allowed his thumb to brush over his cheek, no words uttered because he was afraid he’d sound unsure of him, of the moment he was reading between them. shiloh loved him there hadn’t been any doubt beyond what happened prior. he hadn’t flinched away from his touch but felt like he moved closer to that touch. and what leon felt back upon his own cheek, shilohs rough hands with the most reverent touch he’d had in over multiple decades. no, he didn’t wish to speak because there would’ve been a crack to his voice.

instead, they lingered like that in disbelief of each other when finally leon had spoken. humor, clipped phrases almost to disguise himself, to keep the appearance; calm  &  collected. he had to be reasonable with this but he’d also been hoping that shiloh would catch on to the double entendre implicated with his   ravenous. because food wasn’t the only thing his body was craving. he hadn’t even touched himself since he’d escaped, hadn’t allowed himself a moment to spare for it not without footing in this strange new land, yet still the same.

the awkwardness was not missed from the other man, but in-fact when it reared it’s head, leon had often been too amused by it to tease him,  this time was no exception. shiloh stepped away, let his hand fall from leons bearded cheek. other hand came up to take leons own hand away from shilohs cheek. he could fight it, stick close to the door just in case shiloh had become a good actor in his feelings,  however, he doesn’t. dirty sneakers squeak as he shuffled after the other man being lead deeper into the apartment.

hand now rested upon the counter, things were different yet still the same. the same counter where he fucked the other man senseless,   the different appliances and products residing there in the kitchen.  the same hands that now gathered a glass with water and slid it over.  his hand lifted to catch the glass as it glided across the counter. from the tap, otherwise he knew he would’ve questioned it.  his finger circled the rim of the glass, he shrugged…. “ double the order. ” before lifting the glass to his lips and downing the whole thing in almost record time. It’s placed back on the counter, “ you got anything fucking stronger?     ”

[aperrywilliams]

That Wicked Love - Part 3 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)

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Author Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: Spencer pinned after you for two years until he dared to ask you out. Everything looks amazing until the second date comes around and Spencer stands you up. After disappearing for three months, he comes back, but things turned complicated enough to change your lives forever.

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: 18+ / MINORS DNI. Not actually explicit smut, but heavy topics. Having sex is mentioned. The main characters discuss pregnancy and abortion topics. Angst and some fluffy in this part. Dad!Spencer saving the day.

A/N: Part 3 is here. Tell me what you think!

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The team was stuck. Any lead was an end road. Besides the geographical profile, they agreed that the unsub was a male, in his early forties, with a nonestablished job, and without a partner or family. He must have a house in his comfort zone, but he is not planning to stay longer. There weren’t more abductions, so it was probably he wanted to leave DC soon. That meant he had a big vehicle to move with the kids.

Garcia's calling opened new hope for the team.

“Go ahead, Garcia,” Emily prompted.

“I’m still digging into the families’ backgrounds, but something came up in my research. Theo’s dad two years ago sued Theo’s mom for the child’s custody. That is not odd, you would say, but what is unusual is that in the allegation’s file, mister Marshall accused Theo’s mom of an abortion attempt. Finally, the accusation was dismissed because they couldn't prove his allegations. But! I dug into Ms. Marshall's financial records and I found a deposit to Parable Services four years ago. Parable Services is the financial company that represents Larson Clinic. Can you guess what Larson Clinic does?”

“Is an abortion clinic,” JJ filled.

“That’s right,” Garcia pointed.

“So, if this was four years ago, she paid for an abortion she didn't do?” Luke questioned.

“It’s very personal information. That so even the ex-husband couldn't track it,” Tara added.

“Okay, what are we seeing here?” Emily mused.

“A motive,” Rossi suggested. “Ms. Marshall ‘doesn't deserve’ to be Theo's mom.”

“That’s Theo’s case. What about the others?”

“I checked, but the only one that had some kind of relation to the Larson Clinic is Melissa Green, Dominic’s mom. I found nothing about the Roberts and the (Y/L/N)s.”

“Well, two of four. We need to ask the other moms,” Emily instructed. JJ, talk to Andrea Roberts. Tara, talk to (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Okay, but even if they had some connection, how did the unsub know about that? There are no files in the Clinic.” Spencer intervened.

“They had to tell someone,” Rossi concluded.

Spencer was afraid about how you would react to talking about the topic, so he discretely asked Emily if he could speak to you. Maybe you would not be amused talking to him, but at least it was someone you knew.

-

You were alone in a room. A police officer told you that an FBI agent wanted to talk to you. You assumed it was agent Lewis. But minutes later, Spencer showed. You looked at him in confusion. He had two coffee cups, handing one to you.

“It’s not the best coffee, but it helps,” he offered.

You grabbed the coffee.

“What’s wrong? Do you have news? I thought agent Lewis wanted to talk to me.”

“We need more information from the parents. It is pretty sensitive information, though. So I offered to talk to you. But if you feel uncomfortable talking to me about it, I can call Tara,” Spencer pointed.

“About what?” You asked defensively.

“About you thinking of doing an abortion procedure five years ago,” Spencer mumbled, analyzing your micro-expressions.

“What? Why? I don't know what I have to do with that. I don’t understand how that helps find my daughter,” you spat.

“I know. I know. Trust me, we wouldn't mention it if we didn't think it was important,” Spencer tried to explain. He knew the topic wasn’t easy to approach, but it could give a clue about the unsub.

You looked at him, seeing the seriousness on his face. Spencer wasn’t asking that to bother you. You still didn't know how that could help, but if he were right, you wouldn't forgive yourself for denying information to find Olivia.

After taking a sip of your coffee, you spoke.

“Okay. What do you want to know?”

“How do you find the Larson Clinic? And what else knew about that?”

You sighed to collect your thoughts and then spoke.

“Well. I wasn't quite sure about what to do. I mean, if I wanted to keep it. But I knew that I needed to get checked anyway, so I went to the medical center. They tested me, and I got an appointment with the obstetrician. She asked me what I wanted to do because she saw I was still in shock and alone. I couldn't ask anyone to go with me.”

You bit your lower lip. Those memories looked so far away, but you remembered clearly. Spencer kept his mouth shut, although he wanted to scream all the apologies he felt you deserved.

“She told me I had options. I asked about the abortion procedure, and she said that it depended on when I would take the decision. She handed me some brochures. One of them was from the clinic. I made an appointment, but I didn't show up. I was outside the building, but I didn't dare to come in.”

“So you didn't talk with any doctor or nurse from there. That's why there is no record of you. Did you tell anyone?”

“No. Nobody. I secluded myself for a month, thinking about what I really wanted to do. Just then, I decided to continue my pregnancy, and I told my sister.”

“And after that. Recently. Did you mention this to someone?”

“Recently? No. I never...” You stopped talking. Something came to your mind.

“What’s it?” Spencer questioned.

“I went to my obstetrician some time ago—a routine check. They were packed, and I sat beside a young girl, just beside the receptionist's desk. I remember because the spot was very uncomfortable. The girl was crying. I asked if she was okay, and she gave me that look. The same look I had when I went to my first appointment, and I didn't know what to do. She asked me if I had kids and if I ever had doubts. I told her my story. I surely mentioned the abortion option. It should have been because the guy at the desk heard us and gave me a disapproved look.”

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“Did you mention the name’s clinic?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. No, wait. She asked me if I knew that clinic. I told her yes.”

“Where do you go to your appointments?”

“It’s the medical center near where I live. I have had that obstetrician for years now. You don’t think that...?” Spencer cut you off.

“Tell me about the guy that heard you both talking. He works regularly there?”

You thought about that for a couple of seconds.

“I guess. I saw him a few times, but he is not the receptionist; I think he handles the medical records for the doctors? I don’t know.”

Spencer nodded. The gears in his mind were moving faster.

“That helps?”

“It may. Wait here for a second. Please.”

Spencer rushed out, possibly to talk to his team, you thought. Has this guy something to do with Olivia's kidnapping?

Non fifteen minutes later, Spencer brought a tablet. He handed it to you. There were some people's pictures.

“Can you recognize who the guy was?”

Swiping the tablet, I checked all the pictures until you found the guy’s one.

“This one. This is the guy,” you pointed to the pic. Spencer grabbed his cellphone and dialed a number.

“Garcia, it's Andrew White. Get everything you can of him, then call the team. Thank you.”

You frowned, looking at Spencer.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” You demanded. Spencer cleared his throat.

“We profiled that the unsub, I mean, the suspect, is a man in his early forties. The guy has a huge resentment that makes him think the children's parents don’t deserve them. Somehow we tracked the Larson Clinic with one of the mothers.”

“You are telling me that the guy is pissed off because, at some point, I thought of doing an abortion?” You asked in disbelief. Spencer nodded. Your eyes filled with tears.

“But it's not your fault or these parents’ fault,” Spencer assured you.

“Sure. People think I’m a monster for even considering. I can imagine what they think about a woman who did it,” you huffed. “They don’t know what it is like. How lost you can feel. Is everything on you. If even someone could be there supporting you.” You were fully crying now. Spencer felt the ache in his chest. It was his fault. He left you alone. He didn't care.

“I’m sorry. I ran like a coward,” he mumbled. You nodded.

“You did. But it's done. I have Olivia, and I’m happy with my decision. Now I only want to have her in my arms again,” you sniffled. Spencer tentatively rubbed your forearm.

“We’re going to find her. I promise.”

You bit your lower lip in an attempt to stop sobbing.

“Please, bring her back with me.”

Someone opened the door and poked her head. It was agent Lewis.

“Reid. We need you right now.”

Your eyes widened, and you looked at Spencer.

“I have to go now. But my promise remains standing.”

You didn’t see Spencer again for thirty minutes until the whole team raced out of the meeting room, FBI vest on, and Emily shouted directions to everyone.

You rushed to Spencer to ask what was happening. He halted and looked you in the eyes.

“We have a location. But I can’t assure you that all the kids are there. You need to stay here, please.”

“My daughter is out there, Spencer! You can’t ask me that!” You fought. He took your hands in his, not thinking of anything more than offering some comfort.

“I know. But you need to stay. I know you don't trust me, and I understand. But trust in my team; they are good at this job. I promise we are bringing her back,” he assured you before leaving the police station.

Andrew White was the unsub. Besides being an employee of the medical center where you and Ms. Roberts had your obstetrician, he has a sister working in the Larson Clinic who had access to the medical records.

Why did he do it?

His ex-girlfriend had an abortion four years ago while they were still together, without saying anything to him. And he found out in a discussion they had weeks ago that ended in a police report of domestic violence. His child would have been 3 or 4 years old now. He delved into the medical records of those moms who attend the medical center where he works and those that could have an appointment in the Larson clinic.

He chose Ann, Theo, Olivia, and Dominic because they matched both criteria and were those who lived in the neighborhoods he frequented. For the unsub, their parents didn't deserve them for even doubt about having them. He thought he could do a better job taking care of the kids.

-

The SUVs parked around the unsub house. Everyone moved fast. A SWAT team was supporting the task, but only Emily could approve or not when to get in. The house’s blueprint that Garcia got, showed a huge basement where the kids could be. Two entrances - in front and back - and a third was located in a gallery connected to the backyard.

“Okay, Matt and JJ, to the front entrance. Tara and Luke, the back entrance. Reid and I will go to the third entrance,” Emily instructed. Rossi looked at her, confused. She was leading the strategy; why did she want to go inside?

Emily knew two things: she couldn't prevent Reid from going inside, and he needed support in case he faced the unsub, and she was the only one who knew why he was struggling. She would help him, no matter what.

Gun in hand, the pairs broke into the house. The light wasn’t working, so everyone used their flashlights. The place was suspiciously quiet. On the main floor, they only found traces in the kitchen: there were several glasses and milk bottles. On the counter, there were cereal boxes and cereal bar wrappers—a lot of food for one person.

JJ and Matt took the stairs to the second floor. Tara, Luke, Emily, and Spencer headed to the two entrances to the basement.

Once there, they couldn’t see the unsub, but they could hear the metal sound that probably belonged to chains. Tara and Matt located two cages where Ann and Theo were, sitting in a corner wrapped in a dirty blanket.

“We have Ann and Theo!” Matt shouted.

Emily and Spencer only found tools and a workstation when they hoped to run into Dominic and Olivia. Spencer let out a frustrated sigh. But Emily shushed him when she heard a faint cry behind the wall. It was a boy’s cry. Dominic.

“This is a fake wall,” she concluded. Spencer freaked out, realizing that the unsub was escaping with Olivia to a secret hall that could lead to the gallery entrance. “I have to come back to that entrance. You all tear down this wall and get Dominic,” he said, running upstairs.

Spencer’s hunch was correct: when he entered the gallery, he met face to face with the unsub. He had Olivia in his arms.

“Andrew White! FBI! Stop right there!” Spencer yelled, aiming his gun at the unsub.

Andrew had a gun too and pointed it at Olivia, who was squirming in his arms.

“Don’t come closer, or I'll kill her!”

Spencer's heartbeats speed up. The adrenaline of seeing his daughter for the first time, and in the hands of an unsub, made him feel like this wasn’t real. But it was.

“No! You don’t have to do that! We can talk about this,” Spencer bargained. He needed that Andrew put his gun down.

“I don't wanna talk! I want to get out of here!” Andrew spat, tightening the grip of his gun and pointing to Olivia’s temple. The child stopped squirming in his captor’s arms, but she looked confused. The girl seemed like she was about to cry. That surely would upset Andrew, so Spencer needed to do something.

“Okay! Okay. Let me talk to Olivia then,” Spencer’s gaze shifted to Olivia. “Hey, Olivia. My name is Spencer. It's okay; this man doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s mad at me, not you. Don’t cry, sweetheart. Everything is going to be okay. You need to be brave, okay? I know you can do that,” Spencer encouraged her. The little girl looked at him and nodded, sniffling a bit.

Andrew's gaze darted between Spencer and Olivia. He was scaring her, and it shouldn't be happening this way.

“Just let me go,” Andrew begged, now not yelling.

“I can’t do that. But I know what Rita did. And it was so unfair to you. I can understand how you feel...”

“You don’t know anything! She killed my baby! She had no right to do that!” The man sobbed.

At that moment, Emily and the rest of the team joined Spencer from different spots, holding their guns and not even blinking, eyes focused on Andrew and Olivia.

“I had the right to know! She knew I wanted to be a father! She knew I wanted a little girl like her,” Andrew said, looking at Olivia. “I can give her a better life than the monster who thought she wasn't worthy of having.”

Spencer was grateful that Andrew didn't mention (Y/N)’s name in front of Olivia. He lowered his gun and holstered it, so Andrew didn't see him as a threat.

“Please, let Olivia go. She doesn't need to be in this. She already has a family. I’m so sorry that Rita tore that from you. I assure you this is different for Olivia. If you want her to be happy, you need to let her go,” Spencer insisted. Andrew hesitated. He really didn't want to hurt the little girl, but his anger blurred his senses.

“Tell that bitch that it’s her fault,” the unsub mumbled, letting go of Olivia, dropping to his knees, and tossing the gun. Arms behind his head.

Olivia, out of instinct, ran to Spencer, who knelt to hug her.

“Hey. Everything it's okay. You are safe now,” Spencer mumbled in the little girl’s hair. “You’re okay.”

“I want my mommy,” Olivia cried in Spencer's arms.

“I know, sweetheart. She wants to see you too. She is waiting for you at the police station,” Spencer assured her as he pick her in his arms to walk out of the house. Olivia stopped crying but still sniffled a bit, wrapping his arms around Spencer's neck. “Before we need to see a doctor, okay? To check you’re alright.”

“To see my boo-boos?” Olivia asked. Spencer smiled at her.

“Yeah. We need to be sure that your boo-boos go away soon.”

“They hurt,” the little girl protested.

“I know. We’re going to give you some medicine for that. It’s that okay?”

“Okay…”

Spencer could have exploded with emotion right then and there. His child. His daughter. Even if she never would know who he was, her embrace was everything to him. She was safe now. It was all that mattered.

“Are you a cop?” Olivia asked Spencer as the paramedics checked on her. Spencer never left her side.

“Yeah. Kind of. I work in the FBI. You know what it is that?” Olivia kept thinking for a while.

“The cops with cool cars? Mommy always says that they have cool cars.” Spencer chuckled.

“Yeah. The cops with cool cars.”

“Wow. You have one?” Olivia asked excitedly.

“I don’t own one, but I can use one. Do you want to see it? We’ll ride one to the station to meet your mommy.”

“Yes! Awesome!”

-

You were pacing in the precinct as the other children's parents. Forty-five minutes passed, and still no news. That, until you heard a commotion at the station’s entrance. You saw agent Lewis with Ann in her arms, the blonde agent that spotted you talking to Spencer with Theo in her arms, and another agent with Dominic.

Where is Olivia?

Before you could freak out, you saw Olivia on Spencer's arms, secured to his hip. The little girl had wrapped her arms around his neck and had hidden her head on Spencer's chest.

She was alive. She was okay. You could breathe again.

“Liv! Liv!” You shouted.

The little girl perked up her head at the sound of you calling for her.

“Mommy!”

Spencer quickly put her down on the floor. Immediately her tiny legs ran to you, as you crouched and hugged her right when the girl collided with your chest.

You cried. All the tension from the past hours poured outside in the form of muffled sobs in Olivia's head.

“Why are you crying, mommy?” Olivia asked, confused.

“They are happy tears. Don’t worry, my Liv. It's just that mommy missed you so much,” you explained.

“I missed you too. The bad man didn't want me to come back. But Spencer hypnotized him, and he let me go! Spencer was with me when the doctor healed my boo-boos too. And we ride here in a cool car!” Olivia recounted. Then you looked up, and you saw Spencer and his whole team watching you. You were grateful to them, but a sense of protectiveness aroused in you. Spencer had glassy eyes, but he didn't dare say anything to you.

“That’s awesome, Liv. Well, we have to go home now. Say thank you to these nice people who brought you back.”

Olivia turned and walked to Spencer and his team.

“Thank you. For bringing me back to my mommy,” the little girl said to the team.

Spencer could die at that precise moment.

“You’re welcome, Olivia. Take care, okay?” Spencer spoke, his voice trembling.

“Okay. Can I hug you?” She asked suddenly. Spencer's eyes widened. There is nothing that he wanted more, but would you be okay with that? He looked at you. You bit your bottom lip, trying to keep your tears at bay, but nodded nonetheless. Spencer mouthed you a “thank you.”

“Yes, you can, Olivia.” Spencer crouched and opened his arms. The little girl giggled and wrapped his tiny arms around Spencer's neck.

If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. The team watched in disbelief how Spencer hugged his carbon copy in the body of Olivia (Y/L/N).

“Okay, Liv. Time to go,” you announced.

Olivia returned where you were. You grabbed her hand and walked out of the police station.

Spencer saw how you left, with a part of him grabbing your hand.

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

Spencer Reid’s Taglist: @dreatine​ @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @tvandfanfic​

[montammil]

Love this series ❤️ as a request: maybe Marshall going catatonic! Looks like this situation is getting too frightening for him 😔

Tysm!! I hope this is okay, feel free to request again!!

CW: Catatonic state, parental whumper, (kind of) forced feeding, food, slight infantilization

...

It's been three days since Marshall said anything, let alone ate. Lawrence has been watching him for a couple of minutes now, standing outside his door. Marshall didn't turn around or meet his gaze, just continued lying in bed, curled up in a ball.

Gingerly, Lawrence opens the door all the way. He sees Marshall staring blankly at the ceiling. He's not even crying anymore, so he guesses that's a good sign, right? "Marshall?"

Still nothing.

Feeling anxious, he sits down beside the younger and slowly reaches over, holding onto the young man's trembling hand. "Kiddo, you've barely spoke for what, three days now? At least eat for me. I made your favorite!" His attemptingly coaxing words fall onto deaf ears, Marshall not reacting in any way.

Lawrence grows more concerned. "Do you want an apology? If so, I'm sorry. I only hurt you because you need to learn, sweetie. You can't just run off like that."

Jaw tensing, a single tear falls down Marshall's cheek. He wipes it quickly and lays back down in bed, ignoring Lawrence completely.

"You need to eat," Lawrence says more sternly. "I won't let you starve yourself like this any longer. Come on. Up."

Marshall doesn't move an inch. It's hard to tell if he really blocked Lawrence and his voice out, or if he's truly just ignoring him. His eyes have the blankest expression he ever seen from him. Usually they were filled with fear.

For once, he misses that fearful look. At least then, Marshall would eat and talk. Now he just lies there.

Lawrence picks him up. On the bright side, Marshall doesn't flinch or fight him. It's not improvement by any means, but at least that makes carrying him easier.

"Eat," Lawrence insists. He puts a plate of lemon basil shrimp pasta in front of him, which he recalls Marshall loving the last time he made it, more than anything else he cooked. He sits across from him and stares. "Please," he adds, almost desperately.

Marshall doesn't move. Still. He looks down at the food, not saying a word.

"Marshall." Lawrence grabs his hand, which is lying on the table. "Why are you acting like this? Are you still angry at me? Did you hit your head? Tell me something, please. Even if you're angry at me."

Pressing his fingers against the back of Marshall's hand, Lawrence waits for a reply, any kind of reply, but is still met with nothing.

"Okay," he sighs. "You aren't leaving this table until you eat everything on that plate, young man, do you understand me?" Nothing. Lawrence's eyes narrow. "I asked you a question, Marshall."

Marshall blinks, but that's the farthest reaction he's gotten all day.

Lawrence pinches the bridge of his nose and stands. He kneels down, grabs the spoon of food and hovers a hand underneath it in case some falls off. "Alright, open up, Marshy."

When he doesn't react, Lawrence pushes it against his lips and Marshall doesn't argue, he even swallows it. It starts to make Lawrence wonder if he really isn't ignoring him. Sure, he loves actually getting to take care of him, but knowing it's only because Marshall is going into some catatonic state… it makes him sad to know.

"Good boy," Lawrence mutters, patting his head when he eats everything from the spoon. He puts the dishes away in the sink, then looks back at him. He's still staring blankly. It keeps getting more and more worrying.

Lawrence tries to think of a solution, but his mind can't conjure up one. "Just snap out of it, Marshall, please. Whatever you want, I can get you. Do you want a pet? I don't mind getting a dog or cat, or-- or whatever you want! We… we could even take a vacation somewhere! Anywhere you want. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Marshall slowly looks up at him, but still doesn't say anything.

"Please…" Lawrence runs a stressed hand through his hair. He doesn't know how to win this, so he ends up just picking him up and carrying him to the couch. He gets a navy blue blanket from his room, then wraps it around him, pulling him tightly to his side. If Marshall won't react to anything, at least he can do this without the boy tensing or trying to pull away.

For at least ten minutes, the room is silent, Lawrence hoping Marshall will say something. He makes a mental note to call a doctor soon, one that he knows he can trust.

Worriedly, Lawrence kisses Marshall's forehead. "I love you, honey."

Marshall rocks back and forth, the first bit of movement he gave all day without being commanded to do so, but he's still out of it. "I love you," he repeats quietly.

Lawrence wishes he could be excited hearing those words for the first time, but he can tell by Marshall's demeanor that means nothing. He sighs shakily and tries to pretend Marshall meant that. He presses another kiss to his forehead and turns on the TV, turning it to a documentary about constellations and planets. He knows that interests Marshall, even if he doubts Marshall will pay attention to it.

Cradling him in his arms, Lawrence rubs his back gently as he continues looking at the TV.

He doesn't mind it all that much if it means they can end up like this… He can just pretend, even for a moment, that Marshall loves him just as much as he loves him.

[storiesforallfandoms]

delayed ~ eminem

word count: 1133

request?: yes!

“Hey, here is your new follower and lover of your writing ♥ ️, I need more imagine of Eminem I feel they do not value it, so here is a request, Reader is a young actress and is recording abroad and Marshall started his tour a much bigger one, and reader promised her that she would be there during her entire tour from the beginning, but she is delayed because she has to record one more week the movie in which she is the protagonist but she arrives by surprise at the first show of the tour and stays for the whole tour and there are many moments of soft, tender and somewhat hot you know in the dressing room.”

description: in which he thinks she’s going to miss his first show, only to be surprised when he goes on stage

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

I could see the look of disappointment on Marshall’s face as I told him the news, although he was trying not to show his face too much on camera. “They’re making you stay an extra week?”

“Unfortunately,” I sighed. “Some last minute reshoots are supposed to happen this week apparently. I did tell them about the tour.”

“I know you did. It’s not your fault you’re a big movie star now.”

I smiled a little at his comment. “I’ll join you eventually.”

“I know. I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Once my phone screen went black, I smiled up at my co-star who was sat across from me in my trailer. She smiled back as she placed another item in my suitcase. “Damn girl, you even had me believing you.”

“They don’t call me the next big thing for nothing,” I joked.

The truth is, there was no extra week of reshoots. We had finished the film earlier that day and now one of my co-stars was helping me to pack my things. I was supposed to fly to Michigan the following day to join Marshall on his latest tour. With filming ending so much earlier than expected, I managed to switch my flight for that night instead.

I decided not to tell Marshall this though. I wanted it to be a surprise. Very rarely did I ever get the chance to surprise him the way he often surprised me. I had it all planned out, I just needed help to work on one last detail.

I said goodbye to the cast and crew I had become so close to the past few months and climbed into my Uber. As we drove towards the airport, I called the only person that could help enact my plan.

“Hey (Y/N),” Paul said as he answered the phone. “Everything alright?”

“Everything’s great! I just need to ask you for a favor, but you can’t even mention it to Marshall, okay?”

He was silent for so long that I thought he was going to say no. I nearly sighed with relief when he finally said, “I’m intrigued. Go on.”

~~~~~~

The next night, I was stood outside the side door of the arena Marshall was meant to perform in. I was trying to hide myself the best I could from passing fans, as I waited for someone to come open the door for me.

Paul finally arrived just minutes before the concert was supposed to start. “I couldn’t get away without seeming suspicious. I had to get Denaun to call me so I could pretend to have to step out.”

Security guided me to the front row without being spotted by Marshall. The other fans in the front row were ecstatic to see me, and I agreed to take pictures under the circumstances that nothing would be posted to social media until after the concert.

The lights went down and the audience went wild. The familiar beat to Marshall’s opening song started playing as the spotlight on stage lit up where Marshall would emerge. When he did, the cheers were so loud I could barley hear his voice.

I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I watched him perform. He looked so in his element, the way he did whenever he was working on music. I wondered if he’d even see me there in the front during the show. Even if he didn’t, Paul was going to get me backstage to surprise him at the end of the show.

During the first point of the show in which Marshall and Denaun had a banter with each other and the audience, the fans surrounding me started to yell together to try and get their attention.

“What are y’all yelling about down here?” Denaun asked, although he definitely knew what it was about. “They’re saying for us to look down there.”

Marshall’s eyes trailed to the group that was still yelling in my ears, finally landing on me.

“Oh shit!” he said, not realizing his mic was still raised to his mouth.

I smiled at him, longing to hug him tightly and to kiss him for the firs time in months, but I knew he wasn’t a fan of PDA. Instead, I waved and blew him a kiss and watched his face brighten with excitement.

“We’ll talk about this after the show,” he stated. “Can one of the security bring my girl backstage? I can’t focus while she’s here, she’s too distracting.”

The same security as earlier helped me to get backstage while the concert continued. I watched from the sidelines, now getting a perfect view of both Marshall and all of his fans as he performed. I loved when I was able to go on tour with him because I loved to watch the excitement of the fans as well as all the heart and soul Marshall put into his performances. It was always a rush, even though I wasn’t the one participating in the concert.

Before I knew it, the show came to an end and Marshall came rushing off stage. He had me in his arms within seconds, lifting me off of the ground and kissing me with so much force it made me dizzy. Around us, those who were in on the surprise were laughing at his reaction.

“I thought you were delayed!” he said once he finally put me down.

“The opposite, actually,” I responded. “We finished filming early, so I decided to get an earlier flight to come and visit you!”

“But how did you...” He trailed off as he looked up at Paul, who had what could only be described as a shit eating grin on his face. “You helped her with this, didn’t you?”

“I thought you deserved a good surprise,” Paul responded with a shrug. “When she called, I answered. I got Denaun in on the plan, too, so he could help.”

“So did everyone know except me?” Marshall asked.

“Basically,” Paul replied with a shrug.

I giggled as Marshall hugged me again, quickly capturing my lips with his once more.

“Does this mean you’re coming on tour with me now?” he asked.

“If you still want me to.”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do! I can’t tour without my favorite girl.”

I smiled and kissed his cheek once again. Marshall threw an arm over my shoulder and started leading me back to his dressing room. Paul and Denaun started following at first, which caused Marshall to pause. “Could you guys give us some privacy?”

“Man, in the dressing room?” Paul groaned. “We’re gonna owe this venue so much.”

Neither of us were listening at this point. Marshall whisked me away, closing the dressing room door behind him and locking it.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Clone Wars Preferences: You Have an Extended Stay in Medbay (Bad Batch + “Regs”)

(Author’s Note:  Heyyooo, I hope this preference finds you well.

Whether you’ve had surgery, are healing from an injury, or for any reason had to be at the hospital for a while, or if you just need some Clone Wars comfort, this is for you.  I love and pray for you all, and I hope this puts a smile on your face).

“Regs”

   Rex: For the first visit, he’d arrive almost in a panic after hearing that you were in the medbay.  He’d calm down after a few minutes and focus on being there for you.  Rex wouldn’t want to overwhelm you, so he’d probably ask when it was a good time to visit and how often because he didn’t want to show up too frequently and disturb you if you preferred to rest alone, but he also didn’t want to visit you too infrequently and have you feel lonely.  Rex would be a little mother-hen when he visited, fluffing your pillow, asking if you wanted the blinds open or closed more, and making sure you always had water or a snack.  Don’t be surprised if sometimes he walks in, and you see some of the other 501st at the door peeking in to say “hi” because they all heard you were there.

   Cody: He would be at your room right away if he found out you were in medbay, though he could be a little more calm and collected.  He’d ask you how you’re doing or if you needed anything.  Cody would visit as much as he could.  Being the marshal commander meant he had a lot more responsibility, but he’d manage to get away for you.  Cody would be Mr. Smooth talking to the doctors and being able to have nice conversation with everyone to lighten the mood.  He might be a little too fussy every now and then and call the nurse in too many times to get you something and make sure you’re settled, but it’s because he cares and wants to make sure you are comfortable.  Sometimes he’ll bring Waxer and Boil with him if you were in the mood for more company.

   Fives: You can count on him being a little extra and showing up to your room for the first time with a balloon and a get-well-soon teddy bear.  He’d be very relaxed, talking about the usual things like his work as an ARC trooper, drama in the barracks, and listening to your stories as well, and his familiar presence would be just what you wanted.  Fives would definitely visit as much as he could, but not so frequently to bug you.  If he could manage it, he’d try to bring to food that wasn’t the usual rations they served at medbay.  He would of course get you anything you needed, but wouldn’t want to irritate you by being over-the-top fussy.  Once in a while, Echo would tag along to chat with you and hang out.

   Echo: This man would arrive at your room for the first visit and ask lots of questions.  His way of showing that he cares is he wants to be as helpful as possible, so he’d probably have access to health databases and would look up your situation and figure out the best things he could do to help.  He’d also be quite mother-hen and want to make sure you were comfortable as possible, but in a pleasant way while the two of you chatted about a variety of things.  Maybe you’d discuss something you’d read recently or share a funny story.  Either way, it would be a nice time whenever he visited, which was frequent.  You could count on him to be there like clockwork.  If he felt you were in the mood for more company or needed it, he’d bring Fives with him (who was already bugging him constantly to see you).

Wolffe:  Though he’d be worried, Wolffe would show up and be somewhat quiet.  He was frustrated for you (not at you) about your having to be in the medbay for a long time, but didn’t want to add to your stress by showing it.  He just didn’t want you in any pain.  After a visit or two, he’d be a little more talkative and better company.  Wolffe wouldn’t always know what it was you needed, so he’d insist you simply tell him, and he’d very gladly get it for you, whether it was a cup of water, another blanket, or something to read.  He might not visit frequently at first because the last thing he wanted to do was bother you, but if you reassured him that you enjoyed his company, he’d visit a lot more.  Don’t be surprised if he falls asleep and ends up spending the night in the chair next to your bed every once in a while because he hates leaving you and wants to be by your side.  Sometimes, a few members of the Wolfpack would stop by to see how you’re doing and bring you a little gift.

Bad Batch

   Hunter: He’d show up to your room and walk in with your favorite snack when he heard you were in medbay.  He’s cool as a cucumber and might ask a few questions if you’re comfortable before moving on to other topics.  Hunter would be a soothing presence whenever he visited.  Sometimes the two of you would simply sit in a comfortable silence to read or watch a holovid.  He’d visit pretty frequently, but also ask you every time whether you were up for company or not.  He’d be pretty in tune to your needs and grab you water or request another blanket before you even needed to ask.  At one point, he’d bring a plant to set on the table and lighten the atmosphere.  Every now and then, the rest of the Bad Batch would follow him to the medbay and all spill in at once to see how you’re doing and overwhelm you with questions before Hunter had to tell them to tone it down. 

   Wrecker: This man would be a little over-the-top from the first time he visited.  He’d show up with a big stuffed animal and talk a little loudly when asking how you’re doing and if you needed anything.  Eventually, he’d calm down a bit and be quite tender with you.  If you needed anything, he’d want to make sure you got it right away.  His smile wouldn’t leave his face as the two of you talked.  Wrecker might visit so frequently, but would understand if you needed some alone time.   He’d also be chatting with the people in the next room over and bringing them stuff when he made snack runs for you.  His kindness and upbeat attitude would lighten the mood for everyone in your hall, especially you.  On a day you were up for it, he’d bring the rest of his squad in for an afternoon to hang out and catch up.

   Tech: He’d arrive at your room for the first time and ask how you’re feeling while he did his own scans and analysis.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the medbay, but it gave him a sense of comfort to know what was going on and how he could help.  He’d also bring you a little stuffed animal in hopes it would make you smile.  His visits would be frequent, but would understand if you asked to be alone for a while.  He could be a little fussy about the silliest of things like the position of the holo-screen so you could better watch holovids from your bed or even how many windows were in your room.  It was his way of showing he cared and wanted you to be comfortable.  In the end, he was good company and spent his visits talking with you about anything and everything interesting.  He’d talk with you for hours and into the evening, and he might even hang his head over and fall asleep in the chair beside your bed.  Tech wouldn’t want to overwhelm you, so he’d bring one of his squad members to see you at a time.

   Crosshair: He’d show up at your room after hearing you were in medbay, leaning against the doorframe for a moment.  He wouldn’t be as good at medbay visits, so wouldn’t really know what to do.  Of course he wanted you to be comfortable, but he wasn’t quite sure how to help.  Eventually, he’d start to warm up a bit and talk with you, which still wasn’t a whole lot but Crosshair was never really the conversationalist.  He would be glad when you asked for something because then he’d have a better idea of what you needed and could get it for you.  Crosshair might not visit a whole lot at first because he didn’t want to bother you, but would start to visit more frequently when he realized you enjoyed his company.  He’d be a little over-protective of you and might get a little snippy with the nurse if she does anything to cause you even mild discomfort.  He calms down a bit when you assure him it’s okay, but still keeps his sniper eyes peeled.  On a good day, Crosshair will let Hunter come along because he feels in his mind that he’s the least embarrassing in the squad and won’t overwhelm you.

[maxwell-grant]

Red of Overly Sarcastic Productions once said :"If you can imagine your Batman comforting a shared child, then congratulations, you're righting Batman. If not, you're just writing the Punisher in a funny hat". This got me wondering: could the Shadow comfort a scared child?

Could he? You forget who was there to lift young Bruce to his feet at his first brush with death (sadly far from his last).

But it's an interesting question to pose still, because children were straight up not in the pulps, not in any I've read, and I can't recall any episodes of the radio show that feature them much (there's gotta be at least a few, because they had everything in that show). The most interaction I think The Shadow's ever had with children (from comics that I can discuss here, because Marshall Rogers' "Harold Goes to Washington" is way, way too much for me to go into right now, and the less I talk about some other DC comics, the better) is in the Street & Smith comics.

There's Jerry from the Devil Kyoti arc, a kid who was traumatized by an encounter with the villain who Sayre's looking after and who ends up having some kind of hidden power that allows him to see The Shadow and defeat the villain. There was a blonde Jerry who showed up later in the Monstradamus arc, but he isn't a kid so much as he's diet Jimmy Olsen or a replacement for Harry, but he had weird eyesight-based powers and a familiarity with The Shadow, so I assume it's the same character.

There was also Donald Jordan - Shadow Jr, and okay, I may have to talk more about this weird little failed experiment some other time, but the basic gist of it is that The Shadow had a friend in Tibet named Harry Jordan (and someday I'm also gonna write about the weird prevalence and significance of the name "Harry" in The Shadow's mythos in and out of universe) who was murdered, leaving his son orphaned and with nowhere to go. And, I'll admit that I have a real weakness for The Shadow calling people "son", which he does a lot in this story.

And as you can expect, it then turns out that the kid's also learned how to cloud minds and has basically the same powers The Shadow has in these comics, and they solve the mystery of his dad's murder together, and yeah, you can absolutely tell that they are setting up this kid to be The Shadow's Robin. Although, interestingly, they don't have The Shadow actually recruit the kid, instead it's Jordan who asks The Shadow if he can go with him and join his mission, and Cranston even states he's going to have to "earn" his way

"Must I stay here, sir? It will always remind me of dad - I'd like to devote my life to your fight against evil and evil doers!

Now, "Shadow Jr's" career was incredibly short-lived, it only lasted for about two other issues, and I have no idea what happened in his final appearence called "Snake Eyes" in Shadow Comics #77, I cannot find that issue anywhere and I really want to. But the one other solo story of his I've read was...well, I think it kinda illustrates why the idea of The Shadow having a Robin was doomed from the start.

...Yeah. Even The Shadow at his most sanitized and family friendly is still The Shadow, and there's no room for children in his network, obviously he shouldn't and wouldn't have children be in those positions or make decisions expected from grown-ups who have already had encounters with death and danger, why would anyone do that-

The only instance I can think of The Shadow interacting with a child in the pulps was during The Prince of Evil, when he has to rescue a young boy from Stark's thugs.

Cranston, dazed, tried to stagger to his feet. Before he could do so, the thug had picked up the limp figure of the boy and was darting out into the street. There was a scream of horror from pedestrians.

A heavy truck was racing at top speed along the avenue. Straight into the path of the truck, the thug threw the senseless boy!

The driver of the truck jammed on the brakes. But it was too late to halt the heavy vehicle. The broad-tired wheels rolled toward the limp head of the lad on the pavement.

An instant before it could crush out his life, Lamont Cranston dived headlong into the path of destruction. His shoulder struck the boy, rolling him toward the curb. A quick wriggle, and Cranston swerved aside from the grinding death that loomed over him.

He picked up the boy. One glance and he knew there was no time to lose. The attempted killer had leaped into a waiting sedan and had already made his escape.

The boy was all Cranston could see or think about. Brass knuckles had fractured his skull. He had suffered a concussion of the brain. A glance at his bluish lips and the fixed glaze of his staring eyes told Cranston that unless the boy was operated on immediately, he would die.

A leap, Cranston was in his car. He laid the boy gently on the seat beside him, then headed the car toward the nearest hospital. Traffic lights were ignored.

The boy was taken to an emergency operating room and a skilled surgeon went to work. When it was over, Cranston asked only one question: "Will the child live?"

"Hard to say. We'll do our best."

"Spare no expense. Put him in a private room. Engage day and night nurses."

Cranston's face was pale. He knew that he himself was indirectly responsible for the boy's attack. A supercriminal had made a prompt answer to Cranston's message over Jackson's telephone. That telephone must have been tapped. The attempt to kill the boy was a vicious warning for Lamont Cranston to mind his own business about the Harmon family. It was a follow-up of the attack on Jackson's dog.

Cranston felt a surge of hot anger. He kept it under control while he answered routine police questions. He told all he knew - which was nothing.

He had only one angry thought. He intended to drive straight to the office of David Chester. He'd get the truth out of the sleek Chester, if he had to batter him with vengeful fists!

Cranston was actually halfway to Chester's office before common sense returned to him. He realized he had lost his sense of balance. He was behaving exactly as the crooks wanted. He was playing their game, not his!

He parked, and the hot rage drained slowly from him. He stopped thinking about the limp figure of a young lad on a white operating table.

This is definitely because Tinsley writes the character differently than Gibson, but I actually cannot think of another occasion where we got to read about The Shadow actively wanting to hit someone with his fists. It's very, very rare to read about The Shadow actually getting mad in the first place in such an undignified way. And I think with this passage, you'll start to notice a pattern.

The problem isn't that The Shadow cannot interact with kids or that he can't comfort them, he does it to his agents and adults he wants to help just fine, he knows how to address people in their language, or any language. The problem is, The Shadow is constantly surrounded by danger everywhere he goes, because he is The Shadow. He can be any number of things at any number of occasions, but usually, when The Shadow shows up, it's usually because people are going to die, and people are going to kill, and it's his job to address that and work the scales.

Children should not be anywhere near this, and if The Shadow's interacting with a child, it usually means that some grave danger or tragedy fell upon them, and he's here to either prevent greater tragedy or address the fall-out, and he'd be the first to agree that neither of these options should be happening at all. It doesn't mean he's not gonna do what's right and give life and limb to protect them, but, it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to look after them in the first place. Maybe it shouldn't be up to the Boogeyman to protect us.

But then again, as I mentioned when I talked about my own reasons for liking The Shadow so much, there are many kids who would like nothing more than to have the Boogeyman by their side to protect them. There's comfort in knowing that the scariest man in the room is unconditionally there to protect you, and that is the comfort that The Shadow gives best. Not as Cranston, not under a friendly face, but as what he is.

Due to a lack of scenes from the pulps or satisfying scenes from elsewhere, I will instead be pulling one from a fan story written by Kimberly-Murphy Smith, editor and writer of The Hot Cornerm where The Shadow rescues a child who was kidnapped for blackmail. I couldn't care less that it's fanfic, and if you do, come back in 20 or so years after The Shadow's been made public domain and it's gonna be just as official as anything licensed (on my “to write about” list: how fickle the separation between “official” and “fanfic” is, and the many times it plainly didn’t exist). There’s aspects of her writing I don’t care for, but I really like this scene and I do think The Shadow’s more gentle interactions with people are necessary to getting the character.

Annabelle.

She stopped crying for a minute. "Who's there?" she said, her voice choked.

A friend. Your mommy and daddy sent me to pick you up.

"Mommy? Mommy's here?"

Sh-h-h. Annabelle felt a gloved hand gently stroking her hair. She's waiting for you at home. So, we need to hurry up and leave.

"'kay." She looked around. "Where are you?"

It's kind of hard to see me. It's dark in here, plus you've been crying so much your eyes probably hurt.

"Yeah."

Don't be afraid. I'm here to help.

"'kay."

The implicit trust of children was simply amazing at times. Adults trembled in fear of The Shadow's wrath, but children somehow seemed to understand that he was there to help them, even if they couldn't see him.

Sit up, Annabelle. I'm going to pick you up. Be very quiet.

One hand took each of her arms and guided them around a neck she could not see. "Why are you wearin' a blanket?" she asked as the fabric of his cloak brushed against her shoulders.

Sometimes I get cold at night.

"Even in the summer?"

Even in the summer. He gently stroked her cheek and wiped away her tears. Now, you need to be very quiet so those bad men in the next room don't hear us. I'll bet you're tired.

She nodded.

He rocked her on his arms, projecting a very gentle hypnotic relaxation into her with his powers as he did. You probably didn't get your nap, either. Poor thing. Lean on my shoulder and go to sleep. And when you wake up, you'll be back with Mommy and Daddy.

She yawned, then snuggled against his shoulder and went to sleep.

The Shadow sighed with relief. Now to get past the men out front. He gently pulled the pistol out of its holster under his left arm and slipped it into the belted waist of his overcoat within easy reach, then secured his grip on Annabelle and draped his cloak over her.

She clutched the edge of his cloak in her hand like a security blanket and snuggled against his shoulder again.

(Art by Jill Thompson)

[keanureevesisbae]

But professor… - epilogue

Summary: It's been a year and a half since their little baby was born. How are the two of them doing?

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 1.7k

Warnings: None

A/N: Is it the end for Penny and Walter? Yes, omg i can't believe. I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it. The story took a full 180 (especially because I intended this story to be much shorter lol), but I'm very satisfied nonetheless 🥰

Masterlist // But professor… masterlist // Previous chapter //

Declan has a plan and that is to go outside. I mean, it’s kinda fair, since he spend a lot of time inside today. Not that he complained. No, no, no, he was an absolute angel at the salon—like always—playing with his toys, while I was at work, but now he needs some fresh air after we had a quick snack at home.

This little man is definitely as head strong as his dad, however he isn’t as stubborn as Walter can be.

Declan attempts to throw a ball at me and I can see there is some definite improvement. Just like any kid at that age, he is distracted like that. ‘Momma, momma,’ he says, pointing to a truck that passes by. ‘Dada!’

‘Oh honey, that is not his truck,’ I say, crouching down next to him. ‘Dada is gonna become soon. In his other car. His work car.’

Declan points. ‘No dada?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Dada home?’

‘Almost,’ I say to him, giving him a kiss on his cheek. Declan stops playing altogether, staring at the road, waiting for Walter to come home. His mouth slightly agape, as he focused on every car that passes by.

Finally his car pulls up and I exclaim: ‘There he is!’ When Walter gets out of the car with a smile that is only this wide when he sees us, I let Declan go and watch him wobble over to his dad. With one hand he lifts the little boy up and presses kisses on his chubby cheek. ‘I missed you,’ Walter says, looking his son in the eye.

‘Dada miss, dada miss!’

He chuckles. ‘That’s right.’ He walks up to me and says: ‘There is my princess.’

‘Princess momma,’ Declan says.

‘Give me a kiss, sweetheart,’ he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I press a peck on his lips and melt against his frame.

‘It went splendid,’ I say. ‘I actually got to do someone’s hair for an important interview and afterwards, she came back to the salon and told me it went great!’

He smiles. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

After Declan was born, I stayed home for about six months, acclimatizing to being a mom and those sleepless nights. It was hard, I cried a lot and I was very scared. I think I hung on the phone with my mom about seventy percent of the time, while calling Walter the remaining thirty percent. I have adjusted pretty okayish, especially when Walter went to work, made sure I have nothing to worry about.

No stress, providing for the two of us as much as he can and Declan and I sure are lucky that Walter is the love of my life.

My parents helped me financially to go to cosmetology school, which was an absolute blast. It was around fifteen minutes from my place and Declan was always allowed to come with me.

He sure wrapped everyone around his fingers with no issue at all.

While Walter still is that grumpy detective he was when I met him outside of our house, he changes into a big fluffy ball, shaped like a human the second the front door closes. No matter how tired he was, how long his shift was, he pushes it aside to take care of his family.

We walk inside of our place and I tell him: ‘I made dinner.’

While I’m not a world class chef, I do manage to make some decent meals, especially because I wanted to make Declan’s baby food, since my mom raised me with that as well (though I was no saint and had jars as well stored in my kitchen, just in case).

‘Princess, I’m so lucky to have you,’ Walter says. Once we’re inside, he places Declan in the high chair and scoots his own chair closer to it, a silent message that he will help Declan eat today. ‘Okay, little fella,’ Walter says, ‘you gonna be a good boy and not spill the food over me?’

Declan nods. ‘Deccie, good boy.’

I give Walter a kiss, after placing his plate and Declan’s in front of him. ‘He has been such a good boy at the salon today, so it’ll go great, I’m sure.’

After I sit across Walter, he asks about my day. From the looks of it, he had a rough one. Thankfully enough happened at the salon today for me to talk about. While we’re still working on improving him sharing more details, but I kinda understand. With Declan repeating a lot of words recently, we get a little bit more careful with what we’re saying.

After Dinner, Walter and I curl up on the couch after Walter changed into something more comfortable. Declan places his head on my chest, his eyelids growing heavier before he stretches out his hand to place on Walter’s chest.

I nuzzle against Walter’s side.

‘He is so cute,’ Walter notes.

I smile. ‘He sure is. He has your curls.’

‘But your pout and eyes. How can I ever say no to this kid?’

I shake my head. ‘You can’t, honey. I tried it today and it was the hardest thing in my life.’

He starts to chuckle softly. ‘You got nothing to do tomorrow?’

‘No, why?’

‘Can you come down the precinct? I wanna show off the two of you.’

I smile. ‘Oh my goodness, you are so predictable. Of course, I can come by. Maybe I’ll even steal some of my mom’s cookies, tell them I baked them.’

He chuckles. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t be lying when at the police.’

Declan stretches himself and whines a little bit. ‘Momma,’ he says, looking up to see me.

‘Oh, I think someone is really tired,’ I say. ‘You wanna go to bed?’

He nods. ‘Deccie tired.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

‘Here, sweetheart, I’ll do it. You relax, okay?’ Walter stands up and after I gave Declan a kiss, Walter lifts him up and carries the tired little one up the stairs.

I watch my big buff boyfriend walk back into the living room and he places the baby monitor in front of us, before he sits back on the couch. That monitor basically is glued to Walter’s hand as he always checks up on his boy. I thought I would be the parent that worries the most, however Walter puts me to shame.

The two of them are as thick as thieves and it makes me so grateful that we have a son together.

‘How was work today?’ I ask him.

He shrugs. ‘There was a dad who left his kids in the car,’ he says, ‘in the burning sun, before literally running away. Took us two hours before we found him.’

‘Oh no.’

‘Yeah, it was painful. The kids are gonna be okay, but… It reminds me that Declan is a really lucky kid.’

‘Do those kids have someone to go to?’

‘Yeah, an aunt,’ Walter says, rubbing his face. ‘Come here, princess.’

I wrap my arms around his neck, giving him a kiss on his lips. ‘I missed you.’

Walter smiles. ‘I missed you too. You have no idea how much it means to me to see you two in the yard, waiting for me. Especially after a shitty day like this one.’

‘You know you can always call me,’ I say. ‘Really, I always want to listen to you. You before anyone else, okay?’

He nods. ‘Have I already told you today that you are a very amazing mother and how lucky I am?’

I shake my head. ‘Nope, not today.’

He pulls me on his lap and gives me a peck on my forehead. ‘Just everything you do and say to him… It’s like you always know exactly what to do and you stay so patient and kind.’

‘Oh, Walter, that’s too sweet. I can guarantee: it’s all because you stayed—or at least pretended—to stay calm. Had you not done that, I would absolutely freaked out every time Declan had a funny breathing.’ I ruffle through his hairs and ask: ‘Have I been good to you as well?’

‘What kind of question is that? Of course you have. I’m so lucky that I have you and you and I have a family. There is no one else in the world I would rather have with me for important events.’ He places his hand on my sides, pushing up my shirt. ‘Give me a kiss, princess.’

I willingly oblige and press my lips on his. ‘I love you, Walter.’

‘Oh, I love you too. I want your honest opinion and really be honest, okay?’

‘Okay,’ I chuckle.

‘What do you say if you and I have another one?’

‘Another what?’

‘Kid.’

My eyes widen. ‘Really?’ I ask. He actually wants another kid with me? I mean, I always figured we would have more than one kid, but that would be in the future a little bit further away.

But already another one?

‘Yeah and I mean, if you’re not ready, then I totally understand and I won’t bring it up until you are ready, but I personally would love it.’ He smiles and adds: ‘I mean, two of the most beautiful babies running around here? Together with my beautiful girlfriend, who I’ll make my wife someday?’

I should not be squealing, yet I totally do. ‘Walter, honey,’ I say with a chuckle. ‘I’d love to have another baby with you.’

He starts to smile even wider. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I’d love for Declan to have a few brothers and sisters.’

‘A few? How many you thinking about?’

‘I don’t know. How about three kids? Or four?’

He starts to laugh. ‘Then you and I better get some practice in with some baby making,’ he chuckles. ‘Because this time it’s not gonna be an accident.’

I slap him across his chest. ‘Walter, what did I say about that word?’

‘Oh, right right.’ He gives me a kiss and says: ‘Declan wasn’t an accident, he was our surprise baby. Forgot.’

I place my forehead against his, wrapping my arms around his neck. ‘Forever and ever, right?’

‘Forever and ever.’

[pinkplantmakesstuff]

[Sat opposite me is none other then The Commander himself. We are in my office; surrounded by stacks of notebooks and stationary, this is no battlefield and it's clear The Commander is currently out of his depth.

I will admit I was shocked when he agreed to an interview; the Commander is infamously secretive about his private life and personal affairs, and there are terrible rumours about his foul temper and monstrous appearance. Sat opposite me however, is a young, world-weary man]

Exclusive interview continues under the Read More...

Let's start with some introductory questions, can you introduce yourself?

[There's a pause before he finally speaks, he's surprisingly soft spoken.] My name's Alec. [He looks at me, and I have to prompt him for more] Oh I see. Uh people refer to me as the Commander, but I'm, not really? I don't, well I don't belong to the Pact anymore? But apparently the title stuck. And I just, end up helpin' with stuff still. [He shifts uncomfortably, and I need to know what brought him to my office today, why he's changed his mind before I continue with the more personal questions.]

So, Commander, what's changed? Why an interview now? After refusing to talk to any journalists for so long, what caused this change of heart?

[There's a another long pause.] Well, I mean...a couple of people told me it might be...good for appearances, to you know talk to one of you people, instead of just... lettin' everyone make stuff up about me all the time. [I assume he means the rumours that make up most of his public perception - like the idea his mouth is full of flesh-tearing fangs- which I can now confirm to be false. He may have pointed fangs but they are small, and he seems more interested in gnawing at his own lip.] Oh, uh and you can just call me Alec I guess.

Well thank you for choosing to speak to me Comman-Alec, now lets move onto the more personal stuff; what is your gender identity, orientation and relationship status?

[This seems to catch him off guard.] That, that is kind of, personal. [He grimaces and draws his arm tightly across his chest. "You said you didn't want people to make stuff up about you anymore, why don't you tell people so they know the real you."] I, well, ok. [He gives a defeated sigh but it seems I've swayed him around for now at least] Uh I'm a guy and I like other men. And, uh, there, might be someone. He's...[Alec mulls over his words for a minute, the "fearsome" fangs nibbling at his own mouth again] well he's like, there's a connection? It's hard to explain. ["You've just disappointed many potential suitors I suspect!" At this he lets out a surprised laugh, as if he can't believe what I said. "Is this potential someone your fearsome companion you've been rumoured to be spotted with? With fangs and horns even greater then your own?" At this he frowns, folding his arm in again.] He's not fearsome he's just, well he's great. [I've clearly struck a nerve so I choose to move on.]

Where and when were you born?

[Another one-armed shrug.] Dunno. Some small place. Don't remember it, don't care. And uh, I'm like, well I think I'm twenty? Something like that I don't know my birthday. I think it's in Winter. [At this it was mine turn to let out an incredulous laugh - which I admit was unprofessional of me. "I knew you seemed young but, only twenty? That's, you've done a lot for someone so young." There's another, lengthier pause.] S'pose so. [He doesn't comment on this further.]

Here's something you should know plenty about! What is your weapon of choice and fighting style?

[He narrows his eyes at me, and then tilts his head thoughtfully. For a moment I thought he was going to demonstrate his magical capabilities I've heard so much about but then he simply shakes his head, a if deciding against it.] Magic. People don't like it. ["Yes I've heard the rumours of your powerful necromancy, as well as the tales of you being able to transform-" He cuts me off] I fight with magic. [Again I've struck another nerve, but I don't blame him. The rumour-mill has been particularly unkind to this young man, and it's no secret how many people view darker aspects of magic unfavourably.]

Lastly, for these introduction questions, are you happy?

[We sit there in silence for several minutes, and it seems he has no answer for me. I decide to move on quickly.]

Let's move onto the people in your life! What’s your family like? What is your relationship with them?

Uh, I don't. Well my family is, well she's a baker. We grew up together. And V-my... partner? [He catches himself, clearly trying to protect keep them anonymous.] I don't have any other family I guess. But, I'd do anythin' to keep them safe. [I don't push further but it's clear the Commander's family means as much to him as the next person. Something the rumours have lead people to believe is not the case.]

Have you ever ran away from home?

Yeah. When I was a kid. My friend - the baker. We left together. it was better after that. [Alec doesn't elaborate further to begin with, before realising he's only told me part of it.] From an orphanage I mean - it's the same ol' story about kids losin' family to the Risen then being taken into care when I was a baby. We hated it. We got old enough. We ran away.

You mentioned you have a partner, this mysterious V. Would you consider marriage or having children?

[Alec's demeanour almost doesn't change, but I've not spend years in journalism and not learnt how to read people. This question has clearly flustered the young commander.] Uhh, that's, kind of personal. I don't think about stuff like that? I, well it's just nice having someone around more now. [I was about to move on before he interrupts.] But, kids are good, if, I think I'd have liked too, if things had been different.

Let's talk about some juicy gossip! Do you secretly hate one of your friend?

What? [This clearly catches him off-guard, before letting out a bitter laugh.] No. I haven't got enough of those to secretly hate one of 'em. Plenty of people have made it clear how much they hate me though. I wouldn't be surprised if more of them secretly hated me too. [Another short pause, he shifts in his seat and I catch a peek at the small wings sticking out oh his back.] I'm too tired to hate any of them, especially secretly.

I see, so which friend knows everything about you?

[Almost subconsciously he touches his horns, they are short, stubby things.] I don't think, I have- maybe the two I mentioned earlier know the most. It's hard to talk about things. ["Hmm I'd picked up on that." At this he laughs, the minor tension that had started building up eased slightly.] Yeah I'm not great at words and stuff.

The next set of questions are asked my fans! Are you literate? Have you been to school?

Fans? [He shakes his head in disbelief before leaning back in his chair, hair obscuring his face slightly.] The orphanage wasn't much for teachin'. Next question. [I resist the urge to press further.]

The eeriest prediction you made that later came true?

[He seems to spend some time thinking this one over before shaking his head.] Dunno. I guess I just assume most of the people I meet won't stick around long enough to be friends and...well I guess in a way they don't get to stick around I've....I've lost a lot of people. I guess that counts right? [He laughs slightly at this, but it isn't a happy one. Even the commander, who is oft described as cold is clearly affected by the ongoing tragedies he seeks to help stop.]

What is something you were embarrassingly late to realize?

I don't think I realised Sylvari could glow for like, ages. [He puts his hand up to his face slightly but he smiles slightly as he speaks, and it's only now I've realised he's without his infamous blind-fold. I mention this but he shrugs it off.] I still 'ave it. I just, don't want to wear it right now.

Do you have mental health or physical issues?

[He waves the stump of his missing arm, bandages still visible. Everyone's already heard about the fight against the fearsome Jungle dragon that cost him his arm, as well as the Marshall of The Pact .] Does this count? [He makes no mention of his mental health so I try to press further.] I'm fine.

What is your current main goal?

[Alec shakes his head, before shrugging again.] I'm not gonna talk about stuff like that, in case it puts people at risk, it's, well it's stuff that needs doing to help people.

Let's move onto something easy! Some choices! Drink or food?

Food. I like cooking. ["Really? The famous Commander, known and feared on the battlefield, enjoys being in a kitchen?" He smiles slightly and nods.] It's just nice y'know. I like making things a lot.

Cats or dogs?

Cats. Their senses are easier to see through and they can fit in smaller places. [Before I can ask what he means he continues.] I would like a pet one too I think.

Early bird or night owl?

I prefer getting up early, it means I have longer in the day to get stuff done.

Optimist or pessimist?

[He frowns again.] Don't know. I don't think things are ever gonna go very well. [He merely shrugs when I point out that he sounds like a pessimist.]

Sassy or sarcastic?

I wouldn't say I'm either to be honest. ["There have been reports from Queen Jenna's courts that you have been known to make the occasional sarcastic, scathing remark."] Well there are also reports I've got a huge dragon tail but that don't make it true either. [I don't point out that dry remark he made.]

You'll be pleased Alec, we are finally finishing up! Finally it's time for some "Have you evers". Lets start with have you ever been caught sneaking out?

Nope. I used to be unnoticeable, though, that's changed a...little. [He gestures to himself in what I am assuming is reference to his small wings and horns] Like I said earlier though, magic.

Broke a bone?

Nope not that either. ["Really? With your work on the field and from the battles I've heard, you've truly never broken a bone?] I guess that's just the one thing I got goin' for me I guess.

Received flowers?

I don't think so? Wait yeah maybe but they are from people I don't really know as thanks which is nice I guess- I give 'em to...my baker friend coz she likes to display them in her shop.

Ghosted someone?

[There's another pause, it seemed he'd been slowly getting used to speaking to me but this one has him quiet again.] Not....intentionally. Keepin' in contact is hard when you're constantly travelling. And writing is... not one of my greatest talents.

Pretended to laugh at a joke you didn’t get?

Uhh to be honest I probably wouldn't realise it was a joke sometimes', and if I did and I don't get it then maybe they should have told a better joke. [He shrugs and I can't help but laugh at his honesty]

[There you have it readers, an EXCLUSIVE interview with the feared Commander himself. Nothing like the rumours who describe him as "The Beast", The Commander is just another war-weary fighter trying to do what's right.]

Thank you @the-mystic-dragon for tagging me this was so much fun to write! (Even if it took like, an hour, and I massively changed the format XD) This is written as if it's around mid to late lws3 and before PoF as well as in the au with Vasche! Vasche is @resonatingfern's wonderful character and Alec's "mysterious partner" in this. In terms of tagging, if ya wanna do one go ahead! Though I did change the format quite a bit oops XD

[hoodedguitarist]

Think you can Hide from Me? Part 3

Once again, Gif aint mine I just REALLY LOVE IT. It’s one of my favorite scenes of him.

Pairing: Boba Fett x Reader

Summary: You infiltrated, the plan fell into chaos, Boba is mad at you, you’re catching feels, lots of time skips and some ANGST.

Warnings? None... Really not yet at least. Slight DinxReader if you squint. This just got a lot more feelsy and I got a whole lot more invested in this than I expected to. Which honestly seems to happen a lot to me. NO SHAME.

I really want to thank everyone who has liked, favorited, reblogged, and followed! You’re all amazing and make me feel amazing too. It means a lot to me that everyone is enjoying my writing. My inbox is open and I’ll even make a Tag List if anyone is interested!

Part 1: The Infiltrator

Part 2: The Distraction

Part 4: The Reunion

--

Part 3: The Regret

You should have known that plan was going to go off the rails. What you didn’t know, however, was that Boba was going to end up being a casualty of it all as well, and by complete accident.

Sure, you’d been caught with the others, sure you’d been sentenced to death with the others… And oh yes Boba was pissed… Very pissed. You didn’t need to see his face to tell that he was because instead of riding in the barge, he was there to personally bind you and hold you on the way to the Sarlaac pit.

Standing next to Han and Luke was going to make this conversation very awkward, but it needed to be said.

“Ok… So you’re mad at me, right?” You said out loud. Both of them glanced over at you, but you felt Boba’s hand tighten around your shoulder and yank you backwards into him. “Ah!”

“Mad is an understatement, sweetheart,” his modulated voice hissed.

“Ok, that’s fair… I’m sorry I lied to you about the whole work thing. Really, I am.”

“Uh… (Y/N)?” Han questioned.

“Stay out of it Han,” you snapped quickly. “You too, Luke. Mind your business, both of you.”

The two backed off and tried their best not to pay attention to whatever you could possibly be talking about with the bounty hunter, someone they considered an enemy.

“Was fucking me a distraction too?” Boba growled. Now the boys were really trying not to pay attention.

“No, actually, that part was real,” you turned your head to look at him over your shoulder. “I was telling the truth when I said I’d wanted to do that ever since I saw you, and still do, if you’ll have me.”

“I think that was your last roll in the sheets, princess. If you manage to make it out of this alive somehow, I’ll know and I’ll find you,” he threatened.

“Hm, sounds fun,” you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning. “If you make it out of this alive, I’ll come back and find you too. Do we have a deal?”

Boba scoffed and you figured he felt pretty confident that this was it and you were going to die some horrible death inside the belly of this beast.

“Deal,” he finally answered. 

Han and Luke both cut their eyes over at you and you shrugged. “I told you two to mind your own business.”

~*~

Things had happened so fast. One minute you were about to be shoved into the pit, the next Luke is jumping around doing Jedi stuff and mildly impressing you. You didn’t have time to admire, though, because you were struggling with one of Jabba’s guards while Han and Chewie were getting into it with Boba.

Somehow, you were trying to manage not getting killed but also trying to watch Han’s back because he was still blind, and now Chewie who had been shot… But also Boba because you really didn’t want him dying on you either. It was a weird situation all around.

You struggled with the guard and managed to land a hit, but then a blaster fired out of nowhere and hit him square in the chest, knocking him backwards and into the pit. You were startled and turned to look where the shot came from, and sure enough you saw Boba’s blaster smoking. Your heart jumped into your throat and he simply nodded to you… Until he turned his sights on Luke.

You heard Chewie howl something out, heard Han get jumpy.

“Boba Fett?? Where??” He whipped around and smacked the bounty hunter right in his jetpack, which malfunctioned and sent him flying.

“Han what the hell??” You yelled over the chaos.

“I didn’t know he was right there! I can’t see!” He yelled back. You looked over the railing rather desperately, just in time to see the bounty hunter roll into the Sarlaac pit.

Well… That was a damn shame...

~*~

Five years had passed, and the Empire was defeated. Ghosts and whispers still lingered, but the Rebellion no longer needed you. It was now the New Republic and you didn’t really have any interest in politics. You said your goodbyes to your friends, the true heroes, and went back to being on your own.

You weren’t on your own for long, however, seeing as how you got caught up in chaos with another Mandalorian. This one was different, however. He had a kid with him. You didn’t mind babysitting during the really dangerous stuff but at the same time you sort of missed the chaos. After a while, the kid wanted to be everywhere his dad was so you were able to tag along.

Being with them led you back to Tatooine, to a small place known as Mos Pelgo. You wanted to help Din get the kid back with his own kind and when they spoke of another Mandalorian in Mos Pelgo, you couldn’t help it as your heart jumped and your hopes spiked…

Especially when a ghost appeared in the doorway wearing Boba Fett’s armor.

You tensed beside Din, and he glanced at you briefly. 

“Boba…?” You questioned carefully, letting your eyes run down the person in front of you. He was tall, much more thin. There was no way…

“ ‘Fraid not, darlin’,” the ghost answered. 

First, you felt the icy cold stab of regret and loss all over again, then you felt the heat of anger bloom in you. Both you and Din were ready to throw down with the Marshal for entirely different reasons.

“Take it off,” Din ordered.

“Or I will,” your voice was a low warning, surprising all parties involved.

“I think I wouldn’t mind that,” the ghost now known as Cobb Vanth smirked at you.

“Yeah you say that now until you’ve got a knife in your back. Where the hell did you get that? And don’t say Jawas. That armor belonged to someone. Someone I knew!” You snapped. 

“I don’t know what to tell you, honey. Anything else would be a lie. I did get it from the Jawas.”

A growl slipped your lips and you took a step forward, but Din grabbed you first. In the end, everything worked out in your favor. Cobb gave up the armor in exchange for help against the Dragon that plagued Mos Pelgo. When the two of you and the child were back safely on the Razor Crest, there were several times when Din would catch you gazing at the old armor, running your fingers across it, leaning your head against the empty helm.

He even thought he saw tears…

Finally, one night, he managed to carefully edge the story out of you. It was a little difficult, but you managed well enough.

“It was just supposed to be a fling, you know? No strings attached, just to say I did it. But there was just something about him, something else that drew me to him. I wanted him to live, I tried to protect him but so many things happened that day, and so many things went wrong way too quickly…” Your voice caught in your throat, but you laughed despite yourself. “I ended up catching feelings for this fucking bounty hunter after he supposedly died.”

“It’s possible those feelings grew from guilt,” Din said calmly. “Thank you for telling me and trusting me with this. I’m sorry this is bringing you so much pain.”

“Oh they most definitely grew from guilt, but then when I saw his armor, hope grew. He had to have come out of it. He’s got to be somewhere, I just don’t know where… And I don’t know if he’ll kill me on sight, so you might want to get ready for that too.”

“(Y/N) when are we not almost killed on sight?” There was a hint of amusement to his voice, and it made you smile. “I think we can manage,” he assured you.

“Yeah… Let’s hope…”

~*~

Seeing the armor hit you hard, but being on top of that mountain with Din and Grogu and seeing Slave 1 come out of the atmosphere and into the sky really did a number on you.

“Oh shit… Oh shit…”  You muttered.

“What? Who is that?” Din looked over at you.

“I… I don’t know. It used to be Boba’s ship but there’s no damn telling now. I haven’t seen that thing in years. Somebody could have scavenged it or something.”

“Well we need to figure it out, come on,” he waved for you to follow, and you did so, trying your best not to seem too eager.

Unfortunately, that eagerness faded with the blaster fire, and the both of you took cover behind a rock.

“I’ve been tracking you, Mandalorian.”

That voice… It made your heart thunder in your chest. Masked by a modulator or not, you could tell it was him. You tensed and Din noticed. He looked over at you and you looked at him, eyes wide and lips parted. You gave a quick nod.

“It’s him… It’s Boba…”

“So not a Jedi… Great,” he whispered. The both of you eased out from behind the rock and you got your first good look at him. He was dressed in black robes, the hood thrown over his head, weapons strapped to his back.

“Boba??” You couldn’t stop yourself as you called out to him. He reached up and pushed his hood back, revealing a scarred face. It did nothing to deter you, however. He was older, but you were still just as attracted to him as you had been years ago. He stepped forward and moved closer, his eyes never leaving your face. It made you a little nervous. “If you’re going to kill me then ok, just do it, but I want you to know that I’m sorry first,” you said quickly holding your hands up. “I’m sorry for what happened that day.”

“Surprised to see me alive?” It was a simple question. No dark tone or anger.

“Relieved is more like,” you admitted. “I looked for you, for any sign of you after the war was over, but I never found anything. I knew somehow, though. I knew you’d survived, but I didn’t know if you’d want to kill me or not.”

“You know me well enough, girl. If I’d wanted to kill you, I would have done it right after I crawled out of that pit,” his eyes roved down you and you felt that old familiar rush, that feeling of playing with fire again. “It’s good to see you, princess, and we’ll talk later. For now, we need to talk about my armor that your man made off with.”

@pinkiemme @chadillacboseman​ If you need me I’ll be in the trash compactor thanks.

[mister-supernova]

Memories Lost

Part 1 - Part 2

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson x Reader

Before Malivore

I.

“Y/n L/n, please do not tell me that you forgot to add eggs to the cake mix.” 

Your eyes widen like a child who is about to be in some serious trouble by their parents. Now that you thought about it, something did feel off about the batter you’ve been struggling to stir for the past five minutes. 

You look up from your batter bowl to see Hope staring at you with daggers in her eyes. 

Yep, you were screwed. 

After gently placing your wisk on the kitchen table, you give the tribrid the best innocent smile you could, “Okay. I won’t tell you that, but I will tell you that we’re going to have to start over since there may or may not be a key ingredient missing from the mix.”  

As much as you wanted the smile to dilute the situation, Hope still pinches the bridge of her nose and runs her fingers through her hair, obviously more stressed out than ever.

Today is Commonwealth Day and some of Hope’s family members from New Orleans are supposed to be coming into town, one of which includes her mother. If anything you felt that you should’ve been the one who was stressed out. 

“How do you forget to add eggs to a cake mix, Y/n?” Hope asks, flailing the full carton of eggs around. She looked like she was on the verge of erupting like Pompeii. 

You decide to approach with caution, “Okay, okay,” you slowly reach for the carton and carefully take it from her hand, “Let’s not break the only eggs left in the fridge, yeah? We do need those. Let’s also take a steady breather for a second.” 

The two of you inhale one large breath of air together and then slowly breathe out. 

“There we go, Hope,” she’s still looking at you with a small amount of fire in her eyes, “Hey, I apologize for my idiocy. I honestly don’t know what you expected when you left me alone to make this, but it’s a minor setback.”

“That was the only box of cake mix we bought, Y/n.” Hope states. 

You fall silent for a moment to let that information sink in, “Okay, slightly more than minor setback,” Hope lets out a frustrated groan and moves past you, “We don’t have to make a cake, Hope. I saw a box of brownie mix in the pantry.” 

“Yeah, that says ‘Lizzie Saltzman’s Brownie Mix: DO NOT TOUCH’ in big black letters. In case you don’t recall, I’m not exactly in her good graces at the moment.” 

“Eh, name me one person who is in her good graces,” you shrug as if it’s no big deal and take the box out anyways, giving it a good shake, “Doesn’t feel like she put any jinxes on it. My arm has yet to fall off so therefore I think we should be safe.”

Hope gives you a look telling you that she’s still unsure of this. 

“Come on, I of all people know how much crap she makes you go through on the daily basis. What’s a box of brownie mix compared to torment?” You pause and think, ‘that’s probably a little much’, “Maybe not literal torment, but you get the picture. I’ll even take the blame if she starts asking questions.” 

“Are you kidding? She’d probably kill you if she found out.”

“That’s what I have you for,” you say matter-of-factly, taking a few steps closer to the tribrid until you were face to face, “What, you thought that I was your friend because I like you?” You ask in a playful tone, making Hope roll her eyes at you even though she was clearly amused, “Keep dreaming, Mikael-” her eyes widen and she covers your mouth with her hand before it’s too late.

You are the only student in the whole school who knows that Hope’s father is Klaus Mikaelson. It took many months of trust-building after your friendship began, but one night at the pier, Hope mustered up enough courage to tell you about her family history. 

She half-expected you to go running for the hills and leave her in the dust. Instead, you blew her expectations out of the water by having the calmest reaction she had ever seen. You thanked her for trusting you so much that she felt that she could tell you something not everyone knew at the time. 

She made you promise not to tell anyone to which you agreed to with a pinky promise. This moment has been the only time you nearly slipped up. Thankfully no one else was in the kitchen, but who knows who could be walking by. 

You raise an eyebrow at Hope, glancing down at her hand that was still covering your mouth. 

Hope quickly retracts her hand back, “Sorry. It was just, you know-” 

“No, that was my bad. Good save though... Marshall.” You say, followed by a cheeky wink. 

A tint of red flushes Hope’s cheeks as she gives you a thankful smile, causing your cheeks to warm up as well. 

You clear your throat and break eye contact with the tribrid, “Shall we get started?” You ask, raising the brownie mix up to your face, “Ass beating from Lizzie or not, I still wanna make a good first impression on your family, especially your mom. God knows you’ve probably dragged my name through the dirt every chance you had.”

Hope playfully rolls her eyes, giving you a small shove before giving in and pulling out a clean mixing bowl. “Fine, let’s just get this over with before we get busted.”

“Atta girl!” You grin widely before ripping the box open. 

There was no going back now. If you two were going down, at least you were going down together and you were getting a sweet treat out of it, too.

II.  

It was a beautiful day to be out at the Salvatore Boarding School for the Young and Gifted. The weather was your idea of perfect; sunny, breezy, and clear. 

Students were reading outside on the grass, the younger kids were playing tag, others playing Wickery, and you were getting your ass beaten by the world’s strongest tribrid.

This was your guys’ third round of sparring for the day and you had yet to win a single one. Just when you thought you had her arm locked behind her back, she whispers the incantation, “Dimiterre.”

Everything went by so fast that you didn’t have any time to think about landing on your feet. Instead, your back slammed against the small wooden pier after being flipped over the tribrid’s shoulder. It wasn’t fair that she could just chant any spell she wanted to throw you off guard. 

“Is that really all you got today, Y/n? This is just embarrassing.” She shakes her head at you like a disappointed coach. 

“I’ll make you eat those words, Mikaelson,” you grunt, feeling a new surge of energy course through your body as you jump back up to your feet, “We’re just getting started.” You smirk, wiping a drop of sweat off your forehead. 

Hope grins back at you, readying her position for another round of sparring. The both of you share the same look of determination, neither one backing out as you throw the first jab. 

Several more rounds pass. All of which ended with your ass hitting the pier as if it were some kind of magnet.

“You’re making this too easy.” Hope says triumphantly with a cocky smile. 

You huff out an exhausted breath of air, “I’m obviously letting you win, Mikaelson,” you use your arms to help you jump back to your feet, “I could easily take you down if I wanted to.” 

“Oh yeah?” Hope wonders, taking a step forward. She was a little less out of breath than you, but you could tell that she was playing it off just as much as you were. 

“Oh yeah. Why don’t we do one final round? This time I won’t hold back.” You challenge her.

“You seem pretty worn out for someone who was holding back.” She states and you pretend not to be hurt by her jab at your lack of combat skills. 

“Maybe that’s just to fool you into thinking you can beat me again,” you shrug as you watch her readjust her gloves, “Oh, and you can’t use your magic. Too much of an advantage.”

Hope’s mouth falls open and she shakes her head, “Then I’d be at a disadvantage. You’re like a whole foot taller than me.” 

“Come on, if it’s so easy you should have no problem pinning me down within two seconds of the round.” 

Hope silently thinks it over in her head, then quickly comes to a decision, “Fine. Loser buys milkshakes at the Grill.” 

You grin, “Deal. Prepare to pay up, Mikaelson.” 

After waiting for one of you to make the first move, Hope decides to sweep kick your legs at an unfathomable speed and knocks your back to the ground. 

She straddled your hips and placed her hands on both sides of your head, “Ha! Looks like someone’s- wha-” 

As quickly as she knocked you to the pier just now, you pulled her neck down to where her face is inches closer to yours, trapped her arm by wrapping yours around it, lifted your leg to trap hers and then rolled your body over to where you were now on top.  

Breathless and cheeks redder than before, Hope stared up at you in shock. If you were completely honest, you had no idea that move was going to work, but you were so glad that it did. For one, now you get a free milkshake and two, you’ve never had Hope Mikaelson’s face this close to yours before. 

Her legs were practically wrapped around your waist and your hands were holding her arms down above her head, making her face dangerously close to yours. It would only take one of you leaning forward for something to happen. 

Instead, you kept your cool, “Looks like I win.” you smile, also breathless, “I like cookies and cream, by the way.” 

III.

“So you do this… for fun?” You ask, sitting as still as possible on a wooden stool in Hope’s bedroom. 

It was a stormy weekend in Mystic Falls, so most of the outdoor activities were closed off until the rain cleared up, which didn’t seem to be happening anytime soon according to the weather broadcasts. You weren’t a huge fan of being alone during thunderstorms--you’d never let anyone know that--so you found yourself hanging out with Hope. 

Well, you were mainly watching Hope. She came up with the idea of painting a portrait of you sitting by her window to pass the time. Being that you’ve never had a portrait painted of you before, you thought this would be kind of fun. You didn’t expect it to be such a long and quiet process, but you definitely preferred this over being scared out of your mind listening to the thunder by yourself.

Hope hums a yes to your question as she concentrates on her strokes, “Can you look back out the window?” 

You sigh, turning your head to look outside for about thirty seconds before nearly falling off the stool because of the lightning bolt that crashed a couple miles away from the school. As pretty as it looked, being struck by lightning was still one of your irrational fears. 

“Are you sure it’s safe for me to be looking outside?” You turn back to look at Hope. 

“Y/n, I promise nothing is going to happen to you. Now sit still,” she says in a not-so-reassuring voice. 

You let out an annoyed huff, but you do you’re told and turn to face the rain covered window glass.  

“How long does it usually take you to do these things? Asking out of curiosity. Totally not because I’m losing feeling in my glutes.” You wonder, shifting in your stool.

“I’m usually quicker when my subject isn’t interrupting every five seconds and moving around like they have worms in their said glutes.”

You face her again with an over exaggerated look of shock on your face, “Is that some sort of degrading werewolf joke? That is extremely offensive.” 

She leans away from her canvas to look at you, her eyes squinted, “I’m part werewolf, too, idiot.” 

“You’re a tribrid. That’s different. One third of a werewolf doesn’t count, therefore your little worm joke hurts me more.” You stick your tongue out at her.

“Why am I friends with you again?” She’s trying her best to hide it, but you can tell that she’s resisting a smile.

“Because as sad as it is, no one else can make you smile like I do, Mikaelson.” It took a few seconds until she couldn’t help but reveal a very faint yet noticeable grin. She leaned back behind her canvas to conceal it, but there was no use since you already caught sight of it.

“Just shut up and look out the window before I cast a freeze spell on you.”

You wanted to make another snarky remark, but you knew your friend well enough to know that she was serious about casting that spell. To avoid being frozen in an uncomfortable position for God knows how long, you closed your mouth and relaxed your body before looking back out the window. 

IV.

“What do you mean you can’t dance? I’ve seen you do it all the time.” Hope asks, watching you from her bed as you pace back and forth in her dorm room.

“That’s me flailing my body around like a fool hoping it looks good! I don’t know what I’m actually doing!” 

Josie asked you--as a friend--to be her escort for her and Lizzie’s 15th birthday party. You’d only be dancing with her one time, but the problem was that it was supposed to be a waltz and you had absolutely no idea how to do that. 

“It’s embarrassing enough that she asked me to be her escort, I don’t wanna embarrass her even more for not knowing how to do a stupid waltz!” Hope rolls her eyes before having enough of your unnecessary freakout. 

She gets up from her bed to stop you from pacing, “Y/n. Just relax, okay? You freaking out is freaking me out,” she says, holding onto your shoulders, “I can teach you how to waltz.” 

Your body relaxes and a small wave of relief hits you, “Seriously?” 

“What? You think I can’t dance either?” Hope playfully asks, placing her hands on her hips as she tilts her head at you. 

“I’ve never seen you do it before,” you argue, getting a small smack to the arm, “Ow! Okay, I’m obviously kidding… sort of,” she smacks you again, making you laugh this time, “Okay, okay. Forreal now, I could really use your help.” 

Hope sighs, pretending to have second thoughts because of your teases. You don’t worry too much though because you know she wouldn’t leave you to crash and burn like that... at least you really hope so.

“Give me your hand.” She gives in, fitting one of her hands in yours. You grin as your other hand finds her waist and hers rests on your shoulder, “Make sure you’re relaxed, you wouldn’t want to look stiff as a board while you’re dancing.”

You nod your head, taking in a deep breath as you let your muscles relax.

“Also, always have your eyes on your partner. You’re more likely to be tripping on their feet if you keep looking down.” 

“That shouldn’t be too hard.” You say without meaning for it to leave your head. Hope bows her head for a second to hide the redness appearing on her cheeks.

After composing herself, Hope looks back up at you, “First, step forward with your left,” you follow her movements smoothly, “Step sideways to the right,” your right foot steps out, “Close your feet together, then step back with your right,” you glance down at your feet for a second which was your first mistake.

You slightly stumbled, but caught yourself when you put your feet back together. 

Hope chuckles, “What did I tell you?” 

“Hey, now cut me a little slack. I was doing pretty good for a second there,” you defend yourself before repositioning your feet, “What’s next?” 

“Step to the left, bring your feet together, then repeat it all over again but a little faster. You’re going to want to count one-two-three in your head to stay in rhythm,” you raise an inquisitive eyebrow, making her smile, “Okay, I’ll count out loud and you repeat the moves we just finished learning. Does that sound good?” 

You nod quickly, then she takes her step back and you follow, remembering what she taught you. Forward, right, together. Back, left, together. Forward, right, together. Back, left, together. The longer you two went on, the quicker you picked up on the moves and the more comfortable you felt. 

Eventually, you felt that you didn’t need to keep dancing with Hope, but it was hard not to keep going when you have the most beautiful girl in your arms right now.  

“Stop looking so smug.” Hope says, noticing the smile that appeared on your face. Even though she stopped counting, the two of you continued to flow around her room gracefully. 

“I’m waltzing with the big and bad tribrid. How can I not be smug?” 

It’s Hope’s turn to smile, but she gives you a playful eyeroll to counter the fact that she was enjoying this, “If you tell anyone I did this for you, you’re dead.” 

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dare let anyone know you’re an actual decent person, Hope Mikaelson. It’ll be our little secret.” You wink at her, making her cheeks even redder. She moves her mouth to one side of her face to keep herself from smiling any wider. 

It made your heart flutter, seeing how comfortable she was around you. You got to see the vulnerable side of her that she rarely ever showed to anyone else at the school. It’s the small moments like this that you knew you'd keep in your heart forever. 

~

this one is more of a flashback situation in comparison to parts 1 and 2 and there’s some more happy moments since the first 2 were a little more angsty lol part 4 coming soon! 

taglist: @chicken-wang09​ @trikruismybitch​ @sodangtired​