#&&. mobile ( last minute thought on a messy post ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reidandweep · 4 years

Text

No Better Outcome

Spencer Reid x Reader (female)

A/N- I had a request for a Spencer imagine where the reader was held at gun point by the unsub and Spencer had to talk them down. I said it would be finished last week and posted, but to be honest, I hated how it was so I re-wrote the whole thing. I ca’t remember who requested it either.

Word Count- 2336 words

Warnings- Angst, Fluff, mentions of guns and murder.

“What do we know about this guy?”

Y/N glanced at Reid as she continued to drive to their destination. The team had been called to Baltimore on a case the morning before. Four couples had been found brutally murdered in their homes; located across the city. The team had quickly learnt that all the couples were newly engaged and had very healthy, happy relationships.

“Landon Reeves, aged 24. Garcia looked into each of the couples lives and found that Landon works at the local auto repair shop. Each of the males have visited the shop in the past three months, all complaining about the same problem with their cars; faulty breaks. Landon was the one that handled all the bookings.”

Y/N nodded her head as Reid spoke, taking in the information.

“So, we’ve got a 24-year-old, Caucasian, male who has fixed all four male victims’ vehicles in the last 90 days, which they all coincidentally needed the same job doing. Sounds like to me; Landon might have had his eye on them before they entered the shop. There’s too much coincidence between the couples for him not to have.”

Pulling up to a red light, Y/N turned her head to look at Spencer.

“The murders looked disorganised but were actually very meticulous. All the women were mutilated in the bathroom, but their bodies were tucked into the beds. They were covered and their arms crossed; showing signs of remorse. But the male victims were splayed and left out for all to be seen. He hid the women’s modesty and treated the men like animals.”

Honking drew Y/N from her thought process. Swivelling her body to face the wheel once more, she continued to drive.

Spencer comprehended Y/N’s words.

“Maybe he lost a fiancée or girlfriend? Left him for someone else or even cheated.”

Spencer shook his head.

“Usually, if an unsub targets woman that remind him of an unfaithful partner, the attack towards them would be messy, violent, and have shown forms of sexual assault. This hasn’t occurred here. The women were shot clean through the heart. No signs of sexual assault or torture. Garcia already looked into any past relationships of Landon’s. No spousal deaths or even any signs of a partner from his social media. Ever.”

Y/N pulled up on the curb outside their desired location. They had already checked to see if Landon was at work before they travelled to his home. Speaking to his co-workers at the garage, they were more than sure he was their unsub.

“Well, let’s go do our job Dr Reid. All we can do is question for now.”

Spencer chuckled as Y/N opened the SUV door, sliding out and adjusting her appearance; making sure her gun was secure in her holster. Shaking his head, Spencer stepped out and walked to her side.

Walking side by side as they walked up the steps of the house, the pair stopped at the door; Y/N stepped forward and knocked on the wood.

They waited for any sign of an answer. Spencer looked through the window to see a figure walking towards the door.

The pair stood straight as Landon opened the door.

“Landon Reeves?”

“Speaking?”

Y/N glanced at Spencer as he spoke.

“I’m Dr Spencer Reid and this is SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N. Were from the FBI. We just wanted to ask you some questions.

Landon begun to shift uncomfortably in his stance.

“About what?”

Y/N stepped slightly as she spoke, noticing the increased edge of his tone of voice.

“We just want to ask about a few of your customers. Of course, only if it isn’t a waste of your time.”

Landon stood silently for a while before he allowed them into the house.

Insisting Y/N to go first Spencer kept his eye on Landon, just in case he tried to run for it as they walked inside. He didn’t.

Shutting the door behind Spencer, Landon ushered them into the living room; offering them to take a seat on his sofa.

He gave of waves of discomfort. Fidgeting with his hands, biting his lip, and avoiding eye contact. He was guilty of something. But murder? Y/N wasn’t how sure. Something would have had to make him snap.

Y/N allowed Spencer to take the lead in questioning as she discreetly surveyed the room.

“Mr Reeves, on a weekly basis, how many customers do you have come into the workshop?”

Landon shrugged his shoulders.

“It depends. Some weeks are better than others.”

Spencer nodded his head.

“On average, according to the week, how many cars do you repair which the fault concerns the brakes?”

Landon shuffled in his chair as he uncrossed and re-crossed his arms.

“Only about one or two. We mostly get broken taillight or problem with the exhaust.”

Y/N’s eyes caught the pictures on the fireplace as she pretended to write down Landon’s answers. She knew Spencer would remember what he said word for word, so she had no worry but to focus on surveying the area for any information that could help.

Above the mantel piece sat an array of pictures showing Landon with multiple different people. Pulling out her phone, Y/N texted Garcia requesting details on Landon’s family. Not more than two minutes later, she got a reply.

From the information Garcia found, it seemed Landon had a good family. No problems concerning abuse, abandonment, gambling, nothing. But the description of the family didn’t coincide with two pictures. Landon and his family were all brunette. But he had two pictures on the mantle of him and a young blonde woman; who looked eerily like the victims.

“What does me fixing a few brakes and taillights have to do with the FBI?”

Y/N looked up at Landon at the sound of his agitated question.

Spencer went to answer his question, but before he could, Y/N interrupted the young genius.

“How long have you and your girlfriend been together? You’re a very cute couple.”

Landon looked in the direction that Y/N was pointing. His body became tense for a short moment; his hands clenching in fists. Spencer noticed the change in his demeanour.

“She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just best friends.”

Y/N nodded her head.

“What’s her name?”

Landon licked his lips as his nerves spiked.

“Celeste.”

“Well, I think you and Celeste would make a cute couple. You should ask her out?”

Y/N walked to stand slightly closer to Landon to gage his reaction.

Landon continued to tense up as Y/N carried on talking and walking closer.

“Or is she already taken? Because she looks an awful lot like three women who have been murdered in the following months. All whom were customers of yours.”

Spencer went to step forward.

“Y/N-“

“Does she not call you back anymore Landon? Cancels your plans? Or doesn’t even bother to make them herself?”

“Shut up.”

Y/N took another step closer.

“Is it because she doesn’t love you back?”

Before another step could be taken, Landon suddenly pulled a gun out from the cushion of his sofa, pointing it towards Y/N.

Spencer quickly drew his gun, aiming it at Landon. He could tell by the look on Y/N’s face that she knew he had a gun the whole time.

“Landon put the gun down.”

Through his earpiece, her heard Hotch’s voice.

“Reid, we’re on our way. Y/N’s mobile is called through to Garcia. We can hear everything, so stay calm.”

Spencer kept his focus on Landon in front of him.

“Landon put the gun down and we can talk, okay? She didn’t mean what she said.”

“Yes, she did!”

Y/N flinched at the sudden raised voice from the unsub. She knew the risk when she began to ask him questions. But there had been lives lost, and she did not want to walk away from this suspect, and another life be taken. She would risk herself always. Spencer knew this and he hated that she would always risk herself to save everyone else.

Spencer glanced at Y/N as he saw her flinch. Looking back at Landon, he saw the boys hand shaking. Keeping his own arm locked and in position, Spencer tried to defuse the situation.

“I know how it feel. To be love someone for so long and so deeply that it rips you apart to know they don’t feel the same way back.”

Landon looked away from Y/N and towards Spencer; tears of frustration falling down his face.

“But just because they don’t love you back the same way doesn’t mean they don’t care.”

Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from Spencer as he spoke.

Landon shook his head, the gun shaking in his grasp, as he repositions it in his sweaty grip.

“She was the best thing about this place. Everyone said we were meant to be together. Everyone! But she left with him. Moved to a whole different fucking state after knowing him for 2 months. We’ve known each other for 14 years. I’ve loved her for 14 years and she left me for someone she’s known for 2 months!”

Reid licked his lips, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He knew this could change things between him and Y/N, but he couldn’t risk the thought of her getting hurt. Or even worse, dying.

“I was 25 when I met her. I’ve been in love with her for over ten years. Watching her with other men, listening to her date stories, being there to help mend her broken heart, and so much more. We’ve been side by side nearly every day. Spending holidays together and birthdays, even when we didn’t need to. I thought for a while she liked me back. But I couldn’t put her through all the issues and problems that I come with.”

Y/N looked at Spencer in disbelief.

“I knew I loved her approximately four months after I had known her. I accepted she didn’t love me back after two years of hoping that she did.”

Spencer to a cautious step towards Landon; watching as the boy’s grip on the gun loosened as he recognised himself in Spencer’s story.

“But I would rather have her in my life every day, in any other way, than to not have her there at all. Because I would miss having someone to watch Doctor Who with when we both can’t sleep. I would miss the lunch trips to the food trucks when work was quiet. I would miss the good morning texts and goodnight messages. I would miss so much that I get in a friendship, that I wouldn’t in strangers of unreciprocated feelings.”

Spencer took another step forward.

“You choose, Landon. But, if you drop your weapon, and let us take you in, Celeste will still see you as her best friend; who she loves dearly.”

Landon looked at Spencer with tears streaming down his cheeks; his lower lip wobbling. Slowly, he lowered his gun, letting Spencer take it from his hands.

Passing the gun behind him, Spencer focused on cuffing Landon as Y/N quietly stepped forward and grabbed the gun.

Just as he clicked the cuffs shut, the rest of the team walked through the door.

Hotch and Luke moved to take Landon from Spencer, as JJ and Tara moved to consult Y/N. Checking her over for any injuries, the women asked if she was okay. Y/N reassured the pair, but she could not waver her stare from Spencer as he watched Landon be escorted out and into the police vehicle.

Sensing the looming conversation, the team all walked outside, leaving Y/N and Spencer in the house alone.

Silence befell upon them.

Y/N walked towards Spencer, placing a hand on his shoulder as she spoke.

“Spencer I”

Spencer swivelled around in her grip.

Before Y/N could say anymore, Spencer pulled Y/N into a tight embrace. Quickly interlocking her arms around his neck, the pair basked in each other’s presence. Spencer was the first to pull apart.

“Never put yourself in a situation like that again. You realised he had a weapon and still antagonised him. What would you have done if he had fired? What do you think I would…”

Before Spencer could finish berating Y/N, she grabbed his face between her hands and pulled his lips against her own. Moving her hands to tangle into his hair, Y/N pushed her body flush against Spencer, gasping as his hands instantly moved to grip her hips. Pulling her impossibly closer, Spencer’s mouth moved against Y/N’s feverishly.

The pair slowly pulled apart as they both filled their lungs back with air. Spencer couldn’t help but blush under Y/N’s gaze.

Y/N giggled at the rising pink in his cheeks. Placing a quick peck on his lips, Y/N looked Spencer in the eyes.

“I love you Spence. I have for a really long time. That’s why those other guys never worked out because I was trying to get over you, and I couldn’t.”

Spencer couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss her again.

Once again pulling apart, Spencer rested his head against her own, and allowed for the smile to take over his face.

“I love you too. But please stop putting your life in danger.”

Y/N leaned back and laughed at Spencer’s words.

Glancing out the window, she could see the team almost ready to leave. Y/N pulled herself from Spencer’s embrace.

“Unfortunately, with the job we have, that’s one promise I can’t make.”

Spencer rolled his eyes with a smirk.

Y/N placed her hand in Spencer’s, interlocking the digits.

“Come on, Dr Reid. We got a case to officially close.”

The pair walked out the house hand in hand, as they walked towards their team. Giving Spencer’s hand a squeeze, she let his hand go and she continued to speak to Hotch and Luke, about the details of what occurred.

Spencer stood by her side, listening to her words and interjected when needed. While it wasn’t the exact outcome they expected the case to end with, it sure could not have ended any better.

A/N- I hope you enjoy. I have a few ideas that I’m going to write. One in particular is going to be a more personal one so stay tuned.

Taglist- @danielleslegacy

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #Matthew Gray Gubler #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagines

1K notes · View notes

jaehotbuns · 3 years

Text

idolboyfriend!mark

♡ 2.6k, fluff =^._.^= ∫

you first met Mark on a Nature Republic photo shoot where your friend was a hair stylist

she called you frantically because the SM staff caught multiple employees from each department posting on their personal social media stories the location and whereabouts of the members and dismissed them from the site

they were shooting at an island in the middle of nowhere which you were conveniently writing a thesis on different landscapes of South Korea

you had no experience of styling other people and only did it for yourself but you knew you couldn’t leave your friend deserted so you came to help in any way that you could

half of the staff were fired on the spot so they immediately pushed you towards the members to prepare them for their next shoot after threatening legal action if you decided to act as stupidly as the other stylists did

you saw your friend quickly adjusting the collar of theHawaiian shirt that was roughly put on Jaehyun and she gave you an apologetic look and mouthed a ‘thank you’

you were assigned at styling Mark’s hair, which you were scared of because you had never styled a man’s hair before never mind a celebrity but you squared your shoulders and hoped for the best

he was already used to the chaos but he was slightly concerned at how well you would perform considering that your eyebrows were furrowed and had sweat rolling down your temples as you scrunched the ends of his hair with mousse to create beachy waves

every stylist that he met was always either professional and stoic or overly friendly to try and get with the members romantically but he tried to suppress his laughter when he saw your distressed face under your medical mask

in such a stressful and hectic situation, he would never talk to the staff to help them focus but he couldn’t help but strike up a conversation with you

you looked younger than him too so he felt more comfortable

“first time?” he asked with a smile on his face as he looked up at you

your hands stopped in the middle of combing the fluffy mousse through his hair and your face dropped slightly, “you could tell?”

Mark covered his laugh with his hand as he didn’t want to discourage you but couldn’t help but chuckle at the cute expression on your face

“yeah,” he answered but then realized that it came out meaner than he had intended

“but you’re doing a great job! Keep going!” He tried to encourage you by motioning with his hands to continue

you patted his hair into place for finishing touches but you pouted under your mask when you realized, “how would you know? You can’t even see it”

there were no mirrors in sight except for the hand mirrors that stylists held on their belt

he choked on his saliva out of embarrassment and rubbed his hand awkwardly on the back of his neck

“well let’s see then!” He exclaimed and you begrudgingly gave him the hand mirror to see

you were bracing yourself in case he thought you made his hair into a bird’s nest and demanded you to be fired on the spot but he let a “wahh” escape his mouth as he admired the hairstyle

“this actually looks great!” He said a little too excitedly

“we were both expecting it to look bad then, huh?” You joked but really you were relieved that he thought it didn’t look atrocious

Mark shook his head to deny but you held his shoulders in place to not disrupt his hair

his face went pink and you realized that you just touched a client, a very influential client

you lifted your hands off of him quickly and stepped back so that he could stand up from his chair and go in front of the cameras to prepare for the shoot

“thank you” he said and you both exchanged bows before awkwardly getting back to work

you stayed on the set with your friend for the rest of the day until the sun went down and the sky turned a bright pink from the previous ocean blue

luckily, that was the last hair and clothes change that NCT needed and everyone started to pack up after the photographer and managers shouted “thank you for your work” and everyone bowed and clapped to each other

while each member started to load into their vans to get back to the city for their next schedule, Mark ran up to you and asked if you were apart of the SM staff or were for hire from another beauty boutique

“oh, I just came last minute,” you said

“I’m not actually licensed for this I came to help”

he let out a disappointed “oh” and decided not to take your number down since it was unprofessional and knew that after the fiasco today that there could be anyone around to expose him if he did

“good night, see you around,” he said in hopes that he would see you again

you doubted that he would see you around but you repeated what he said and waved at him as he ran into the van

the other members were confused as to why he ran off to greet you and were ready to tease him since they noticed that you were his type physically

but he knew that they were about to so he lied and said that he forgot to take a bracelet from you and pretended to fall asleep so that they couldn’t question him further

you thought about that was a once in a lifetime experience until 2 weeks later the campaign was a hit and everyone was fawning over Mark specifically since he looked like boyfriend material in a white button up shirt and blue jeans with messy beach hair

your friend called to tell you that she recommended you as a freelance hair stylist after they asked her who did Mark’s hair

as a broke college student living in another country you took the offer but felt guilty getting an amazing job with no credentials so you got licensed at a beauty school within 2 months

the next time you saw Mark was on the Punch music video set

he had everything on except makeup and hair

you were taken aback at how different he looked with the leather pieces, chain jewelry, and overall bad boy vibes

he was sitting in front of the dressing room vanities and his face lit up when he saw you stand behind him with your cart of hair products and tools

usually he’d stay still in his chair but this time he turned around to face you, “hey! I thought you said you weren’t even licensed?”

“I decided to after getting offered a job” you smiled

he turned around and looked at you through the mirror’s reflection, “or did you come back because of me?”

you coughed through your mask and felt the heat creep from your neck all the way to your cheeks and temples

Mark smiled to himself when he saw your bright red face and was even more excited for the music video shoot knowing that the stylist he thought was cute would be doing his hair on a regular basis and could see him act cool on stage

to not let you out of his sights again, Mark pulled his phone off of the vanity table in front of him and went straight to his Instagram search page, “can I have your Insta by the way?”

you were combing the translucent gel through his hair when you tilted your head out of curiosity of why he would want your socials

“I send what kind of hairstyles and concepts I’d like to try to stylists on here,” he said

in actuality Mark wasn’t one of the idols that really cared of how his stylists dressed him like Johnny or Jaehyun but he wanted an excuse so that his interest in you was too obvious

“oh sure,” you spelled out your Instagram handle and you saw him follow you right away

for the rest of the shoot for the two days that it took place, Mark would admire you every time you came up to him between scenes to wipe the sweat off his forehead and to spray his hair with setting mist

although you were a fan of the group, you didn’t want to make them uncomfortable so you invested all of your focus on making them look their best

Mark appreciated that; you weren’t completely cold and professional but you also didn’t cross any boundaries by asking him about his personal life or interviewing him like some new stylists did

when you got home you decided to look at Mark’s profile and saw that he was only following his family, friends from Vancouver, idols friends, and a few celebrities that he looked up to

you were the only staff member that he was following other than his managers

but you didn’t think for a second Mark liked you

even though during promotions he would text you on his time off about your day and ask you about yourself

“because I don’t want to be to formal” was his excuse to his unofficial game of 21 questions

even though after promotions when he was on his break, he’d ask you to go shopping with him “to get some inspiration from uh hair stuff”

at one point he was bold enough to ask you to go to a cafe because he said he felt like you two were friends at one point

behind the scenes, Johnny caught on quickly at how Mark was on his phone more often when he’d usually just use it to play mobile games or listen to music

“I don’t think you left the bracelet with the pretty stylist,” Johnny would tease Mark one day when he saw him re-reading your texts and smiling to himself

“you left your heart,” he’d say and slap himself on the knee from laughing too hard at his own joke

“can you get out of my room?” Mark would retort in embarrassment but it was worse for him from there

Johnny told both floors that Mark had a big fat crush on the young stylist and was flirting with them 24/7

Mark wasn’t really the type to get in his feelings

sure he’d find different celebrities or employees that he’d work with attractive but he knew it was for business or that they’d just be really good friends in the industry

but you felt like home

like he could imagine that if he was back in Vancouver that you two would meet at a library or something and he’d ask you for a coffee after you asked him to watch your bag to go to the washroom

that was what he’d imagine before he went to sleep at night anyways

half of the time he’d stay up thinking about asking you out officially and keeping your relationship as a secret and the other half of the time he’d kick his blankets scolding himself for even thinking that because it would put both of your careers on the line and he didn’t want you to feel the burden of dating in secret

you also had feelings for Mark but thought that he was just friendly and flirty

even if he did have feelings for you, you thought that it would be best to just stay as friends because you didn’t want to get in the way of his career

one day Mark couldn’t take it anymore and went to the convenient store by himself instead of riding bikes with Haechan and Renjun like he originally planned to

they noticed that he didn’t get embarrassed or annoyed at the teasing anymore and just kept to himself so they followed him to the store and found him outside on a bench with a beer in his hand

both of them sat beside him and Haechan grabbed the beer and took a swig, “just tell her”

Mark placed his elbows on his knees and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, “I don’t want to ruin it for us… Or for her”

Renjun placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “if you both have strong feelings for each other then it’ll always work out in the end”

Mark shook his head although he appreciated the support, “what if the stress gets us to break up? What if I make it awkward for her at work?”

Haechan stopped him and told him sternly, “I see the way you two look at each other and I know that she’d accept if you asked. If the press or pressure causes you to break up then at least you tried.”

Renjun added on more gently, “do you just want to continue suffering forever? What if she’s waiting for you too?”

Mark didn’t want to think about it any longer and as a lightweight, the 2 cans of beer in his system were already giving him courage

if he had another night to think about it, he’d probably never confess to you so he decided in his tipsy state to confess right then

with urgency, he told you to meet you at Hangang River right away

“thank you guys,” he said while standing up too quickly

he stumbled a little bit before starting to walk towards the meeting place, “I can do it!”

“you can do it!” Renjun laughed while holding up too fists to show his support

Haechan on the other hand held up his phone and started to record Mark walking clumsily towards the river, “don’t mess up loser!”

you were finishing up on your readings when you got Mark’s text

it sounded like he was going to confess but you shook the thought out of your head at the thought of a global star asking you out

“probably wants to de-stress with a friend,” you thought before putting on a hoodie and jeans before walking to Hangang

when you arrived you could smell a mixture of beer and mint in his breath

His face was flushed pink which was a result of the alcohol and the 2.2km he had just walked

“why did you call me out all of a sudden?” You asked

“will you go out with me?” He said a little bit too loudly

you quickly looked around to make sure that no one was within a kilometre near you too and asked in a hushed voice, “what?”

“I like you!” He nearly shouted, not aware of his volume due to the nervousness of the chance of rejection

“I tried not to like you ever since I met you but I can’t get you out of my head,” he avoided your gaze and couldn’t believe how cheesy he sounded

Mark continued regardless, “I know that we have to date in secret if you do like me but I promise to protect you and I won’t regret my decision if anything happens. So uh-”

“yes,” you grinned. “I’ll go out with you”

he was surprised at how you accepted with ease, “oh wow I wasn’t expecting this. Thank you for listening to me talk on haha, I don’t even know what to say I-”

to stop his blabbering you held onto his arms to steady yourself for when you went on your tippy toes to peck him on the lips

“that’s not fair” he pouted

“what’s not fair?”

“that’s it?” He murmured under his breath

“then get some more” you teased

his hands cupped the sides of your face and bent his neck down to reach your height

your hand wrapped around his waist to pull him into a hug while his warm lips pressed onto yours

165 notes · View notes

redrobinfection · 3 years

Text

Alfred’s Favorite Barbara

Babs & Alfred || Read on Ao3 || Happy Birthday, Barbara Gordon! ❤

<< A sequel to last year’s “Batgirls’ Favorite Mentor”

~*~

Barbara leaned forward and spit out the toothpaste Cass had let her use, on one of the many spare toothbrushes Alfred kept in the guest toiletries stockpile, then leaned back in her chair with a sigh and considered her mostly-put-together-again reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Wow, that had certainly been a party of a night, she mused, ruefully lifting a strand of her sleep-mussed auburn locks before deciding that pulling it back in a bun was really the only dignified solution.

Steph and Cass had kept her up all night--not like that was all that much different from her usual schedule, but mani, pedi, facials, horrible (great) superhero movies, and gossip until dawn had worn her out more than she would have expected. Although, the wine that had snuck into the mix right when the mani-pedis were left to dry and the third movie went in might have had something to do with it, she conceded with a smirk at herself in the mirror. It wasn't a bad sort of tired, she admitted as she tucked few stray hairs into her messy bun, but she was more than ready for a day to rest, recover and recharge.

Just after dawn, Alfred had invaded the sanctum of their home theater encampment to invite them up to the kitchen for a hearty breakfast. There he had laid out toast, eggs, bacon, sausage, fruit, juices, teas, coffee, pancakes and even some of the real cake from the night before--a rare breach of protocol from the prim and proper butler that Barbara took as a one-time gesture of affectionate indulgence of their whims--which eventually drew out the other occupants of the house, turning breakfast the morning after into as much of a party as dinner the night before had been.

After that, Alfred had shooed Steph and Cass off to bed and shown Barbara up to her regular guest room where the bed had already been turned down, the pillows fluffed and the blackest of blackout curtains tightly drawn, bless that man. After a few hours of much needed sleep, it was now just past noon, most of the manor's occupants were either still sleeping or out living their daylight personas, and Alfred had offered to drive her back to the Clocktower after she had "freshened up a bit".

Satisfied that she had done as much as she could to make herself decent for the drive of shame, Barbara gathered her things and made her way down the hall to the elevator. Alfred was waiting for her when the doors opened on the civilian garage.

"Ah, Miss Barbara, I take it you're ready to depart?"

"Yes. Thank you for driving me back, Alfred."

"Of course, it's my pleasure."

He led the way toward their several limousines, opened the door to one very special vehicle and began extending and lowering a long ramp. Barbara pressed her lips together to hide a smile as Alfred stepped to one side and let her wheel herself up the shallow incline. He retracted the ramp, closed the door and slid into the driver's seat while she positioned herself in the sleek interior and locked the wheels of her chair.

"Thanks again, Alfred. For everything," Barbara added as they pulled out of the garage. "Last night, this morning...it was all amazing and it must have been so much work--extra work--for you. I really appreciate it."

She saw his eyebrows rise in the rear-view mirror as he replied, "Of course. It was no trouble; I would hardly label hosting a small dinner in honor of and giving accommodations to one of my favorite persons "work". It was a pleasure, Miss Barbara."

She raised an eyebrow in turn. "Oh really? A fairly large dinner, putting up with the mess we all made in the theater afterwards, and putting together a big breakfast in the morning--and driving me back after letting me stay over, even when I'm sure you've got plenty of cleaning up to do? 'Favorite person' huh? If I didn't know better I'd think you were buttering me up for something, Alfred Pennyworth," she teased, sharing a knowing look with him in the mirror.

He didn't laugh out loud, but his eyes twinkled in that way Barbara knew meant he was amused rather than offended. "My word! Is it so hard to believe that an old man would take pleasure in doing what little he could to celebrate the birthday of his favorite Barbara."

Barbara did laugh out loud. "Your favorite...huh! First Jason calls me his favorite, then Tim and Dick, then Steph and Cass... and now you? All of you in less than twenty-four hours? Did you all have a meeting to discuss the topic or am I about to go home to one of the hardest cases of all time and you're all buttering me up to it?"

"I believe the subject had come up recently," Alfred replied evenly. "You do so much for this family and receive so little appreciation..."

"That's my line," Barbara muttered incredulously with a minute shake of her head.

"...and I'll have you know that of all the Barbaras I've had the pleasure of knowing, you most certainly rank supreme."

Barbara huffed a laugh through her nose. "And how many Barbaras is that exactly?"

Alfred met her eyes in the mirror and fixed her with an impressive look. "When you've lived as long as I have, served as long as I have, you come to know a great many people. Among all of those... you are rare soul indeed, Barbara. Surely one to celebrate and to venerate."

That gave her pause. What are you supposed to say to something like that? She didn't know, so she let the silence stretch and turned her gaze to the traffic speeding past her window while her true focus turned to beating down the bloom of color that had flooded her cheeks at Alfred's unexpected pronouncement.

They rode in silence--not an uncomfortable silence, but Barbara still felt the weight of those words still hanging heavy between them--for the rest of the drive. They'd caught the lull between the lunch-hour jam and afternoon rush-hour traffic--likely a strategic choice on Alfred's part--so it only took about twenty minutes to make the trip into the city.

Alfred graciously helped her disembark, escorted her to the ground level door to the tower, and--to her surprise--asked to walk her in, pulling a cooler bag from somewhere with leftovers from the revelries. Barbara invited him in, sending him ahead of her with repeated thanks, but the words of appreciation died in her throat as she rolled over the threshold and took in the interior of her homebase.

She wasn't a slob, per se, but Barbara knew she didn't tidy up around the Tower quite as often as she should, and she cleaned the place even less frequently. It was a lot of real estate for one person--a person with certain mobility issues, at that--and a small army of specially programmed Roombas and some casual dusting here and there could only do so much.

But today, her foyer was spotless. All the coats, umbrellas and other detritus were neatly hung or stacked in their places. The tile was a shade lighter than she remembered and the grout was actually white--she'd actually thought it was tan up until now.

Moving into her apartment showed the same story. Shelves of books and knick-knacks were freshly dusted, the rugs had been deeply vaccuumed, and personal items had been put away or neatly arranged. Every surface gleamed.

She turned to Alfred with an accusing look. "Alfred... did you...?" One look at his quietly pleased expression was answer enough. "When did you even find the time to come over here and do this? Did you clean the whole Tower?" She wouldn't doubt it. She didn't bother to ask him how he got into her super-secure, high-tech lair--this is the ex-MI6 agent who raised Bruce, after all--but given the timeline of events, it shouldn't have been possible for him to clean all this by himself and do everything he did for them while she was at the manor.

"We did, in fact, clean the entire tower--and we took great care not to disturb any of your things in the command center, mind you--but it hardly took any time at all with Masters Damian and Timothy along to help. In fact, we were in and out well before you rose from your nap this morning."

Barbara's eyebrow rose into her hair. Alfred had wrangled Tim and Damian--in the morning, of all times--into cleaning? Together? Without killing each other?

"Wow, Alfred, you got Tim and Damian to work together to do all of this...? At eight in the morning? You're a miracle worker, for sure. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this.

"Really, Alfred...this--" she gestured to rooms around them "--the party, the sleepover, and then breakfast... you've done so much. Thank you. It means a lot to me, but, really, you didn't need to do all this. It's... it’s too much..."

Alfred looked away for a moment, his expression uncharacteristically sheepish. "Ah, well. Yes. I admit, I may have gone a bit overboard..."

They entered the kitchen and Barbara came to a complete stop. The appliances shone, the stove was spotless, and, for once, the sink was completely free of dishes. But that wasn't what stopped her dead in her tracks.

On the polished kitchen table, laid out elegantly on a freshly washed and pressed table cloth that Barbara had forgotten she even owned, was a handsome tea set in lustrous lavender and gold--one pot, saucers, cups, sugar cellar and creamer. To one side sat a few varieties of Alfred's favorite teas, and on the other a plate piled high with Alfred’s signature tea cakes, one of her favorite things about visiting the manor for pre-patrol briefings or post-patrol debriefings, back in the day. A recipe card stuck out under the plate.

Barbara turned to Alfred, her vision going misty. "Alfred..."

Alfred graced her with a rare smile, beaming down at her, his expression fond, but his voice was quiet, "For when you need a break from Master Tim's gift of espresso or a moment of peace after along night."

Barbara broke out into a teary smile of her own and raised her arms, reaching out for a hug before she thought it through. Alfred surprised her yet again, leaning down to accept her embrace.

"Really, thank you, Alfred. For everything," Barbara murmured into his shoulder before he could pull away again.

He didn't. Instead, he replied, so quietly Barbara almost missed it,

"Anything for one of my favorite granddaughters."

#my writing #mine #christmasriverswrites #barbara gordon #happy birthday babs #babs and alfred #real life might have killed the rest of my writing ambitions and all of my time to participate in fandom but this series lives on!#this is the sloppiest thing I've ever posted. editing? what's that?

15 notes · View notes

dearsherlocked · 4 years

Text

You ran out of milk - A Sherlock Smut Imagine

Hi! I’ve been kind of down lately, haven’t been able to write a lot. This one is a smutty one, inspired by a rather larger fic I am writing (who am I kidding, I am not at the moment), but someday I’ll finish it and feel confident enough to post it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! :)

Pairing: Sherlock x Reader

Warnings: mention of violence, smut

Masterlist

Slowly drawn from a deep sleep by the curious feeling of being observed, Y/N’s gaze falls on Sherlock’s ice-cold eyes. The early morning light penetrates the room, and the enveloping darkness draws a veil over what happened between them the previous night. She can barely make out the features on the detective’s face; only his pale irises reflect the daylight. She feels a numb distance growing between their bodies. It’s not a hard task to guess his incredulous traits; he’s confused. Innocently, she stretches herself in his direction, trying to break this unbearable silence. She keeps wondering why she suddenly feels torn at the idea of losing him.

‘Morning,’ she whispers in a broken and mellow voice, pulling the sheets closer to her naked body.

But he only sees this mischievous light in her eyes. The bad, the ugly, the irritable feeling that she’s in fact very dangerous, much more than he believed at first. She won the game, he ruminates, she broke him in a way he had never been broken before. He’s just staring at her with an odd expression. He doesn’t know why she’s still there and why did he allow this reckless assassin - who have made the past weeks impossible to live without worrying - in his bed. He wonders in silence, speechless. Silence is eloquent in the face of the unknown.

‘You should go,’ he finally declares.

It should be an order, not a suggestion. However, he doesn’t even know if he wants her to go. He worries about what will happen next. By staying there, time seems frozen. He’s safe between the four corners of his mattress. Y/N stays still, locking her hazel eyes into his. There is something wrong with her, she feels different. The previous night, they both fought, she was the intruder, breaking every code of intimacy by infiltrating herself into his bedroom, uninvited. She just wanted to observe him for a while, like he was some sort of experiment. She is fascinated with Sherlock Holmes, but can’t help herself but wanting to feel superior to him. His wild side took over him. Sherlock let himself show the darkness within, and now there is no way back.

‘I should,’ she replies, but doesn’t move an inch.

He’s like a magnet to her, pulling her to him, she can’t stay away and she hates herself for it. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Her boss was clear, destabilize the man, don’t get involved. Well, they are both destabilized now. She presses her forehead on his, and she can feel him stiffening. Nothing is vain yet, he’s still lying next to her. He could have gotten up, pushed her out of his flat for all he cared, but he’s not doing any of that. He’s also testing himself. Showing anger would only confirm emotions and give them a voice he can’t allow to infiltrate his train of thoughts. He wants to know why didn’t he resist the night before. He wants to know if it will happen again. He can feel her warm body pressing, her hips looking for his. Out of a sudden, he grabs her head with his hands and presses his lips violently on hers. Soon, Y/N feels his body on the top of her, and she closes her eyes and abandon herself to his touch. He’s giving in again, why can’t he help it?

His hands are searching her, she can sense his long fingers running their course. One and the other he’s changed or he’s playing a game. Either way, she’ll know how to react. She’s frail to his touch, but her reflexes are not lost. She could kill him right now if she wanted, she automatically knows the vulnerable spots.

It is odd, she thinks, that with a man like him, she would have believed that he would be mechanical, but he’s incredibly instinctive. Y/N runs her hands in his messy curls, and she presses her lips into the crook of his neck. His skin is warm and tastes salty. His breathing gets heavier now, but is shallow. He’s anticipating how her body reacts to his touch.

She can feel it, the fighting, with all his might, that natural and logical response of the mind, the shyness and the shame, the insufferable feeling of being just another vulnerable man, deprived of his will to not act on instinct and impulses. She can appreciate how this feels, she’s been there too. But lust isn’t a sign of weakness, like her mentor tried to teach her during her training, lust is human nature, and it’s a duality between mind and soul that she stopped fighting a long time ago by taking control of it. She can feel his hardness between her legs now, the incredible feeling of warmness nearly approaching her. He’s hesitating still, overthinking, and so she pushes her hips and he’s immediately inside her now. Y/N’s head tilt back into the mattress, and a shy moan escapes her lips.

‘Hey, Sherlock?’ shouts a voice in the background.

Y/N’s eyes widen. She looks at the detective; he’s petrified, and terrified.

‘Shit!’ she mumbles under her breath, pushing Sherlock’s body away.

She swallows her pride and silently throws herself on the floor, trying to squeeze her sweating body under the bed.

‘Hey, you okay?’ asks Doctor Watson, stopped in the doorframe.

Y/N bites her lower lip in apprehension, afraid something is going to give them away.

‘Yes, why wouldn’t I be?’ replies the detective. He sounds like he has it under control, but deep down, Y/N feels the worry and hesitance in his voice.

‘I thought we were supposed to go and see Mycroft this morning?’ says the doctor.

‘Please John,’ replies Sherlock, ‘you know I can’t stand that name first thing in the morning.’

John scoffs.

‘What time is it?’

‘Just past 8.’

‘Right,’ sighs Sherlock. ‘Let me jump in the shower, I will be ready in a minute.’

Is there disappointment in his voice? John clears his throat.

‘Well, I guess I’m going to make coffee, then.’

He’s annoyed with Sherlock, Y/N thinks. She hears his footsteps as he’s heading to the kitchen and she squeezes herself out from under the bed. She fights the urge to laugh out loud, feeling like a teenager. Sherlock looks panicked, he, on the contrary, doesn’t feel like smiling.

‘Go!’ he mumbles under his breath, frowning and pointing at the window.

But she can see the corners of his mouth twitching briefly upwards. Wrapped up in his sheet, he disappears behind the bathroom door and Y/N hears him running the water, this is her cue to leave the flat without the unexpected visitor hearing her. She looks at her clothes laying on the floor, right next to the open bedroom door. It’s a risqué operation to retrieve them, John could be standing in the hallway and see her. She smiles and slides the bathroom door silently, and pull the shower curtain. Sherlock jumps in fear. In this diffused morning light, his body dripping in hot water, she feels compelled to join him.

‘What are you doing?’ he whispers angrily.

She presses her lips on his, indulging on the wetness of the kiss.

‘Shut up,’ she replies, ‘or he might hear us.’

She’s giggling now, kissing him vehemently, her right hand running lower on his chest, until she reaches what she is looking for. God, she is crazy, he thinks. She gently strokes his cock, and she can feel it harden in her hands. Sherlock rests his head on the tiles behind him while she slowly pumps his sex. She starts placing strategically kisses on his chest, then on his stomach, feeling his ribcage move each time he’s breathing. She works her way down, finding herself on her knees, and looks up to him. He’s lost, he doesn’t know if he should fight it, stop her, or push her away. She licks the tip of his cock and his mouth parts a little. Then, she envelopes it as he exhales as silent as he physically can, while his hands both systematically rest on the back of her head. She has control now, he’s at her total mercy and he knows it. He’s scared, but excited. She’s sucking him quicker now, taking it all, running her lips around it, tasting it, feeling every stretch into her mouth. He’s on the edge, soon enough she feels the warm liquid filling her mouth and she licks every last drop. He’s trying to gain his spirits back. He exhales and run his hands on his face.

‘I’m going to go now,’ she whispers as she exits the shower.

‘Good idea,’ he mumbles under his breath.

When he gets back into his room, he looks around him. The messy bed, the airless smell in the air. He tries to dress without thinking about what just happened, readjust the rebels damp curls on his head and walks to the kitchen, John is sitting at the table, reading the news on his mobile, sipping on the last drop of coffee.

‘Oh, by the way, you ran out of milk,’ the doctor says, placing his empty cup on the table. ‘Shall we go?’

Sherlock nods and looks around the flat. He feels like he’s coming out of a dream. He just doesn’t know if it is a nightmare yet.

247 notes · View notes

grazieschillivera · 3 years

Text

A day off

Authors note: filled with randomness and comfort here and there, just wrote this to escape from studying

Word count: ca.2400

The third bang on your door, made you give up on getting your sleep.With sloopy steps you made it to your door, only to find Frenchie,Hughie and Butcher happily standing in front of you, once you your eyes could focus propberly.

,,There she is.Morning sunshine.'' said Butcher stepping past you into your dorm.

,,Is that a Star Wars poster?'' asked Hughie following Butcher.

You were far too tired to reacte, too overwhelmed with this situation.The long sleeves of your hodie hid your yawn.

,,Naww petite Y/N.All sleepy and cute.'' said Frenchie bringing you in his embrace petting your messy bun.

,,Guys!Its fucking Sunday what are you doing here?'' you asked with raspy voice, still hiding your face from the sunlight that came in, due to Butcher shoving the curtains away.

,,Right.Perfect timing for some quality time for the group.What could be better for that than a Comic Book Con?'' asked Butcher joining Hughie with getting through your stuff.

,,Fuck off boys.I need sleep.I finished my essays just four hours ago.'' you whined not at all convinced of that idea and resting in Frenchies arms.

,,Shut up Y/N I thought you were into this stuff.'' said Hughie while looking through your merchandise.

,,Can't I just go back to sleep and bring you some waffles later?That would have way more quality.'' you said but already gave in and pulled away from Frenchie.

,,Nope.Actually we have a little mission to do there.'' said Hughie turning with your lightsaber in his hands to you, looking amazed at it , when it turned out to be a green one.

,,Besides Frenchie makes the better ones.You were the one who wanted to join us, go get dressed.'' said Butcher taking the lightsaber from Hughie.

,,Fine.Just give me second.'' you said gathering up some clothes, your lightsaber from Butcher and your washbag and left your room.Only to come back after a moment to throw your weapon onto your bed, when you realised that you still had it in your hands.

,,Hey did you guys ever heard of privacy?'' you asked when you had entered your dorm again and saw Butcher at your laptop and Hughie still going through your merchandise stuff on your shelves.Frenchie layed in your bed, almost half asleep.

You walked strictly to Butcher and looked at your laptop's screen, seeing the text of your essay, but you could swear you saw the screen just had changed.Giving Butcher a daring gaze while you brought your washbag back into your vanity, trying to analyse his hidden grin.

,,What is that?I don't even know that.'' said Hughie looking at your gallyfreyan writing.

,,What ever this might be proves that Y/N is more of a fucking nerd than you are.'' said Butcher.

,,Its Gallyfreyan for fuck off.'' you said when you took the papers from Hughie to put them back into their box.

,,Can we go now?'' Butcher asked standing up from your desk and clapping on Frenchie's shoulder when he walked past him.

,,Just a second.'' you said, when you reminded yourself to do something you insisted on, now that you had Butcher here at your dorm.

You showed him a news article from the university, about your litertature club, writing about their performed works from last weekend praising especially your work.

,,Behind her creativity always lies an interesting critic to several current topics, that is clearly structured and could even knock out Homelander.'' you read out loud, while doing an awful job of hiding your pride.,,See I was right when I said I could at least put you over my knees rhetorically.Appearingly I can do that even with Homelander.'' you added.

Butcher continued to read the article.,,Homelander is a stupid cunt, who somehow managed to get taking serious while wearing latex.'' said he when he had enough of the reading.

,,I don't care about Homelander, I care about you Butcher.'' you said when you took the article and laid it back on your desk.

,,Now you're becoming soft on me again Y/N.'' said Butcher while walking outside of your dorm with the rest.

,,I mean it.Did someone wrote something like this ever about you?'' you said, insisting that this got accpreciated by him, since his critic on your arguments left you frustrated last time.

,,Listen love.I don't need an article that tells me I'm good in putting everyone over my knee.Even though I start to think you wouldn't mind if I did that to you – rhetorically of course.'' he added with a grin leaving you a bit irritated behind him,when he walked further down the hallway.

You were thankful for yourself bringing sunglasses for today to hide your tired eyes, since Hughie listened loudly the radio during the whole trip to the Convention, taking the last chance of sleep from you.

The plan was to talk with a supe about some former actions form Vought he should know of.Frenchie and Hughie were send to do this, while you and Butcher waited for them on the convention, that reminded you of a graveyard that came halfheartedly back to life.

,,Seriously ,did I really need to come with you guys for this?Its not that we do something helpful.'' you said still looking around.

,,We do.We stay here until Frenchie and Hughie are done with their part, I'll do the driving part and you can just take a break from studying.'' Butcher said.

,,Writing.About what?Failed artists or sexual frustrated fans?'' you asked not very convinced.

,,Funny that you mention that.'' said Butcher while he took out his mobile to show you something.

,,You asshole.How?'' you only managed to ask, mouth opened in disbelieve when you recognised your account with your posts.

,,I have my sources.'' said Butcher with a grin and started to scroll through your account.

,,I stayed logged in from last night.'' you said already knowing the answer while palming your face.

,,That answers my first question.All those thirsty posts from you are current?'' asked he while grinning down at his mobile.

,,No!They are in fact very old.Almost as old as you are.'' you said trying to stop Butcher from reading your stuff.

,,Screw this stupid article and you for that - I'm not that old.This is just pure smut- or is there also a perfectly argumented critic behind getting fucked by Eddie Vedder.I can't believe it you're writing texts to jack off to. '' said Billy still amused.,,Our sweet and intellectual Y/N does such naughty things in her spare time.''

,,My only texts to jack off to are my works, once they are approved by my professors.'' you said not interested in talking about your dark past.

,,And thats the problem.You need a day off, even I noticed that you have been fucking tense lately.'' Butcher said, you could tell that the last part was truly concerned.

,,With spending my day at this sad convention.Thank you Butcher.'' you said playing it down.

,,I can't let the guys be alone by themselves love.Besides I think I might can help with that, getting rid of some tension, you know?'' he said in his cocky voice.You eyed him up with a strange grin.

,,Is that an offer? I never thought you could be so generous yet so romantic.'' you said with a snort.

,,Same goes for you, in all this dirty talk and kink stuff I still can find your romantic side between the lines.Even though many seemed not to think so, according to your likes.'' said Butcher with a last look at his mobile while you gave him a last warning look.

,,That was not written from my heart nor my head, and I'm lucky my libido is not supposed to generate likes.'' you said.Butcher had to laugh at this genuily, before both of you continued you walk.

,,This is just fucking sad.When you read all those comics you can clearly read what people need right now and if you compare it to our reality it makes this whole shit even more worse.I hope Frenchie and Hughie can handle this guy.'' you said when you had stoped by a booth with comic books and looked over them.Butcher humed.

,,I guess they will be fine.The only special thing he can do his talk to animals.'' said Butcher and you noded with a chuckle, now you knew what Supe they wanted to meet here.

,,I thought you like this stuff, at least according to your shelves.'' said Butcher looking over your shoulder into the comic you held in your hands.

,,Since when do you look for people to interriogate that I could possibly like?'' you asked with smirk, before you put the comic back.

,,I'm not.That was just a lucky coincidence.Or unlucky - you still seem pissed.What's wrong?'' Butcher asked.

,,Honey I have work to do.Sundays are planed for studying.'' you explained tired but still had to smile since you thanked Butcher for his effort.

,,Honey huh? You really start to become soft with me.'' said Butcher with a smirk and followed you when you turned away from him to continue your walk.

,,You should know by now that I use those names when I just don't want to call you something mean.'' you said.

,,Well if you hate it here we can at least have a bit fun with your writing.'' Butcher said putting his mobile out again.

In the next minutes Butcher managed to get to know about all your preferences that your posts could reveal and he clearly seemed to enjoy that.You would also start to ask him out since you wanted to keep this interriogation fair, that leaded to the both of you having a very open conversation about sex and some weird stories about some experiences, almost in the middle of a convention.But you didn't care this entertained you clearly more than the comic books.

You got interrupted by a call you had to answer.After some time you came back to Butcher to tell him that you needed to go back to your dorm since a friend reminded you of the upcoming test next next week.

You already wanted to turn on your heel and call your friend back again, when Butcher reached out for your hand.A discussion started about wether you would leave this convention or not.

,,Are you mad you can't just forbid me to stay.'' you said after you gave up on explaining yourself properly.

,,When was the last time you just did nothing?You're completly stressed out Y/N.Have you at least eaten something today?'' asked Butcher.

,,No.Thanks to you guys I got kicked out of bed.'' you said, having Butcher cursing under his breath when he realised that.

,,I will make it up for you, just try to stay calm now.Your lips look terrible already.'' said Butcher still holding your hand in his.

,,What?'' you asked clearly a bit confused at this remark.

,,You always chew your lips when you're stressed out and they look awful right now.'' said he and you had to praise him again for being sensitive, recieving an grumpy look.But he was right when you gave him a smile in response you noticed how chapped they were.Great now you looked tired and terrible.

,,Maybe next Sunday.I still need to get a job once this whole detective thing with us is done.'' you said, tears started to fill your eyes caused by your rising stress level and even with the sunglasses Butcher could tell how you felt right now.

In the same moment Hughie and Frenchie ran to you , being completly out of breath but still managed to tell you that they messed up.The Supe had no interest messing around with Vought and called the security.You tried took calm down, that your tears would stay in your eyes and focused on the conversation between the boys.

,,This stupid eco- fucker.'' said Butcher.

,,Did you just asked him nicely or did you also brought some good arguments with you.'' you asked.

,,What should we havve against him? Sometimes you just have to hope that some people still have the balls to do something good.'' said Hughie.

,,Or you have to hope that they also just assholes.'' you said and pulled your phone out to search for something.

,,Here that's a list of women , who accuse him of sexual harassment, there are even videos and pictures on this side to prove their accusations.I thought you were prepared.'' you said and handed Hughie your mobile.

,,Where did you get this from?'' asked Butcher.

,,I have my sources.No matter how stupid the fandom we nerds stay together.'' you said a bit exaggerated.

,,At least something for today.'' you said now a bit satisfied when you looked after Frenchie and Hughie who walked back to the supes booth.

You even allowed Butcher to lay an arm over your should to pull you close to him.

,,That was fucking diabolical.Don't you ever think less of you love.'' said Butcher.

You pressed yourself against him and hid your face in his jacket, afraid that someone would see you start crying otherwise.A deep breath came from him and you could hear his smile out of it, while his hand stroked your hair softly.

,,Thanks.'' you said once you found your voice again, with your head buried in his shirt.

,,Come on lets get you back home.Guess the boys won't take long now.'' said Butcher and brought you to the car with his arm still around you.

While you were driving back you fell asleep.Butcher had decided to take you with them despite your saying but when you woke up after some nice hours of sleep and all cuddled up in your blanket you didn't mind at all.Frenchie had even made some waffles before he and Kimiko went away to spend the rest of the day together.

,,You know when you aren't tired or hungry you actually look kinda hot, even with those chapped lips.'' said Butcher when you stood next to him to you lay your empty plate on the kitchen island.

You gave him a smirk.,,Do you always flirt with women like this?'' you asked.Your gaze on him tried to stay unimpressed, when he pressed you against the table with his familiar smirk on.

,,Only if they are also into quickies on kitchen tables.'' said Butcher, his hands roamed over your curves carefully to test the waters.

,,You really needed my bad writing for this?'' you asked in disbelieve, when you already were sat on the table and started to kiss Butcher.

,,Don't worry love I myself have plenty of ideas for us.'' said Butcher before he started to kiss you again.

#the boys #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher #billy butcher imagine #the boys imagine

109 notes · View notes

streetslost · 1 year

Text

📱- ….anyone else make impulse buys when they’re sad? LMAO

#ngl I had forgotten I ordered these kdhslsjdldj #large image //#&&. mobile ( last minute thought on a messy post )#they look really good tho so I’m not unhappy 😂

11 notes · View notes

vtforpedro · 3 years

Text

health update- long post

so we are still trying to figure out all my health shit. I just now started to lose a couple pounds again but still feeling bloated and crampy every day. my right arm looks slightly swollen and hurts + my purple nail beds that literally sparked this entire thing way back on dec 20th, 2019 or w/e that no doctor has acknowledged have gotten darker and now clearly noticeable to other people. been seeing it for nearly 16 months myself but I stopped asking after like a year cause they ~couldn't see it~ in bright ass medical offices and didn't bother investigating further cause You Seem Anxious™ n e ways, I had to call the paramedics on march 29th cause I got so lethargic I felt like someone had drugged me. could barely sit up, speech was slow, could NOT open my eyes, felt like it was hard to breathe. took me three minutes to stand up with a paramedic's help AND I knew if I tried to walk I'd fall. almost fell twice in a row a week beforehand, tho the fatigue wasn't as severe. sorry if I've mentioned this already I don't fucking have any brainpower anymore to remember what I've talked about and haven't have experienced two more bouts of sudden, extreme lethargy, the pain/swelling in my arm isn't going away, purple nail beds, etc etc. so went to my PCP and barely got halfway through explaining everything that was happening and she's like 'yeah so I want you to do labs today' and sent a referral for a vascular ultrasound. so every artery/vein from the big ones in my neck down to my arms and to the tiny ones in my fingers sooo my labs became available for me to see tonight in the lab portal, but my doctor set me up for an appt on monday to 'discuss them' and I was like ok either the labs or the vascular ultrasound is abnormal. OR BOTH yeah, it's probably both. I'm sure doctor's hate that we can view our labs before talking with them but I actually like having an idea of what's wrong instead of being blindsided lmao I knew I had leukemia before my doc told me I did and it was much easier to handle after sitting with it for a few days beforehand so yeah pretty sure I'm really vitamin d deficient, if I'm reading it right, which she was concerned about, plus, again if I'm reading it right, I have a whole ass, brand new incurable autoimmune disorder that honestly sounds like it sucks more than the fucking cancer I have c: c: c: I don't know 100% if I have this but it seems pretty likely and would explain a lot of things going on (not the head stuff, which is very likely still IIH, but the bloating + inability to lose weight, which can be helped so I can continue losing weight to hopefully help the fucking IIH) my body is just. breaking down and trying to kill me at every turn, I swear. like what's the point anymore, nothing ever gets better lol I have no life to live, just chronic disability that's agonizing day in and day out. what's. the. fucking. point. this can be 'managed' but will always steadily worsen over time because it can't be cured sooo,,,,,,, I don't want to do this anymore, I truly don't. I've been telling my mom for six years every time I turn a corner it's something worse and that was for psychological trauma, but now it's turned into trauma caused by debilitating and declining health issues. I don't want to do this anymore did labs on monday for my hematologist to check where the cancer numbers are, I expect that one to take a while to get back. if the cancer numbers are detectable, I can't even treat it (and don't want to since, as my hema put it, the treatment can't be worse than the disease and chemo tried to kill me like three times) yet another thing I could've possibly been treating 16 months ago (third potential thing but You Seem Anxious™ sure delays diagnosis, seems like they should fix that, huh???) as an aside, this is the second time I've read POSITIVE (reference range: NEGATIVE) on my labs and it's not a great feeling guys NOT GREAT AT ALL all of this is happening during a pandemic so I haven't seen my family in over a year and I've seen my brother like twice? since last march? I kinda feel

like I'm never going to see them again at all. haven't eaten in my fave restaurants or gone to a movie. idk it just really feels like these aren't things I'm ever going to experience again got three MRIs scheduled on the 16th to see if my chiari/anything else has worsened. it feels like it has. I'm losing mobility in my neck and it's becoming harder to walk, so if that's any worse or if brain surgery is recommended, idk what I'll do cause I'm not doing that :) it's too risky considering everything else. I'm constantly stuck in a place that no matter which direction I go I face further harm, so what can even be done? I'm sorry. I'm sorry these are always depressing and hopeless, but I don't know how to feel hope anymore. we'll see what my pcp says on monday, but it's not looking good I'm truly sorry if I bring you all down with these posts. it's the only place I can put all my messy thoughts and feelings without feeling judged. thank you, all the same, for listening and offering words of encouragement and hope where I don't have any love you all very, very much. thanks for always being there for me <3

#personal #medical #tw suicidal thoughts #long post #what more can i do but SIIIIIGH

23 notes · View notes

summonerscenarios · 3 years

Note

Hey I submitted a request earlier that I don't think went through (sorry, new to tumblr). In case it didn't, I asked if you could do an angst scenario of the MC being wounded in a real fight and getting hospitalized, hanging onto life. How would Shiro, Kengo, Ryota, Toji, Moritaka, and Agyo take it? (Ignore this the post went through) Thanks!

Me? Going overboard on a request and writing way too much filler at the beginning for the sake of a plot? MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK. 8000 words later and this is made~! Thank you sm to @husbandomail for proofreading this! -------------

None of the Summoners are there when you get ambushed, it’s a twisted kind of irony really - the one person who’s almost always hanging around with someone being attacked the moment they get caught on their own. You’re used to the fights by this point, you’ve been involved in conflict from the moment you first arrived in Tokyo from fighting enemies to fighting future allies, so when you first get jumped by another group who think they’ve got what it takes to take you down, you don’t even bat an eye at the confrontation, thinking it should be over soon. You were right, but not in the way you’d thought.

You don’t know when it happens, you were just preparing to call forth your sacred artifact when a wave of searing heat blossoms from your side. At first you don’t even recognize it as pain, it feels just like burning, as though you’ve gotten too close to a fire, and you look down just in time to see the knife buried in your side as the stranger rips the blade back out. The the pain hits you, and you stumble over yourself trying to make as much distance as possible from the one who stabbed you, cursing as you bring a hand to clutch at the wound - it must have been serrated, as there’s far more damage than a regular knife could cause, and the blood is already seeping through your shirt and onto your fingers as you try to keep pressure on it. It’s a moment of weakness, one your attackers are eager to take advantage of, but you aren’t going down without a fight; weapon or no, you’ll fight tooth and nail if you have to to get out of this.

And that’s exactly what happens - your attackers swarm in, some armed with knives and pipes, others bare handed like yourself, and the ensuing fight is awash with blood, tearing and screaming. Every hit you get in you’re taking three, knocking you back and slicing at your clothes and body as you have one too many close calls with weapons getting too close. Your fists are torn up and bleeding, and your arms are shredded from blocking blow after blow as you focus on a repetitive rhythm - swerve, jab, dodge, kick, swerve, jab, dodge, hit - you’re getting exhausted, movements growing sloppy with each moment spent constantly evading. You put up a good fight, at least three of them are limping from where you’ve struck them in the legs, and another is clutching his arm nursing the spot where you’d sunk your teeth in when it had wrapped around your neck. They’re wounded, but the more you hurt them the more you piss them off, and you’re struggling to keep up.

It’s brutal, and in the split second it takes you to kick away the stranger going for your throat there’s a crack and your vision goes white as your body gives out and you crumple to the floor - you’ve been struck in the back of the head, that much you know, but you can’t will your body to get back up. You’ve reached your limit, you can’t move anymore and your vision is swimming in and out of darkness, with blackspots clouding your already messy thoughts as you fight to focus on the group who are closing back in. They’re approaching you slowly, whether it’s because they’re so sure they’ve won, or if they assume you’re just faking (which would have been a smart move, in hindsight) you don’t know, all you know is that their weapons are still raised, wet and dripping from what you can only assume is your blood. They’re not done with you yet, you think to yourself, head laying slack against the floor as you glare up at your attackers with bared teeth.

Shit, you might actually die here.

But then the walkway is flooded by lights, a passing car driving close to the pavement as it goes past. It must be too close for comfort, as at the sight of the headlights momentarily blinding your vision the group scampers off, as though terrified at the thought of being caught - it’s enough to make you laugh, if breathing didn’t feel like you were rubbing sandpaper against your throat. Instead you try to call out to the passing car, ignoring the metallic taste that floods your mouth as you try to make your voice as loud as possible. For a moment you think you catch the driver’s attention, as the car slows down just a fraction, lights trailing over the path so close to spotting you, but then you watch as it continues moving, the lights sliding out of view and basking you in darkness once again as you drop your head back to the ground. You don’t know how long you lay there - a few minutes at least - but eventually you slowly pull yourself up into a sitting position, no longer trusting your legs to support your weight as you drag yourself over to the closest wall, slumping against it with a wheeze as your body protests moving so soon. If you’re gonna pass out, it’s not gonna be face down on the floor you’re making sure of that, but you know you can’t stay here and just hope someone will come find you, not when there’s a chance of your attackers coming back.

Yet you can’t walk, and you doubt dragging your bloody body out into the street is going to do anything other than get you hit by a car. Instead, you shove your hand into your pocket, cursing the fabric as it catches and pulls on the slices etched into your skin as you fish around for your phone, hoping that it wasn’t too damaged in the scuffle. Fortunately, it looks untouched when you pull it out, and when you turn it on the flash lights up the area around you, where you can see dark red streaks spattering the pavement like something out of a horror movie. Biting back a wince, you clumsily open your phone, fingers sliding over the screen and leaving smears as you slide through your contacts, looking for someone who can pick up your call. You don’t know who you end up calling, but the moment you hear the dial you bring the mobile up to your ear and wait, trying to keep yourself focused enough to stay awake long enough to tell someone what’s happened. You hear a voice as someone picks up on the other end - you can’t make out who but they sound happy as they say your name, recognizing the caller ID; you feel almost bad that you’re about to ruin their night with an impromptu near-death call.

You wheeze something out - maybe cracking a joke in the face of death, maybe a serious rundown on what’s happened, or hell maybe even a garble of gibberish with how your tongue feels like solid lead in your mouth as you talk. As soon as you speak the call goes silent, and you wonder for a moment if they’ve hung up, but then they’re back on the line again, saying something about holding on and asking where you are, what you can see, and questions along those lines. You do your best to answer them all, but sometimes their voice is drowned out by white noise, as though a static is clouding your head and trying to force its way out of your ears getting increasingly more persistent the longer the call lasts; eventually you can barely make out anything other than a few words, and your entire weight is pressed against the wall now hands struggling to keep a hold on the phone as your fingers go lax and lose any strength they had. Eventually the phone slips from your hands altogether and you can’t even reach down to pick it up, so you try to keep speaking as loud as you can as you stare up at the sky, looking for something to keep you awake. But you don’t find it - instead you find the stars looking back at you, sparsely dotted across the sky as the only other witnesses to the sight of you in this moment. They look so small and you have to squint to see them, noticing that their initial shine is fading, growing duller; it takes too long for your brain to register that it’s because you’re passing out, eyes fluttering open and closed. The last thing you can hear is the voice on the other end of the call, telling you to stay awake, not to close your eyes - you’ve never been too good at listening to people though…

Shiro is the one who you’d called. When he’d seen your name flash on his screen, he fully expected to hear that you were on your way back to the dorms since you were cutting close to missing curfew. His tone is chipper when he answers the call, bringing it up to his ear, but then he hears the wheeze on the other end, a hollow sounding rattle of words that makes his world freeze in the spot. Shiro would recognize your voice from anywhere, but it sounds so hoarse and pained that he goes silent at the sound, listening to the sound of you breathing as you wait for him to respond. All thoughts screech to a halt - there’s so many questions that hit him at once, all fighting for the forefront of his mind, but the red flags force their way forward. Something’s wrong, something’s happened. A wince on the other line snaps him out of his thoughts, and all at once he’s trying to get as much information as he possibly can - where are you? How far from the dorms? Can you get back? What can you see? They rattle off faster than they should be, but the panic is beginning to well up in his chest as he begins to realize the gravity of the situation and that you aren’t okay. The moment he’s able to get an address, he’s out of the room and looking for someone, anyone who can help him get to where you are and get you the help you desperately need as soon as possible - it’s a stroke of luck that there’s teachers still doing their rounds when Shiro makes it outside, as he would scoured the whole place looking for help as he didn’t want to hang up on you.

He’s part way through trying his best to explain the situation when your phone hits the floor and he stills, eyes wide as he listens to your voice, loud but groggy and disoriented as your words filter in and out of coherency. The only thing he can think to say is begging you to stay awake, to listen to his voice in the vain hope that it will give you something to focus on, and by the time your answers begin filtering off into long silences Shiro’s clutching his phone hard enough that it hurts and yelling even though it doesn’t make a difference. He’s got a sinking feeling in his stomach that if you pass out this might very well be the last time he hears your voice, but he shakes the thought away violently as his attention whips back to the teacher, watching anxiously as they make a call to someone - he’s hoping its emergency services - and try to fill in the gaps on what’s happened. In the time that Shiro’s attention has turned from the teacher back to the phone the call’s gone quiet, he’s hoping it’s just that the calls dropped but when he checks the screen his heart drops into his stomach upon seeing the call time display.

You’re gone - and he prays it’s not for good.

Shiro’s not allowed to go with them to the scene, but when he’s not calling the other Summoners to get them to convene he’s glued to Mr. Triton’s side, the teacher being updated on the situation as things progress. He can tell something’s wrong when Triton receives news that they’ve found you, as the momentary sigh of relief is replaced by an expression of dread which is poorly masked as he looks over at the Summoners who have all arrived. You’re alive, the teacher assures them that much, but as soon as he hears the word ‘hospital’, Shiro is struck with the reality that this is really happening. There is no worry over wounds that disappear, no grins as he’s waved off for being so concerned over temporary injuries - you won’t be coming back tonight. Going to the hospital isn’t an option, even though for once Shiro is tempted to side with Kengo about going anyway just to see if you’re gonna be okay, but it’s clear the teachers are on alert as all students are directed right back to their dorms to stay put for the rest of the night, with promises that you’re going to be okay even though he knows they don’t know that for sure.

Shiro can’t sleep, and spends most of the night looking through his phone. Videos, pictures taken together - he keeps rereading the last message you’d sent him over and over again, getting more choked up every time he goes back to it. ‘Be back soon’, if only you knew how wrong you were, but how could you have known? How could he? He didn’t get around to responding, figuring that he could speak to you when you got back at the time, and now he regrets it, he regrets it so much that it hurts and he can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up Shiro’s head is throbbing and his eyes sting, and he feels sick when he looks at his phone and last night's events catch up to him.

It takes a while before anybody is allowed to actually see you. Your condition was worse than they had thought when you were first brought in, so you weren’t allowed visitation until the doctors knew you weren’t at immediate risk anymore, but those days of waiting are agony. Shrio can’t stand still - if he stands still then he thinks about it, and immediately jumps to the worst case scenario - so he’s always up and trying to keep his mind occupied with tasks, hand constantly hovering over his pocket to make sure he’s got his phone on him. He’s so scared that he’s going to get a call of the worst, that you’ve taken a turn and aren’t going to make it, to the point that he keeps checking it throughout the days, keeping it close even though realistically he knows that he wouldn’t be the one getting that call if something happened.

Once the visits start you’re not allowed more than a few people in your room so the Summoners have to visit in pairs. Shiro is the first to visit with Kengo, and it takes a lot of running between floors and Kengo being too stubborn to ask the reception for directions before they’re finally directed to your room, and though they’re warned beforehand that you won’t be awake Kengo storms inside with Shiro hot on his heels. At the sight of you Shiro’s chest tightens. There’s bruises, cuts and tears everywhere he can see, the majority of them bandaged up and sterilized yet still painful to look at; he can’t imagine how much they must have hurt, how much they still hurt, and he has to tear himself away and focus on your face so his mind doesn’t immediately dip back into those worst case scenarios. Despite your injuries your face looks relatively peaceful, though the neutral expression on your face marred by scrapes and gauze makes it hard to just pretend that you’re sleeping and going to wake at any moment. He leaves flowers and a card signed by your classmates and guild members at your bedside before taking a seat right beside you, hesitant to even touch your hand whilst Kengo leans against the wall directly facing your bed. They’re only allowed to stay for a few hours, and when it’s time to leave Shiro reaches out and gives your hand a comforting squeeze, muttering words of confidence under his breath hoping that they’ll at least reach you before he leaves. It hurts to see you in the hospital, but being able to see you still living and breathing, no matter how battered and beaten, gives him hope, a hope that he desperately clings to like it’s a lifeline as he comes to terms with the fact that this isn’t over yet. You’ve got a long way to go - and Shiro hopes above all else that you’ll wake up...right?

Kengo, upon getting the call from Shiro, doesn’t really register the seriousness of the situation - Shiro wanted to explain it to everybody in person rather than over the phone, and most of the time his ‘emergencies’ are usually just some easy to fix problems with some elbow grease and a couple bruised knuckles. It’s because of this that he doesn’t rush over right away, arriving at the meetup point by the time everyone else has convened in a small cluster of concerned faces, and it’s upon seeing their expressions on top of spotting a teacher with them sets of alarm bells in his head. Those are only confirmed once Kengo hears about what happened to you, about the attack and the events that followed. It can’t be real, right? Most people who want to get revenge or get violent need only to open the app so they don't have to worry about real world damage, so unless someone was actually trying to kill you this doesn’t make sense. And if someone was trying to kill you? There’s gonna be hell to pay, and he’s not gonna sit by and let someone else take care of it for him.

He knows that obviously they’re not going to be allowed to see you, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least argue it - what if something happens to you again?! He wasn’t there the first time he’s sure as hell going to be there the next time! He can’t just go back to his dorm knowing that you’re out there, even if you’re somewhere safe like the hospital, so it’s no surprise that he tries to sneak out anyway. Of course he doesn’t get far, as the teachers are already on alert in light of what’s just happened and so he gets confronted by Mr. Jinn before he even makes it out of the dorms. He can’t convince Kengo to go back to his dorm room, so Mr Jinn instead offers for him to come walk with him as he does his rounds through the dorm building checking in on the other students - Kengo still feels antsy about not being able to leave, but knowing that he won’t be able to think clearly if he’s stuck in his room by himself, he takes him up on the offer, even if the whole time his mind can’t stop thinking about where you are and how you’re doing.

Once people are able to visit you in the hospital Kengo’s adamant of seeing you as soon as possible, not being able to see that you’re going to be okay for himself has been driving him nuts. It takes some convincing before they settle on visiting you in pairs, and Kengo ends up tagging along with Shiro when he makes the trip to come and visit you for the first time. He’s gotta admit, he gets ahead of himself and doesn’t think to ask for directions, going off of the room number alone to try and find your room; however, after more than a few minutes wasted going between floors with Shiro right behind him trying to get him to slow down, they finally get directed to the right place. He doesn’t hesitate to swing the door open without a second thought, only half listening to the warning that you won’t be awake when he enters the room and spots you. Now, Kengo has seen you hurt - the two of you have gotten into too many scuffles together to count, both inside and outside of battle zones - he’s seen you so hurt that you’ve had to use your sword to stand, so hurt that when you smiled he could see the blood in your teeth and smearing your lips as you wiped it away. This isn’t the same. You look beat down, weak and frail, surrounded by wires, tubes and machines and it just looks wrong. You’re his partner, guildmaster of the Summoners, one hell of a fighter and friend to just about anyone you meet, you shouldn’t be here, with the doctors still not knowing if you’re going to fully recover or not, let alone wake up at all.

It makes his blood boil, thinking about how someone went out of their way to actively hurt you, maybe even try to kill you. He doesn’t care if they sought you out deliberately or if you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the moment he sees you in that hospital bed it already solidifies the resolve that he had to track down the people responsible and give them a dose of their own medicine - maybe if they’re lucky they’ll still be able to walk by the time he drags them to whoever handles this whole investigation mess. That can be handled later, for now Kengo takes a spot leaning against the wall right next to the window, arms crossed whilst Shiro sits down directly by your bedside. At least you’ll have a nice view to wake up to when you’re finally conscious - he’s not even humoring the alternative, you will wake up. The time passes by too quickly for his liking, and all too soon there’s a knock on the door as one of the floor staff informs them that visiting hours will be concluding soon. A part of him wants to argue staying for a little longer, reluctant to leave your side now that he can finally see you again, but he doesn’t wanna cause even more stress to the people responsible for keeping you alive so the two of them take their leave, with Kengo taking a moment to run his hand along the end board of your bed as he gives you one last glance. Kengo hangs around outside of the hospital for a little longer after that, giving the area a couple rounds. He’s pretty sure those thugs aren’t stupid enough to take another go at you here, they probably don’t even know who you are, but the idea of just leaving you there doesn’t settle right with him. So he stays a while, finding a wall to sit on that gives him a good enough view of your room, just one light amongst many that light the hospital, and he waits - he doesn’t know for what, but the whole time he’s there he’s wordlessly cheering you on, cause he knows that you’re gonna come out of this in one piece. You’ve beat the odds before, and you’ll do it again, he just hopes he’s around long enough to see it happen.

Ryota doesn’t immediately clock on to something being wrong, as Shiro never specified over the phone what the meeting was about, but he’d still rushed to get there nonetheless because most of the time Shiro’s meetings were about something important, or, at the very least, meant that everyone was going to show up. However, he arrives just in time to catch part of the conversation between Moritaka and Shiro, where upon hearing the word ‘hospital’ immediately asks why they’d brought it up. Ryota can’t imagine anyone being able to take you down, especially because you’ve joked about it so many times, so he’s shaken to his very core to learn that you’d been found collapsed, so badly injured that you’ve been immediately transported to the closest hospital for treatment. There’s a few minutes where he hopes that they’ll spin around and say it’s a joke while you sidle up to the group and laugh at how he fell for it, but you’d never been one to play that cruel of a prank and it’s more wishful thinking on his part, one that slowly dies as Toji, Kengo and Agyo show up to receive similar confirmations. He wants to cry, and he does once the situation fully registers. You were out there, badly hurt all alone for who knows how long - how many people had walked past and not noticed? How many hadn’t even heard what was going on until they saw lights flashing as you were carted off? The thought of you alone and in pain brings Ryota to tears, only made worse when the Summoners try to comfort him even though none of them know what could happen to you.

He’s a little bummed that he isn’t able to go along with Shiro when visitations first open up, as he wanted to be the first one to see you; however, with how wound up Kengo’s been, Ryota reasons that it’s probably for the best to let the two of them go, making sure that Shiro takes the ‘get well soon’ card that everyone had signed with him so that you can see how many people are here to support you. When Shiro returns to the guild everyone can see that it was a difficult experience, his expression one of serious distress as he takes a moment to himself before talking to the others about how you’re holding up. The fact that you still aren’t awake worries him the most, as you’ve been kicked down plenty of times and still get back to your feet, never one to stay down for long - it’s been a while since the day you were attacked however, and very little word on your progress is something that sticks him with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. When Ryota is able to come visit he’s practically dragging Toji along with him to get there as quickly as possible, something the swordsman takes notice of as he too picks up the pace on the journey there.

Having received directions from Shiro from their last visit, it doesn’t take long for Ryota and Toji to find the room you’re staying in, and even though the window is small he can make out your shape lying down on the bed when he peeks in through the door and he feels hope welling up in his chest at the sight of you. You look truly beaten down but you’re still here, and Ryota knows that it’s something to be lucky for as he looks over the injuries that he can see. From the minute that he sits down his hand never leaves yours, holding it close and squeezing it as though expecting you to return the gesture; he tries to keep his spirits up, and talks to you even though he doesn’t know if you can hear him. From filling you in on things that have been happening since you were gone to telling you about all the things you all will be able to do together once you wake up Ryota tells you about them, rattling off how excited everyone will be to see you come home and how many gifts people are making for you to enjoy when you’re in a good enough condition to see them all - if you weren’t the life of the party before you’ll definitely be now! The atmosphere shifts a little every time he mentions you getting out of the hospital, and Ryota can see Toji’s gaze flickering over to your monitor with a carefully neutral expression as though checking to see that it’s still going, that you’re still going, but Ryota’s not gonna give up on you, no matter how long it takes for you to come home.

Ryota ends up staying a little longer than he should have, as visiting hours are over by the time he finally realizes what time it is - the nurses on the floor had allowed him to stay since he didn’t cause any trouble during his visit, or maybe they just felt sympathetic and were moved upon seeing him crying over his beloved friend. He panics a little and apologizes for staying past visiting hours, but even so he still feels reluctant to leave you, being slow to collect his things and taking the time neaten up the gifts decorating your bedside just so he can have a few more moments at your side.

Toji takes any guild meetings seriously, so it comes as a surprise to no one that he starts heading to the meeting location as soon as he gets word from Shiro. However he knows something is wrong before he even gets there - Shiro’s voice was notably shaken even as he’d attempted to keep himself calm over the phone, pausing at points to recompose himself and continue the call. That was all he needed to begin suspecting that things were amiss, and yet he had no way of gauging just how serious the situation was until he’d arrived to find the Summoners already there, talking amongst themselves with high-strung emotions. The sight of the teacher with them only solidifies his suspicions, and when he approaches he can see that Ryota’s on the verge of tears when the two make eye contact, and the other two Summoners are faring just as poorly. Toji is reduced to silence when he figures out what’s happened in his absence, and he can suddenly understand why everyone looks so pained - their very own guild master, closest friend and ally to many, was viciously brought to their knees, reduced to a bloody mess that left everyone wondering if they were going to even survive the night. Just hearing it paints a violent picture that would make just about anyone sick to their stomach that another being would be capable of inflicting such brutal harm, and that very image keeps Toji awake even as they’re ushered back to their rooms and ordered to stay put until more light is shed on the situation..

He keeps himself busy during your first few days in hospital, but that's namely because he’s throwing himself into scouring the streets for any traces of your attackers he can find, following leads and piecing the puzzles of your attack together to get a better picture of what exactly went down. He wasn’t allowed at the scene, given that it at least had to be cleaned before people could use it again, but he’d gotten close enough to see the remains of your blood stubbornly clinging to the gaps in the concrete as it was hosed down, a particularly large pool of it collected close to the wall where you must have been sitting that night. Toji’s seen crime scenes before, quite a few of them stumbled upon by chance, but there’s something different when you’re looking at the exact spot where one of your closest allies was struck down and left for dead, and Toji has to force himself to stop coming back to the scene before the sight’s ingrained into his mind for the rest of his days. It’s no surprise that Toji’s out for blood, Kengo is much the same as the boy wants to see some form of justice against the ones responsible; however as the days pass he’s run into just about every dead end he’s been able to pry to the surface. He’s angry at himself for not having found the culprits by the time he’s able to finally visit - he wanted to be able to inform you that you could rest easy knowing those responsible were brought to justice, whether that was by his own hands or by other means, so the fact that he can’t frustrates him to no end.

Ryota’s all too eager to get there and see you, practically dragging him along by the arm and telling him to hurry up with a smile on his face as though he’s trying to reassure the swordsman that everything’s going to be okay. Yet Toji knows that Ryota’s taking this situation as seriously as the rest of them, regardless of how well he hides it behind a smile and words of comfort. He has to admit that he’s eager to check in on your condition as well, but doesn’t fool himself with hopes that you’ll be up and awake when they arrive; it’s still far too soon to tell, and he’d rather see it for himself before he comes to any conclusions about your current state. Upon arriving at the hospital Ryota takes the lead to guide the two of them up to the floor you’re staying on, and upon checking that it’s your room by looking through the door window, Ryota opens the door and the two of them step inside. It pains him to see you in such a state, and upon seeing your face he is only reminded of the past, when you’d rush headfirst into fights without another thought for the consequences, taking every hit and wound in stride like not even the world itself could touch you. He’d told you back then that one day your recklessness would prove to be your downfall, but he could have never predicted that his words would have been such a painful foreshadowing of where you are now.

Taking a seat by your side, he can’t find the right words to say - what do you say to someone who could be lying on their deathbed days from now? To someone who might not even hear the words in the first place? Toji starts when Ryota begins to speak to you, clutching your hand in his as he talks as though you’re awake and well, like nothing’s wrong. He has to admit, seeing Ryota talking to you in such a way, entertaining ideas of all the people waiting for you to return back to school, makes him feel a little more at ease as he imagines those scenarios that he talks about coming true. Every once in a while his attention wanes from you as he glances at the vitals monitor beside him, watching the lines on the screen as they dip and rise in what for the moment is a steady rhythm. How bizarre that such a thin line is the lifeline proving you’re still alive, Toji finds himself looking at the monitor for longer than he should, as when he looks away Ryota gives him a comforting smile, worry clear on his face before turning his attention back to talking to you. For the first visit Toji doesn’t stay for too long, and leaves you in the care of Ryota after a few hours. However, before he leaves, Toji brings a hand to rest against your arm, careful to avoid your bandages and wounds as much as possible as he brushes your hair from your face, pausing for a moment before whispering something under his breath and pulling away. He’ll come back, once things have cleared up and he can calm the thoughts already pushing at the corners of his mind, but for now his search for the culprits begins anew the moment he steps out of the hospital doors, hands gripping the hilts of his swords tight as his expression twists into one of grim determination. He’s going to get you justice - hopefully you’ll live to see it come to fruition.

Moritaka was the first one to arrive when he’d gotten the call from Shiro, being closer to the area in question than all of the rest as he was already on his way there. When he first receives the call there is no reason to suggest that something’s amiss, after all word spreads fast when things go wrong, especially when it involves a certain guild master. And yet when he answers the call Shiro’s tone immediately gives him pause, and he stops walking to listen; all Shiro does is tell him that something has happened and that he needs to get there as soon as possible, but that’s more than enough for Moritaka to pick up the pace, rushing to arrive at the destination in question. When he arrives he greets Shiro and the teacher, resting a hand upon his friend’s shoulder when he sees how openly frazzled and shaken up he is by the situation - rarely does he see Shiro reduced to such a state, and as that same level of concern is evident in Mr. Triton’s face Moritaka realizes that this is far more serious than he had initially thought. When Moritaka gets filled in on what happened while you were out he recognizes the gravity of the situation - app wounds are easy to heal, but wounds procured in actual combat? Especially those that are severe enough to warrant being taken directly to the hospital? Just the thought of your current condition has concern bubbling up to the surface, even more so as the other Summoners begin to show up.

Once you’re allowed people to come and visit the Summoners end up visiting you in pairs, with Shiro and Kengo going first, then Ryota and Toji, and then Agyo and himself. They were fortunate to be able to come and see you so soon after they started up visitation, as the moment words got around there were many people who wanted to come and check up on you for themselves, each one a testament to how many friends you’d brought together during your brief stay in Tokyo. The mood is somber the entire trip there, and upon seeing the entrance to the hospital Moritaka can feel the unease seeping from his small companion, an unease that he’s sure he’s radiating himself. He’s been to the hospital before - nothing major, but the therian has had his fair share of visits for various reasons, both visiting allies as well as checkups - but now? This is different, and he can feel it hanging in the air as he takes the initiative and steps inside, moving over to the reception for directions to your room. One of the nurses is kind enough to escort the two of them there, expression one of understanding when she realizes exactly which room she’s taking them to, and for a moment he could swear there’s also a look of pity that crosses her face before she turns away and starts walking.

Before they enter the room, Moritaka turns to Agyo and warns him about what he expects to see in there - whilst Shiro assured you were making slow but sure progress, you were still in a far worse state than the last time either transient had seen you, so Moritaka feels responsible for letting the lion dog know that should he need to step out at any time to process it he can. Agyo assures that he understands, and makes the first move to reach for the handle and step into the room, where Moritaka notices he immediately freezes at the sight of you. He can see you too, laid up in bed covered in enough gauze, stitches and bruises to cover the majority of your arms and torso, and even Moritaka has to take a moment to steel himself before softly calling out to Agyo, asking if he’s still okay to step inside. The two of them enter the room, both taking their place at either side of your bed and Moritaka steals a glance at your injuries - Shiro was right about how you were on the way to recovery, as up close like this Mori can see some of your superficial wounds are well on their way to healing. But the deeper wounds are another story, and even covered up it’s clear to see that when you wake up you’re going to be bed bound for a long while so that they can properly heal.

Throughout their visit, nurses and doctors alike filter in and out of the room, most of them stopping by to check on your condition whilst a few take the time to come in and ask how they’re holding up. Moritaka keeps up a light conversation with them, assuring them that they’re fine whilst Agyo mostly keeps to himself - from his reaction Moritaka can understand why the staff might worry, he’s worried too. As the time finally arrives for them to take their leave Moritaka stands up and pats the bed beside your arm, unsure if it’s a good idea to touch you lest he end up hurting you in some way. However, when Agyo hops from his seat he turns to the warrior dog and asks for a few more minutes alone - Moritaka is surprised but offers an understanding nod, resting a hand on the young boy’s shoulder as he leaves. He doesn’t stray far, resting by the wall just outside the room waiting for Agyo to join him; he can’t hear much of what’s being said inside, not wanting to intrude on what is understandably a rough time for Agyo, however his ears pick up on the sound of crying, starting off quiet but growing loud enough for Moritaka to hear outside. His heart breaks at the noise, understanding too well the rush of emotions and uncertainty that hang in the air like a vice, and Moritaka finds himself tearing up as well as the weight of the situation settles within his mind, so much so that he ends up grabbing a fistful of his uniform and staring hard at the floor willing himself not to cry as the sound of crying continues to seep from the other side of the door.

Agyo sensed something was wrong the moment he was called to meet with the Summoners - he doesn’t know why but at the sound of Shiro’s voice the lion dog feels something weird in the pit of his stomach, leaving him uneasy as he goes to meet up with the other members. Normally, if something happened there would be a meeting at the guild, where Shiro would explain the details while the others joked about and tried to lighten the mood, but this time is different. And then, when Agyo arrives, he notices something else is different. Everyone is there, even a teacher he’s never seen before - everyone but you. Agyo asks where you are without thinking, expecting one of the Summoners to say that you’re on your way, but when he’s told that you’re not coming he’s confused. It’s a guild meeting, right? So why won’t you be there? Maybe you’re slacking off and hanging out with Tsathoggua to avoid coming to the meeting - you’d done it before - and he fully prepares to spin on his heel and march right on over there when Kengo stops him, expression grim enough that Agyo pauses on the spot. When Agyo hears your hurt he’s worried that it was some kind of accident, however he’s at a loss for words when they inform him that you were hurt enough to be put in the hospital, where you’ll be for a while. They try to tell him that you’re going to be okay, but he sees it on their faces when they cast each other nervous glances that they have no idea if that’s true; they know just as much as he does, and he suddenly feels sick at the thought of you stuck in a hospital, all alone. The first day passes and there’s no word on your improvement, then the second, then the third, and by that point Agyo’s beside himself, cleaning and re-cleaning and re-cleaning trying to stop himself from thinking about it. Every day he thinks the same thing, ‘you’re going to come back’ and every day that doesn’t happen, leaving a sinking feeling that hangs around the air right up until the day you’re finally allowed visitors.

Originally, the Summoners suggested to Agyo that it would be best for him to hold back on visiting until you’re in a better state - they’d be lying if they said that you were okay, especially once they’d seen how badly you were hurt for themselves. But the lion dog persists; Agyo wants to see you for himself, he wants to see that you’re okay and he’s relentless in assuring that he’s fully prepared for whatever ends up happening when he gets there, even if he’s not entirely sure what to expect. Even before they go in Moritaka has a heart to heart with the younger transient, placing a hand on his shoulder as he informs Agyo that he can leave at any time if he’s not prepared for what he’s going to see - it’s never easy seeing the ones you care about hurt, much less hurt enough to be placed in the hospital, so he wants to give Agyo a serious talk before he decides on whether or not he wants to go in. Honestly, he is kind of irked at first, not wanting to be babied, but he knows the situation is serious from the expressions of everyone since the news first reached him - the Summoners, his friends, even the nurses have been casting the two of them sympathetic looks the whole time they were being led to your room. So he listens to what Moritaka has to say, and, once he’s finished, Agyo’s the first one to reach for the door, trying to steel himself for what’s behind the door.

He’s not as prepared as he’d proclaimed he was, as the moment he opens the door it hits him all at once. It doesn’t feel real, not really, as though it’s a dream he’s about to wake up from at any moment, but the dull beep of your monitor is the only thing that feels real, and he fixates on it. He watches it as it moves, a stable rhythm for now, and he stands in the doorway until he hears Moritaka’s voice behind him, asking if he’s okay. Putting on a brave face, Agyo moves out of the way and sits down at your side while Moritaka takes a seat at the other side, and Agyo finally looks at you. You look in better condition than what he’d first thought, with the way he’d listened to Shiro describe your appearance he was expecting something scary, but now? You just look like you’re hurting, even though your expression is neutral. He tries to imagine what would happen when you woke up - the lion dog hopes that he’s here when it happens - he’s got a few choice words about how much you worried everyone, though he’s sure that scolding would just get waved off with a laugh as you lean over in your bed and give him head pats.

When he closes his eyes he can almost feel your hand on his head, and he tries his best to hold onto that when he opens them and faces you again. The two don’t stay for long, as they’ve got to return back to the guild soon, but as Agyo hops off of his chair to leave he pauses, blurting out a request for a few more minutes alone before he leaves. Moritaka gives him a look, one of understanding, and takes his leave, and as soon as the door closes the room feels quieter, only the sound of that monitor beeping as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what to do, or what to say, but after a moment of looking at your face he reaches out a paw and holds your hand, clutching it tight even though he knows you probably won’t feel it. Agyo whispers something, more to himself than to you, but it’s a plea for you to come back; it’s so quiet, but those words are like a catalyst as his vision blurs with tears as they roll down his cheeks and soak into his fur, and he cries, choking out those same words again and again as he wipes desperately at his eyes. He just wants you to come back, please, come back.

113 notes · View notes

ri-ahhh · 4 years

Text

van life

I wasn’t gonna post this because it’s just like an overload of unrealistic softness but now that we know that they’re selling the van I think now is the best time if I’m gonna do it lol.

Also I’m sorry I can’t make this shorter on your dash by putting a ‘keep reading’ break. Tumblr is shitty and permanently fucked on my desktop where it just won’t load the page once I’m logged in so I have to do everything through mobile🙄

warnings: fluff, smut, kinda unedited

***

MJ sighs as warm morning sunlight kisses her skin through the passenger window of the tiny house van. She and Grayson had decided to have a beach day to themselves — the first one of summer — and she could’t be more excited. Nothing makes MJ Macias more content and at peace with her life than laying under the Pacific sun until her nose freckles and her skin takes on that healthy golden hue. Wrinkles are a risk she’s willing to take as long as she has a nice, long podcast, something to munch on, and, of course, a good view of her boyfriend in the surf.

That view of him rivals the one of the ocean in her opinion, which is just past his window as they cruise down the PCH on their way to Malibu. MJ wiggles her white-painted toes on the dashboard and smiles as she watches him sing along quietly (and off-key) to the Tame Impala song filling the cabin of the van. She loves his profile so much: the perfect slope of his nose; his full lips; the chunk of hair that swoops across his forehead.

She lifts their clasped hands from where they rest on her thigh with their fingers threaded together, and kisses the back of his wide palm.

“You’re so handsome, Bear,” MJ murmurs against his skin.

Grayson stops singing long enough to look over at her and smile brightly, his eyes hidden behind his black Louis Vuitton sunglasses. He pulls their hands towards himself so he can copy her kiss, only to her her own soft skin.

“My pretty Peach,” he returns with a squeeze to her palm, making MJ flush the color of her pet name. “Always so beautiful in the mornings.”

MJ hums and takes her turn returning their hands back to her lap, trailing her long nails up and down his muscular, veiny forearm. Apparently they’re equally as headass for each other today. “Just in the mornings?” she teases, tickling the sensitive patch of skin near the crook of his elbow.

She can’t see his eyes roll, but she imagines they do as his grin turns playful. “Of course not, but especially in the mornings. Your hair is in that cute braid and your skin is all silky soft and your eyes are extra green.” He takes his eyes off the road for a moment to appraise her looking exactly as he described. “And, you know, usually on the weekends you’d still be naked at this time. I like that part about mornings, too.”

“Oh, Lord,” she laughs with a shake of her head. “Grayson!”

She gasps his name and giggles harder as he completely catches her off guard by moving their hands right over his hardening cock. MJ squeezes him reflexively, and Grayson gives a little grunt as he shifts in his seat with a smirk.

“What?” he asks in mock defense, placing both hands back on the steering wheel. “I had to show you how much you affect me! I only have to think about you naked in our bed and it goes up.”

“That’s sweet,” MJ says, stroking his dick one more time before moving her hand further down his thigh, “but if you think I’m giving you road head in this car on this twisty road, you’re very mistaken.”

Grayson makes an obnoxious little whiny noise in defeat, pouting playfully and muttering dejectedly, “I knew we should have taken the Tesla.”

MJ raises an eyebrow. “Well, we wouldn’t have been able to bring your surfboard. Or be the first ones to christen the tiny house.”

“Oh, shit,” Gray says quietly, surprised. MJ smiles at the small victory of teasing him, her eyes diverting back to the beautiful scenery ahead of them as her mind wanders to all the things they can do in that makeshift bed.

“How about road hand, then, to start it off?”

She lets out a frustrated huff, his request interrupting her daydream. If there was ever a scenario where she didn't trust Grayson, it was one in which he was receiving any overt sexual pleasure whilst controlling a giant motor vehicle.

“Gray, I love you, but you’re pushing it.”

“Understood.”

***

It takes about half an hour for them to reach their destination, but MJ knows it was worth the drive as soon as they exit the car and she inhales the clean, salty air. They park at a little camping lot they had reserved a spot in for the day, the glittering ocean a mere few hundred feet away.

“Surf looks good,” MJ remarks, her hand shielding her eyes as she gazes out at the water. It always makes her a little nervous when Gray goes out in big swells, so the mild waves are a happy sight for her. “Nice and small; just how I like ‘em.”

Grayson looks out as well as he climbs on the roof of the van to retrieve the surfboard. “Funny, I happen to know for a fact you like ‘em long and wide,” he jokes. He just couldn’t help himself, apparently, his wide smile looking down at her from the top of the ladder a clear display of how proud of the stupid joke he is.

MJ watches the exposed muscles in his arms and shoulders ripple under his skin as he begins wrestling with the hooks and ties securing the board to the roof racks. The sight combined with his words and thoughts of what transpired earlier in the car makes her center pulse dangerously.

Needless to say, he’s successfully turned her on despite her best efforts.

“You’re insufferable, Dolan,” she says with a shake of her head. Her body feels heated from his innuendo and also the midmorning sun that is steadily raising the outside temperature. She pulls off the hoodie she had thrown on in the chilly early morning and steps into the back seat to haul out the cooler and beach bag.

“Yeah, but you love me,” his voice comes from right behind her. She turns around and yelps in surprise when she sees Grayson peeking his head upside down into the cab from the roof. He’s inches from her and is just dangling there like an overgrown monkey, which makes her fall back in the seat in a fit of giggles. He wags his brows at her playfully. “Ooh! Spider-Man kiss!”

MJ rolls her eyes good-naturedly and happily scoots over to clasp his cheeks in her hands, granting his wish by planting a sweet kiss to his lips. The scruff on his chin tickles her nose peculiarly, but she’s not mad at it. “Too much. I love you too much, you goof.”

Finally, with all their beach supplies in hand, they walk together towards the ocean. The private beach that they can access with their camp site is quiet and secluded. Best of all, it isn't clogged with tourists or people in general, which they both greatly prefer. Less people means they’re less likely to be bombarded by fangirls, or paparazzi, or any other unwanted distractions from what MJ hopes will be a perfect day.

As soon as the texture under her feet changes from firm concrete to sunken sand, MJ is stopping to remove her flip-flops so her toes can dig into the fine powder. This moment of first stepping on the beach is one of her favorite experiences, as minute and insignificant as it seems.

She looks up at Grayson, who glances back down at her questioningly. “Race ya,” she challenges suddenly, hauling ass to a perfect open spot on the wide expanse of beach. If there’s one thing she and her boyfriend have in common, it’s a highly competitive spirit.

“Cheater!” Grayson calls after her. He has the surfboard under one arm and the cooler slung over his shoulder, but everyone knows Grayson Dolan is the last person to turn down a competition. Which is why he does his best to catch up to her even with the obstacles in his arms holding him back.

The finish line is also only in MJ’s head, so she stops when she finds a spot she likes. She drops their bag and turns around with her arms raised like Rocky. Grayson isn’t very far behind her, being as in-shape as he is he’s reached her quickly, but he slows down earlier than he really needs to so he can take her in. Her breasts heave beneath a leopard print bikini top, loose hairs escape from her messy french braid, and her long legs glitter with the sand she had kicked up on her run.

She’s the most beautiful, dorky, amazing woman he’s ever seen and she is his.

MJ watches smugly as her boyfriend stalks over to her. “I wi—“

Grayson releases everything he’s carrying to the sand and grasps her face in both hands, pulling her in for a long, lingering kiss. MJ lets out a little squeak of surprise, but she melts into him half a second later. Nothing warms her soul more than his lips on hers, and she wraps her arms around his middle to bring them as close together as possible.

When he pulls back, Grayson stares at her with complete, obvious adoration. Ethan would have called him a simp if he were there, that’s how sappy his twin looks. Grayson can’t help himself, though; he is a simp for MJ, and, truthfully, he doesn’t give two shits who knows it as long as he makes her smile up at him like she is now, every day.

It’s why yesterday he had casually opened a new browser window, convincing himself he was just curiously window shopping on the ring section of Tiffany’s and the like… even after he got sucked into the customization tool on one website for nearly two hours.

Shaking his head and biting his lip through a grin, he traces the freckles on MJ’s cheek. “I want a rematch later.”

MJ squeezes him and smacks his ass playfully before releasing him and reaching into the bag for the big blanket. “You’re always such a sore loser,” she teases, unfolding the cloth and weighing it down with Grayson’s help. She digs through the bag again and hands him his wetsuit. “Go catch some waves. I have to catch up on this podcast by this really sexy guy and his twin brother.”

If there could be snapshots of the rest of the day, they would have been out of a picturesque rom-com. For a while, MJ rests on her tummy as she watches Grayson glide through the water, his deep voice simultaneously reverberating in her ears through her AirPods.

Eventually, when he’s done surfing — looking like a beach Adonis when he walks up the shore with the top half of his wetsuit folded down at his hips, surfboard under his arm and his wet abs glistening in the sun — he joins her on the blanket.

In the early afternoon MJ props herself up on her elbow, appraising his form with hungry, appreciative eyes as he tans on his back next to her. He has his hands pillowed behind his head, which causes his biceps to bulge and her thighs to clench. MJ is lost in him as she trails her finger over the features of his face — down his button nose, smoothing over his arched brows, across his rosy cheeks, against his pillowy lips. She smiles as he sighs contentedly and drops a peck to the tip of his nose before settling with her cheek on his chest. He smells like tanning oil and ocean and that clean, woody musk that MJ knows as him.

Later, they wade around in the sea between batches of sun bathing. At some points, he’s holding her waist-deep in the water with her legs wrapped around his middle and arms around his neck, lips connecting occasionally amidst easy conversation. Other times they have full-on water fights that have her squealing and him laughing as they splash each other back and forth.

It isn’t until the orange and pink hues of the sunset paint the sky that they’re brought back to the beach for good. Once they rinse off and have all of their things collected, they head back to the van.

MJ removes her bikini inside while Grayson reattaches the surfboard to the roof. She slips on her sweatshirt and a fresh pair of soft shorts just in time for him to carefully crack open the back door to make sure she’s decent.

Grayson smiles widely as he crawls in on the already made bed where she sits and is piling her damp hair into a messy bun. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, giving her a lingering kiss while her hands are still mid-twist in her long hair.

A pleasant warmth swoops through her belly at his compliment; it had taken her a while to get accustomed to not only how often Grayson rains sweet praises like that down on her, but how sincerely he means them, too.

She hums into his mouth right before he pulls away. “I left your shorts there, baby,” she says, gesturing behind her with her head. Gray thanks her and she starts to dig through the cooler as he tugs his swimsuit down his inked legs, following them back up with the clean shorts.

They eat dinner with the back doors wide open, a perfect view of the sun setting below the ocean’s horizon right in front of them. A pleasant breeze floats around them in the van, cool and refreshing from being picked up right off the water. MJ nuzzles her cheek on Grayson’s bare shoulder, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head as she chews her last bite of tofu.

“Thank you for such a perfect day,” MJ says a minute later, gazing up at him while he takes a sip of La Croix. “Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I felt so…carefree. Loved. In love. Not that you don’t make me feel those things every day, but… y’know. Today was just great.”

Her hand reaches to caress his stubbly cheek, a soft smile at the corner of her full lips. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Gray.”

Grayson looks down at her silently, but his eyes say everything his lips don’t. He tucks his can and their empty tupperware back into the cooler, tossing the bag into one of the back seats behind them so it’s out of the way.

He cups her cheeks in both hands, wasting no more time in bringing their mouths together. MJ sighs and shifts so she’s that much closer to him, just as his tongue prods gently at her pliant lips to coax them open.

They make out like that, slow and deep, with the soundtrack of crashing waves wafting through the open doors. Gray lies her down and supports the back of her head with his forearm, his free hand swooping up and down her side before settling in the dramatic dip of her waist as he pulls away just barely.

Eyes closed, their breaths come heavy and mingle sweetly in the minute space between them. Grayson suddenly lets out a little incredulous huff, shaking his head and diving back in blindly to suck softly on her bottom lip. MJ lets out a little moan and digs her nails gently down his bare back, her eyes fluttering open.

“What?” she asks with a little smile of her own, nuzzling her nose against his in an Eskimo kiss.

Grayson’s hazel orbs meet her green ones, and the hand resting on her waist comes to cup her face once again so he can stroke the new freckles that litter her high cheekbone.

“I’m gonna marry you,” he answers, chuckling at her shocked little gasp. He hurries to clarify himself. “One day, when we’re ready. You’re my world, MJ. Maybe it’s selfish, or self aggrandizing, but hearing you say that makes it so obvious to me that you’re the only person I’d ever want to spend the rest of my life with. Because I feel the same about you. I only ever want to make you feel that way; nothing makes me happier.”

MJ is stunned into silence. Grayson isn’t exactly the most eloquent person, so somehow she reasons that his perfect delivery of such meaningful words means they’re truly heartfelt. Not that she would have doubted him either way, but their relationship has suddenly shifted even deeper in the matter of one day. One simple, amazing day.

She feels the prickle of tears behind her eyes, and bites her lip through a watery smile as she raises her hand to run her fingers through the back of his hair. No matter how happy she is, her instinct for dealing with any emotions is to deflect with humor. “Can’t wait ’til I pop out a few of your babies. From the sounds of it, you’ll be worshipping the ground I walk on.”

That hits him right in the baby fever, his dick hardening even more behind his shorts at the thought of her belly swollen with his child. Joking or not, she’s absolutely right.

“Fuck,” he whispers, grinning as he ducks his head to nibble her favorite spot just behind her jaw and right under her ear. “How many of my babies? Hm?”

“Mmm,” she sighs, scratching lightly at his scalp, considering the question seriously. “Four little Dolan babies, I think. Three boys and a little girl.”

“Yeah,” Grayson agrees easily, making his way across her jaw with soft little suckles. “But make that three girls and a little boy, and you've got a deal.”

MJ giggles and grabs his face so they’re staring each other in the eye again. “No actual baby-making until there’s a ring on this finger.” She wiggles the digits of her left hand, which Grayson grabs and kisses the back of with a smirk. If only she knew just how close that moment might be. “But we can always practice in the meantime.”

Grayson nods and hitches her leg up his hip as he ducks down for a surprisingly chaste kiss considering her invitation a second before. As much as he wants her, he has a need deep in his chest just to be close to her for the moment. To feel her hold him and nuzzle into the warm crook of his neck, sucking gently on that freckle there to make his head swim like after a nice glass of wine.

MJ is just as happy with that arrangement, and she lets her body be still and her breaths tickle the sensitive skin at his collarbone. The ocean breeze billowing through the open doors of the van is cool and salty and comforting.

“It’s crazy,” Grayson whispers after a few peaceful minutes, his fingers starting to trail up and down her covered back slowly. MJ pulls back a little so she can see his face. He isn't looking at her, but rather out the open van doors at the last moments of the sun setting behind the water. “I remember feeling exactly this way the first day we met, only now it’s…more. You felt right then, so right it was scary. And here we are. How did I know that you were my person as soon as you let me walk you back to that tent?”

MJ smiles and her belly swoops. She thinks back to that night, how scared she had been and how instantly — well, as he said — right Grayson had felt the minute they crossed paths.

“I did kind of seduce you,” she chuckles, lifting her head to nibble at the underside of his chin and reveling in the sensation of his deep chuckle vibrating against her lips. “Maybe you’re just under my Black Widow spell. Have I never let it slip I’m only after your money?”

Grayson laughs louder, squeezing her to his body tighter. “Nope. But that’s the MJ I remember falling head over heels for in a matter of hours. Smart and witty and sweet and so fucking pretty with her green eyes and bright smile.”

MJ stares up at him with stars in those emerald eyes he adores so much. He is unreal to both see and hear; his skin has turned olive and his hair has the crisp of the ocean still in it, and the fact that he can still pinpoint the little things he liked about her from so long ago…

“Do you love me?” she asks quietly. It’s so ridiculously unnecessary to ask, he tells her multiple times a day, every day.

“So much, Peach,” he murmurs back predictably, finally swooping down to capture her lips like she wanted earlier, tongues meshing instantly.

He tastes so familiar and sweet. She wants to devour him slowly, intimately, like she has a thousand times before.

“Close the doors?” MJ gasps after the simple swipe of his thumb over her nipple through her sweatshirt makes her thighs tremble and her hips grind onto his half-hard erection. Something about the heartwarming intimacy of the day has translated to her body being physically sensitive beyond belief.

Grayson nods and sits up, reaching for the switch of the fairy lights MJ had hung up a few weeks ago before slamming the doors shut on the nighttime scenery.

While he does as she asked, she scoots up to rest her head on a pillow and watches his bare, chiseled torso glow in the dim, sensual lights. Right as he turns around he catches her struggling to free herself from her hoodie.

“Let me do it, Peach. I wanna do it,” he breathes, dipping down to kiss her soundly before tugging upward on the hem of the soft fabric. MJ drops her head to the pillow to break the seal of their lips, lifting her arms up so he can pull the garment over her head.

Grayson flings it to the front of the van and brings their mouths together so quickly, like he simply can’t be away from her lips for longer than a second. His hands reach up and cup the pliable mounds of her breasts, which are several shades lighter than the rest of her chest. Clearly, he could care less, and MJ sighs softly as he massages them firmly, his calloused palms creating delicious friction on her hypersensitive nipples.

“Still the prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, too,” he smirks, making his way across her jaw. MJ smiles too, eyes closed in bliss as he kisses the familiar trail down her sternum. Predictably, his warm lips suction around the bud of her left breast, and she lets her mind wander through the pleasure to flash back on the first time he did this.

“We’re still kind of in a tent, too, y’know,” she gasps as he switches sides, letting out her first moan of the night when he scrapes his teeth against her. “Just…more bougie.”

Grayson hums, quickly getting lost in the feel of how soft her tits are and how much he loves the sensation of her hard nipples under his tongue. He drops his hips down so he can grind his full erection against her hot center, eliciting wanton gasps from both of them.

MJ groans again, the feminine sound literal music to his ears and the perfect reinforcement to keep going. She hooks her legs around his waist to hold his hips against her, thrusting up against him as he continues to bite and lick and suckle her breasts.

“Holy shit, Gray, right there… I’m gonna cum,” she whimpers, grasping at his hair to hold him down where he was sucking perfectly on her breast, and continues to grind roughly on his dick. Sure enough, a few seconds later she’s shuddering with the most intense orgasm she’s ever had without manual stimulation. Even from Grayson.

Grayson himself can hardly believe it; they have a great sex life, but he can’t remember the last time he had gotten her off just through some intense dry humping.

He isn’t going to question it, though, because it only means one thing: she’s as voracious for him tonight as he is for her. He growls when she starts to come down and surprises her with his mouth planting roughly back on hers. MJ kisses him back lazily as her mind clears some, smiling and fluttering her eyes open to meet his dark gaze when she feels his middle finger replace his tongue in her mouth. She closes her swollen, pouty lips around the digit and sucks, holding onto his hand and maintaining complete eye contact with him when he moans softly. She pulls his hand out of her mouth and pushes it into her shorts.

“Fuck,” he rasps, collecting her slippery cum against his finger, swirling it against his thumb before trailing his middle finger up to her clit. He soaks in her expression as her eyes roll back at the first contact, his favorite reaction she has to his touch. “Fuck, MJ. So fucking wet for me.”

MJ nods quickly, opening her eyes again to watch him watch her. “Lemme taste,” she whimpers.

She pulls his hand back up and doesn’t wait for permission or leave him time to process her demand as she sucks the slick moisture straight off his finger, the taste of herself gracing her tongue causing her pussy to gush even more. When his brain finally catches up, he’s immediately ripping his hand away from her with a harsh groan and hooking it around the back of her neck to kiss her deeply. His tongue plunders her mouth as he searches for traces of that sweet, earthy tang he knows oh-so well. MJ’s hands distractedly push at the waistband of his shorts, desperate for the feel of his dick in her hands.

“Please, baby,” she whines against his lips when they break for air, using the moment of clarity to tug more determinedly at his shorts. “Need you.”

“Need me where?” he teases, backing up so she can’t reach him as he pulls her own shorts down her long, newly tanned legs. Once he flings the scrap of fabric to join her sweater, he ducks down and swipes his tongue quickly over each of her nipples. “Here?”

MJ groans and shakes her head, her brain not operating at enough capacity to tease back, it’s so clouded with desire for him. “Gray…”

Grayson smirks and grabs one of her hands that are coasting down his back and attempting to pull him down against her. He cups her petite palm against his pulsing erection, sighing a little when her fingers wrap around him through his shorts instinctively. He drops his hand and brings it to her pussy, his fingertips dancing delicately against her swollen lower lips. His head swims at how wet she is and how the solid feel of him seems to have brought her mind back to earth, because as soon as he lets go of her hand she delves past his waistband to grip him directly.

“My dick, baby, you need my dick?” he asks softly, his voice a little high and his breath pitchy as she strokes him steadily now.

MJ moans and her pussy throbs simply at his words. She nods hastily. “Need it in me,” she manages, meeting his heated gaze as she gives him a firm squeeze. “Love your dick.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, his touch leaving her as he helps her in getting him completely naked, kicking his shorts off when they reach his ankles.

He takes a moment to gather himself and to slow down, trying to get himself back in that intimate headspace they were so deep in earlier, so that this doesn’t turn into just a hot, hard fuck. They love that, and it’s kind of their bread and butter in the bedroom. But he wants to hold her close and savor her body, to pass that loving energy between them in the most special, physical way.

MJ’s chest heaves as she watches Grayson hover above her, staring at her, and she parts her legs to welcome him back into her space. He looks like a fucking Greek god in the low light, his hair curly from the saltwater and sweat, his skin golden and his muscles bulging. She can’t possibly want him any more than in that moment.

“C’mere,” she whispers, reaching her arms out and making grabby hands at him. She can’t allow another second to go by without the sensation of his smooth skin against hers.

Grayson smiles sweetly at her, eyes sultry as he lowers himself at her request and presses their bodies together from chests to centers. She cups his cheeks and scratches her fingers against his scruff as they kiss slowly, deeply, desire building intensely once again as they grind together at the middle.

“Please, Grayson,” she finally says again.

All thoughts of any more teasing are out the door as Grayson obliges her. He dips his fingers in her pussy, testing her readiness and using her sweet juices to coat his dick.

MJ spreads her legs up and out, bent at the knees, and she throws her head back with a gasp as he enters her in a short thrust; a little more on the second, until he bottoms out with the third.

“Fuck me,” she whimpers, her hands pushing on the firm globes of his ass.

Grayson obeys with a groan, drawing his hips in and out steadily. “Wanna fuck you slow,” he says in her ear, thrusting all the way in and all the way out. The warm clutch of her perfect pussy is so intense at that tempo that he shudders and his eyes roll back. “Slow and deep, Peach.”

“Yes,” MJ agrees, her breaths coming in fast despite the maintained speed of his dick. He’s working her up so good, and she leans forward to bite into the junction of his neck and shoulder out of habit to keep her sounds muffled.

“Yes, baby,” she squeals quietly when her minute adjustment shifts the angle just right for him to hit her spot over and over. Her nails claw at his back, scraping over the work of art that is both his rippling muscles and the picture of the lions inked into them. “Oh my God, keep fucking me like that.. like that…”

The air confined in the van is warm and thick. Sweat drips from the ends of his hair, his hot breaths fan over her forehead, and his chain dangles enticingly across her face as he stares down at her all blissed out beneath him. Nothing turns him on more than her words of encouragement, which are usually muted due to the fact that his omnipresent twin brother lives across the hall. But now that they’re alone, in nature — just like the night they met — all filters are off. It makes him even more determined to get her to cum so hard she forgets any of those sweet praises she’s mumbling other than his name.

It’s already so, so good, but as soon as he gets on his knees just enough to gain more leverage to thrust even harder into her, that knot in MJ’s stomach starts growing in a fantastically unfamiliar way. Her eyes roll back and Grayson reaches a huge hand up to support her head against his shoulder, sensing how perfect the angle is for her and wanting to help her maintain it. She’s getting tighter and wetter around him, so much so that he has to grit his teeth and hiss to avoid having to pull out and stop.

“MJ,” he moans into her ear, tugging on her lobe with his teeth, an unspoken warning that he’s close. He’ll hold on as long as he can, but he absolutely needs to get her there first.

In the back of her mind, she comprehends his cue. But she’s so focused on reaching the bursting point of that expanding ball behind her belly, she can’t help but selfishly draw every ounce of pleasure she can from him. She thinks she knows what’s going to happen, and it will be a first-time experience for both of them.

It’s only going to take a few more deep, hard thrusts, and she’ll be there. Almost there…

“Gray!” she squeaks, squeezing a hand between their bodies to push against his abs, just in time for him to pull out and her to gush all over him and the blankets serving as makeshift sheets beneath them. It’s an indescribable release that washes over her, her own loud, shaky squeals of pleasure distant noises in the back of her head. She can only see colors behind her closed eyelids, greens and blues and lavenders sparkling in her mind’s eye like a mystical fog.

Grayson can’t believe what he’s seeing. His shocked and aroused groan sounds obnoxiously loud and foreign in his own ears; the fact that he doesn’t bust his nut right there on the blanket next to hers is a miracle. Instinctively, he reaches his fingers down to help her through it by rubbing her clit, huffing out an incredulous laugh when her thighs clamp instantly around his hand and a little more of her juices come out, soaking his hand. His name tumbles repeatedly out of her lips, just like he was aiming for and unwittingly exceeding his own expectations.

He’s painfully hard as he leans over her again, kissing her through her mindless whimpers as she starts to slowly come-to, her damp thighs opening once again and allowing him to slip between them. Right where he belongs.

“MJ?” he whispers, stroking her brow softly and watching her face intently. “You okay?”

Eyes still closed and breasts heaving, MJ takes a second to respond, but she moans quietly and nods, puckering her lips in invitation for him to meet with his. He obliges, indulging her for a moment until he can’t wait anymore. “Where do you want me to cum?”

“Inside,” she breathes at once, reaching down to grasp him and bring him to her dripping pussy. Grayson flinches at her sudden grip on him and the overwhelming wetness against the sensitive head of his dick. “Come on, Bear. Want you to cum hard inside me.”

With a groan, he slides back inside her, and a few hard, sloppy thrusts later, he’s shooting deep in her pussy. He’s never cum so hard in his life, and he whines into her mouth with the timing of his spurts. She hums contentedly, obsessed with that feeling of warmth that comes with, well, his cum.

“So good,” he murmurs when he’s finally done, pulling out of her slowly. He grabs a spare towel and cleans up the liquid white that follows him dripping from her center. “That was incredible, MJ. You’re incredible.”

MJ shakes her head in agreement, clapping a hand to her forehead and giggling softly, her knees bent and swaying side to side. “I thought we had done everything to try to get that to happen. Turns out we just had to go back to the beginning.”

Grayson lies down next to her, turning her head with a gentle hand on her cheek so he can press their lips together. “I love you,” he says simply. “My pretty Peach.”

MJ grabs a blanket and tosses it over the both of them, brushing her nose against his once they’re cuddled together. “And I love my Gray Bear. Mine.”

“Yours,” he whispers in affirmation, tucking her head into the crook of his neck until they’re both lulled to sleep in their cozy little bougie tent.

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #grayson dolan smut #dolan twins fic #grayson dolan fic #grayson mj #grayson dolan oc

177 notes · View notes

zmediaoutlet · 3 years

Text

in support of Texas relief, @merle-p donated $45, and requested Sam/Mick. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post.

(read on AO3)

This hotel really is a tip. Mick takes the keycard up with him—American quirk—and shakes his head at the identical thin carpets, the shoddy elevator, the spotting on the mirror, the bed with its awful polyester duvet. No, not a duvet—a thin bedspread, with a vile leaf-and-flowers pattern that wouldn't do for wallpaper of even the saddest pensioner. He leaves his bag on the cheap luggage rack and tosses his keycard onto the desk and looks at the bed, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

He orders dinner from what passes for room service. He doesn't know what the Winchesters are doing—probably dipping away to some diner, from the profile work Lady Bevell had provided—but they don't call for him, either way. A chicken marsala of decent quality, sticky rice, overcooked broccoli. He eats it efficiently with his mobile playing a midnight stream of the BBC World Service, sitting at the table with the lamps lit. He looks out the window, its view of overcrowded trees and the parking lot and the road, and he does see the Chevrolet pull back in, bulky and too-big and too-loud and too-American, and he smiles at it even if he shouldn't, and passes the napkin over his mouth, and sits back in his chair, to think.

Work of a moment to set up the typewriter. A quick twist of the ink-ribbon and a murmur of Farsi and he sends his report back home. Casefiles distributed to local hunter, he types, and pauses. Tests of loyalty continue, he types, more slowly, and doesn't have much to add. His reports are terse as a matter of course but he isn't often given to dissembling. Not, at least, before the massacre at the headquarters. He unclenches his jaw and tears the sheet of paper out of the typewriter. That's more than enough.

Quiet, since the alpha vampire was destroyed. Ketch has been doing his own work, directed by both Mick and by the old men on orders Mick isn't given to know, and he's been allowed replacement assistance at headquarters but it isn't as it was. The Kendricks-trained goons they sent are more of Ketch's ilk than his and he doesn't know them. Mary Winchester has been distant. It's only Sam Winchester, really, that Mick knows at all in this country, and Sam is…

Mick sits watching the trees in the moonlight, for a few minutes longer, and then goes to the minibar in the suite's kitchenette. Not much to inspire, there. He calls down to room service, again, and makes an order, and then goes to the ensuite and washes his face, and swishes the marsala-flavor out with mouthwash, and then looks at himself, his suit somewhat rumpled and no tie and his eyes—he looks away from his eyes, and thinks, well. If it goes wrong, it will hardly be the first time something has gone wrong.

The suites are all on the same floor. Dean's in 703, Mick's in 706, and Sam's down at the far end of the hall, 712, the hall ending with a great picture window looking out onto the moonlit woods, and Mick pauses in front of that last door, watching out for a moment. Not yet nine o'clock. Plenty of time to turn around and try for a different night.

The elevator dings, halfway down the hall. Mick's mouth hitches, without him meaning it to, and he knocks at Sam's door. A moment, while Mick stands placid in full view of the peephole, and then a muffled rattle while the chain is disengaged, and then the deadbolt and then the door opening by a foot, Sam standing in the gap and giving Mick a look like he's not to be trusted. "Yeah?" he says, not exactly unfriendly but not welcoming, either.

Mick smiles, as friendly as Sam isn't. "I wondered if we might have a talk, you and I," he says.

"It's late," Sam says, which it clearly isn't. His brow tightens. "Something about the job?"

"Something like that," Mick says, and at that moment the girl arrives with the room service cart, looking confused. "Ah," he says, and gestures. "Please come in, miss, Mr. Winchester was just waiting for his order," and Sam blinks at the girl and then gives Mick a look that would melt steel, but luckily Mick is not steel. He opens the door wider and Mick sees he's in bare feet, his jacket removed, the most informal he's been in Mick's presence since he was being tortured—and Mick follows the room service cart into the suite and Sam's too polite or too circumspect or too self-controlled to stop him.

The room's dim, illuminated only by the bedside lamp, and the girl's uncertain. "Where would you like it, sir?" she says, and Mick gestures at the table under the window, and Sam's silent while she unloads the bucket, the two glasses set down with gentle clicks.

Sam smiles at her as she leaves—very fake, it drops off the second her back's turned—and waits until the door closes behind her to say, "What the hell, Mick. Champagne?"

Mick shrugs, pulling the bottle out of the silver bucket. "Not a good one, if that helps," he says. Appropriately cold, at least. He starts working the wire cage, ignoring the look he's getting. "I thought it might be appropriate, that's all. Inauguration of a new stage in our partnership."

"Our partnership," Sam echoes, with unflattering skepticism. The cork pops smoothly and Mick smiles at Sam, eyebrows high, and gets at least a sigh, an eyeroll, a shake of head. Slight exasperation—how he looks, sometimes, at his brother. Mick pours while Sam watches, saying, "If it's about our partnership, then I should invite Dean over."

Mick watches the bubbles rise in the second flute and licks his lips. That was a particular sort of tone, from Sam. "I thought we might discuss some things privately, you and I," he says, and turns to hold out one of the glasses. "Dean, I think, isn't yet my biggest fan. Though I'd like that to change."

"Champagne probably wouldn't do it," Sam says. He's giving Mick another look. Assessing. Mick tips his head and can't tell if he's been found wanting. A beat, before Sam walks over and takes the glass. "Maybe if you brought whiskey."

Damn Ketch. Mick shakes his head and extends his own glass as a toast—but Sam's already moving away, sitting in the chair on the opposite side of the table, looking out the window. His hair's tucked behind his ear, lamplight on his cheek and moonlight on his brow. Like a sculpture. Mick sits opposite him and sips the champagne and it's—sugary, light. "This really isn't ideal," he says.

Sam glances at him, and then down at his glass. He takes a sip and makes a face. "Sweet."

Mick licks his lips and gambles. "Truth be told, I like the cheap stuff better," he says, and—yes, Sam looks up at him and it's with slight surprise. An opening. Mick shrugs. "I wasn't always top Kendricks material. Had to learn to drink like my betters."

Sam huffs air through his nose. "Sounds familiar," he says. Mick raises his eyebrows and Sam half-smiles, his head tipping. "At Stanford I think I was the only one who actually liked Hamburger Helper without the hamburger."

Not a reference Mick gets, but he gets the sentiment. "To not being posh," he says, lifting his glass again, and Sam snorts but nods, and takes a drink, and Mick watches his throat move as he swallows, the way his hand's delicate on the flute. The size of him.

"I wanted to thank you, too," Mick says. He sets his glass down. "I didn't really get the chance, before." A frown, Sam not understanding. Is it genuine? Mick clears his throat. "For—killing the alpha vampire. I would've died if you weren't there."

Surprise—god, it was genuine. Mick's out of practice, being around people who aren't hiding ten different agendas up their tweed sleeves. "You're probably right," Sam says, after a second. His mouth lifts at one corner. A dimple. "No offense. But I didn't do it for you."

"Oh, thanks," Mick says, leaning back, and Sam actually laughs a little, says: "I meant, that's the point, of being a hunter. You kill the bad thing and save whoever you can. That's what makes the whole thing worth it."

He shrugs, sips at his champagne again. Makes another face but seems to be getting used to it. Mick taps his thumb on the table, watching him. "I'm getting that," Mick says. "I think. It was always… very academic, before. Clean research, without the messiness of the real world."

Sam's eyelashes sweep low. "Sounds easier," he says, with a queer twist to his voice that makes Mick wonder.

He's not going to uncover everything there is to know about Winchester the Younger tonight, however. He makes a note, puts it to the side, and instead tops up their glasses, reaching over the table to fill Sam's without Sam much helping. "Mick," Sam says, sighing protest, though Mick notices he doesn't actually pull away.

"Once the bottle's opened you have to finish it," Mick says, easy, "it'll go flat, otherwise," and he lifts his glass in a little toast and drains it in a few frothy swallows—Sam sighs, and takes a gulp too—and then Mick gets up, comes around the table, and sits on the edge, a little too much in Sam's space to be mistaken for casual.

Sam blinks at him. His mouth's still damp a little from the champagne. "What's up?" he says. Almost warning.

"I said I wanted to thank you," Mick says. He reaches down—Sam's legs long enough that his knee's close—so Mick puts two fingers there, very lightly, feeling the twitch of reaction. Still, Sam doesn't completely pull away. "I can provide other benefits than not-very-good champagne."

Sam's chin tips up and he looks at Mick very steadily. "You're serious," he says, after a few seconds. Mick lifts a shoulder. Sam's eyes tighten, minutely, at the corners. "What's with the British Letters and using sex to infiltrate the enemy? That something they teach at Kendricks, too?"

Mick swallows. It is, but Sam's not to know that, unless—he'd wondered, if Lady Bevell had, but he hadn't been part of her debriefing. "Not the enemy," he says, forestalling the thought. "And not using. And not infiltration, either, and not even, really, the British Letters, here." He takes a breath and gives Sam a little smile, feeling unaccountably like he's at the edge of a cliff without belays to hold him. "Just Mick. Michael, if you like. Expressing my gratitude and wondering how I can show it."

"Most people just do beer and pizza," Sam says, still with those tight searching eyes.

Mick doesn't move his fingers, where they're still just brushing the warm denim. "Never much liked pizza," he says, which he knows is stupid as soon as it comes out of his mouth, but Sam hasn't moved—isn't moving, still as a watching tiger in square uncomfortable chair. He chances it, spreading his hand flat on the lean muscle of Sam's thigh. It flexes underneath his palm and he breathes out, slowly. "You're ridiculously attractive. You know that, I trust."

"Thanks," Sam says, after a moment. He grips Mick's wrist, tight but not bruising, and Mick swallows again, meeting Sam's eyes and trying to look honest. He's out of practice with that, too. Sam looks at him, and at his mouth, and Mick thinks for a second—yes—but then Sam detaches Mick's hand from his leg, firmly, and pushes it back against Mick's chest. His fingers are briefly hot through Mick's shirt. "But I don't accept payment," Sam says, with a quick hard press for emphasis before he lets Mick go. "Especially not—" he starts, and shakes his head instead of finishing. He pushes his chair back and stands, turning to the window. He pushes a hand through his hair and it falls messily right back into place. He blocks out the moonlight. He's so oversized—in everything—smarts and skill and beauty. Mick wants to touch him again immediately and doesn't.

"My mistake," Mick says. He bites the inside of his lip very hard, until it hurts more than he can stand, and lets it go, and waits for the throb the grow and swell and pass, and in all that time Sam doesn't speak. He stands up, fixing his cuff, at pitches his voice to lightness. "At least you enjoyed my champagne."

"I wouldn't go that far," Sam says, not precisely light but not cruel, either, and Mick turns to go—and is caught, by the wrist again, while Sam says: "Wait."

He's being looked at, again, and before he can decide what expression Sam's wearing he's pulled forward and he's being kissed. His hand flexes in Sam's grip and with the other he touches Sam's stomach, surprised. Sam's hand on his jaw, controlling, and his mouth—firm, not giving anything up, but good, too—not a hint of uncertainty, not dithering about. Mick breathes in through his nose and enjoys it. A man's kiss, he thinks, hard and uncompromising. He tips his head back, letting Sam guide him, and parts his lips, and there's Sam's tongue—for a second, a hot brief flash that jolts his gut—and then Sam pulls back, a centimeter, breathing against him. Mick strokes a thumb over the waist of his jeans where his belt is weighing them down, and Sam ducks his head, breathes against Mick's jaw for a second, and then steps back entirely, letting Mick go.

There's a warm throb in Mick's wrist. Sam gripped him very tightly, for a moment there. "That was unexpected," he says, after a moment. His lower lip is damp and he very much wants to lick it, but resists the impulse.

Sam has no such compunction, apparently. He licks his mouth and stretches his jaw, too, resettling. Mick's put in mind again of a tiger, looking at willing prey, and his cock flexes in his trousers. "Just wondering," Sam says, casual.

Mick's startled into a grin. "You absolute prick," he says, and Sam smiles back at him. A little smug. "And how was it?"

A lifted shoulder, like nothing. "Maybe we can stay here again when we're done with this job," Sam says. Then, a little more serious: "We can talk. If it's just Mick, and not anything else."

Mick runs his tongue over the sore spot inside his lip. "I'm looking forward to it," he says, and Sam nods. He steps back and Sam lets him go, and Mick hooks the bottle of champagne out of the bucket, dripping ice-water onto the carpet. "But I'm taking this." Sam snorts. "And I hope you don't mind if I have a furious wank over this in about ten minutes."

An eyeroll. "TMI," he says, the bastard, and Mick sighs at him and exits with what dignity he has, and when the door's closed behind him he stands in the overly bright hall with the bottle still dripping cold against his trousers and breathes out. He licks his lips and gets a taste of champagne.

After the case is done, he thinks, and can't imagine for a moment what might go in that space. It's a strange uncertainty. For the first time in his life, something unplanned and uncalculated-for, something the Letters haven't decided for him. Something just for him. He flexes his hand, still feeling the echo of Sam on his wrist. After the case. He really is looking forward to it.

#ffcc #sam/mick davies #spn fic #first kiss #my writing

28 notes · View notes

saltedpeppermintmocha · 3 years

Text

into the night (bakugou x reader) - Chapter 5/?

Summary:

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You refuse your supposed fate and try to live the best life you can while remaining undetected.

But maybe fate has another plan. A chance encounter on a mountainside changes your life forever.

Chapter One

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

Your eyes lock with red ones.

They widen, flickering down your dusty uniform and back up to whatever shocked expression is definitely on your face right now. For a moment, you are sure he is about to say something, but it never comes. Instead, the ground vibrates violently all around you and he breaks eye contact to look back down the street. In the distance, you can see one of the cloth dolls, closer than before. He doesn't look back, just takes off in a burst of smaller explosions.

A cough behind you brings you back quickly to the more important matter at hand. You turn around. “Eito, are you okay?” You ask, looking him over. The man coughs a bit, also covered in debris dust, and holds up a thumbs up. You rush to his side, taking his post beside the patient, and begin to pack the wound, applying pressure when necessary.

The battle now behind you must be getting closer. The ground vibrates more often around you, and explosions sound more intense than before. A shadow passing over makes you look up. A male hero with messy black hair and a green vest is blown through the air, crashing into a building further down. It looks extremely painful, but the hero appears again soon enough and runs back into the fray.

“Shit.” Eito coughs a bit more, watching the action as it continues.

Why isn’t anyone here yet? The location isn’t that far from the path you all already took. It shouldn’t be that difficult to find with the flare. You look desperately down the street in the direction you came from, eyes searching for any signs of help. There is a lot of smoke, but you’re not sure where it's coming from. Did something happen? If extraction was impossible, you would get a radio notice. So why haven’t you?

The radio.

You reach down to your side, grasp at the radio, and bring it up. It’s still working, the sturdy material is not damaged in the action. Turning it on, you radio out to your coworkers. It takes a minute before you get a response. You ask for an update or an estimated time of arrival.

The voice on the other end is choppy. “Did you…flare?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t…” It cuts out entirely. A moment later. “...smoke.”

You glance down at the patient. Time is ticking for him. Three options left: leave, stay, or split up. It’s a dangerous and risky move to split up in the middle of a battlefield like this. The smart move would be to call it a loss, to leave together. You know that. But you can’t just leave the patient here. He’s alive. He has a fighting chance.

You speak into the radio. “Sending help.”

But, who stays? Who goes? The person who leaves faces an unknown future. You have no idea what is happening behind all that smoke. Maybe it's okay, or maybe the streets and buildings are crumbling, or maybe there is another battle going on just beyond that veil of smoke. There’s no way to know.

You glance back at the battle raging behind you. It’s definitely getting closer. It won’t be too much longer before it’s practically on top of you. That comes with its own set of risks, and it’ll take someone used to this type of environment in order to make the final call on when to stay and when to give up. In the end, there isn’t a choice.

“Eito.” You look over. “You gotta go.”

“What?” His eyes go wide.

“Somethings wrong, they didn’t see our flare. Go get them, lead them back here.” He looks like he wants to argue, like he doesn’t want to leave you, but nods anyway. Standing up, he gives you one last look before rushing down the street. You watch him until his back disappears. You hope he’ll be okay. You hope he’ll be back in time.

You look back down at the patient, now-bloody hands holding his chest to stem the blood. The wound seems to be doing better after the packing, but it still presents the most immediate medical threat to the man. You’re not sure how much blood he lost in total, or how much more he can stand to lose. Biting your lip, you consider using your quirk. It’s a coin toss, really. It could solve most of your problems, it could solve the immediate threat, and give the patient more time to live. Or it could turn one patient into two.

“Fucking-WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!” You startle from your thoughts, looking up at the loud voice. Ground Zero flies overhead in a burst of orange light, landing on a large piece of debris a few meters away.

You open your mouth to reply, accidentally breathing in a mouthful of dust disturbed by his explosions. Crouching, you use one hand to hit your chest and the other to gesture down at the patient. You hope he understands.

“GO!” The blond gestures angrily and turns around, facing the looming threat. You put your hands back on the patient's chest and follow his line of vision. It’s close enough that you can see the hero with the black hair and green vest fighting. The man slams his hands on the ground and vibrations echo through the area. Another hero, a blond woman dressed in blue, runs around the base of the cloth doll. Ground Zero heads back into battle.

You look back at your patient. He’s pale but still breathing. You apply a snug pressure dressing over the packed wound and are able to let go. If the transport gets here soon, he’ll live. That’s not a medical diagnosis by any means, but something you feel in your gut. Maybe it’s just your stupid hope.

Still, the battle rages around you as the cloth doll takes another large step in your direction. You glance around at your potential escape routes and hiding areas if it were to get much closer. Other than monitoring the wound, there is not much else you can do at the moment for the patient. You look up at the battle.

The blue and green heroes run around the cloth doll, inflicting damage. It trips, but stands up and attacks another building. Ground Zero flies around the top, blasting the doll with explosion after explosion. The doll is mostly black from the attack, and partially on fire. Still, it continues to take another step in your direction. One massive hand flies up, hitting Ground Zero from the air. The blond goes flying back over the top of you, steadying himself with some well-placed blasts.

“MOVE IDIOT.” That angry yell is as clear as day. He pauses over top of you, looking down. Too far away to see his face. You shake your head slowly. No. You are not leaving him yet. There is still time. Curses rain down upon you in that gruff voice as he turns back towards the puppet, blasting into battle.

A yell from behind you grabs your attention. You turn around. A figure runs towards you from the smoke followed by one more...two more, both carrying a stretcher. Relief hits you smack in the chest. Shit, they made it.

Your team makes quick work in mobilizing the patient, working together seamlessly to deposit him on the stretcher and lift him up. Eito acts as a lookout as the three of you begin to carry him out of the attack area. Soon enough you see the ambulance lights ahead, a bit surprised to see an additional vehicle at the scene. They must have called for backup when they didn’t see your flare.

You all work quickly to get the patient into the free ambulance and jump in yourself. You end up staying beside the patient to monitor him as the others jump into the back and front, running different assessments that you couldn’t in the field as the vehicle begins to drive.

Honestly, he looks horrible. He is extremely pale, blood pressure and heart rate low. Despite your gut feeling in the field, he might not make it. His body is trying too hard to do everything at once. You and Eito work hard to stabilize him as much as possible but, it might just be too much. He’ll make it to the hospital, but after that, you don’t know.

Something tugs at your chest. Patients don’t always make it, you know that. You’ve had your fair share of patients you’ve saved die at the hospital, as well as those who die before they even make it. You feel for every one of them, for their families and loved ones. But something about this patient just makes you need to save him. You wonder why.

No, you know why. Now that you have a moment to breathe, you can’t help but realize the similarities. You flashback to a month ago, sitting in an ambulance and doing the same assessments on a patient less than half your age. The kid had gotten caught up in a villain attack and had been hit by some sort of emitter quirk in the chest. You had done everything you could and had been relatively confident as you loaded him in the ambulance.

He hadn’t made it to the hospital. His body went into sudden shock and there had been no way to bring him back. That was it.

You cried harder that night than you had in years. The next day, you went to your boss and demanded your vacation.

Now, your first time back in the field, you’re facing another chest wound. Another race against time. You always want to save patients, but you need to save this one. Reaching forward, you take the pressure dressing off. Eito gives you a weird look, turning to alarm when you begin to take out the wound packing.

“What are you doing?!” An appropriate response, really.

“We need new packing.” Wrong. Very wrong. “Can you grab some more?”

It's a testament to both just how new he is to the job and how nervous he is that he doesn’t question your order and simply turns to grab more dressing. This would not have worked with any of your other coworkers.

The second he looks away, you reach out a hand and place it on the patient's chest. Even if things go wrong, you’ll be okay. You’re on the way to the hospital anyway, right? Focus.

Pain sears through your chest. White. Hot. Nausea threatens to overwhelm you. You try to ignore it, continue until you feel the wound close beneath your hand. Something runs down your chest. Liquid. Your uniform begins to stick to you.

Eito turns back, immediately screaming out your name. You can’t say anything, the pain is too much. The man appears at your side, his mouth moves, but all you can hear is ringing.

Your vision goes black.

---------

Waking up in the hospital is never a great experience. Waking up alone in the hospital is even worse. You immediately register a lack of pain, probably from the drugs. You take a moment to orient yourself, looking around the room and remembering exactly why you are here. Reaching over, you press the button to call a nurse.

It’s daylight. Probably the next day. There doesn’t seem to be any cloth dolls roaming the streets from what you can see, so the heroes must have won. For once, you’re actually tempted to figure out what happened.

The nurse appears quickly, looking relieved that you are awake. He begins his own assessments, checking your vitals and asking some questions. He is satisfied with your results and answers, informs you that the doctor will be here to check up on you in a minute, and leaves.

You spend the next however-as-long staring out the window. You’re on a high floor, with a pretty nice view of the city. Your thoughts run slower than normal, but you wonder about your coworkers, the patient, and even the heroes. You hope they’re all okay. You’ll have to ask as soon as possible.

A knock on the door brings your attention to the doctor standing inside the room. She must have walked in without you noticing. She smiles at you and introduces herself.

“As you know, you suffered a deep chest wound due to impact trauma.” She explains, speaking in layman's terms. It’s probably a habit, but you’re too tired to correct her. “We were able to stitch you back up and get you stable. Now that you’re awake, I have full confidence that you’ll make a successful recovery. You’ll have to stay a few days for monitoring, but we’ll get you home soon enough.” You smile and thank her for her work.

“It is a bit strange though.” The doctor continues, looking down at her clipboard. “Your wound appeared under your uniform, but your uniform itself wasn’t damaged at all.” She looks up at you for an explanation, brows furrowing.

“Hah, that's weird.” You mutter, looking away. A moment of awkward silence, then you continue. “Do you know what happened to the other patient taken in at the same time?”

“I cannot tell you the status of other patients, my apologies.” She replies. Incorrect, in a way. You will find out the moment you flash your badge, but you don’t fight it. “Did you know him?”

“Uh, no.” You reply. “I was one of the EMTs that brought him in.”

The doctor looked shocked. “You're...an EMT?” She asked, looking down at her clipboard. She flips to the other side, narrows her eyes, and lets out a frustrated breath. “Why does nobody ever fill these out correctly?!” She mumbles, reaching into her pocket and grabbing a pen. She scribbles something on your chart.

“I’m sorry about that.” She finally looks back up, seemingly a bit embarrassed that she’s been speaking to another medical professional in layman's terms. “I didn’t know. They filled in your occupation as a student.”

“It’s okay.” You give a small smile. “Guess I should be happy they thought I was young enough.” Oh, that was a bad attempt at a joke. Damn.

She places your chart in the holder near the foot of the bed. “The other patient you came in with is being looked over by another doctor. I’ll get the information for you. For now though, just rest. You know how important this stage is.” She leaves soon after that.

You glance at the tv, considering. The news would be on, likely covering the attack in full. But you can feel the drug-induced drowsiness begin. It won't be long before you’re asleep. Turning on the tv doesn’t seem worth it. You look back out the window and daydream.

It takes less than five minutes before you fall back asleep.

You drift in and out of sleep for a while after that, never knowing exactly how long you were asleep for. Sometimes you are awake for longer, as the painkillers stop working and you have to call a nurse for more, and sometimes you are awake for only a minute or two.

The doctor does come back one of these times. As she adds more painkillers to your system, she informs you of the other patient. Apparently, he is stable, and in good condition, although he hasn’t woken up. The doctor in charge of him doesn’t seem to be concerned.

Hearing that is like a weight off of your back. He lived. You did your job and he lived. There were no casualties on your watch. While it doesn’t absolve you of your lingering feelings of regret towards the kid, something inside of you feels just a little more ‘right’ after hearing that. The doctor leaves as you fall back asleep, feeling much better than before.

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

You are startled awake by a loud sound.

“Where the FUCK is she?!” A familiar gruff voice. You blink yourself into more consciousness and glance around. Your room is still empty, the screams coming from the hallway.

“Sir! You need to calm down!” Another voice.

“Then tell me where she is!”

“Sir! You’re not allowed to-”

The voice cuts off just as you see a flash of orange and black pass through your slightly open door. The orange pauses, directly in front, and the door opens.

It's him.

You stare up at him in shock from your hospital bed. What the hell is he doing here? The blond is dressed in his hero costume, the same one that you saw earlier but...cleaner. Do heroes have multiple versions of their suits in case one gets dirty? How do you even clean some of those suits? Is there a thriving hero suit cleaning business somewhere? Wait, what are you thinking?

You blink to focus your thoughts. Damn drugs.

The blond hero stomps over to the side of your bed, a scowl on his face. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

You flinch back at his loud voice. What. is. Happening.

“Why didn’t you fucking move, idiot?!” His voice is a bit quieter this time. Just a bit. “You risked his life, your life, that other extras life, for what?! Don’t be out there if you freeze, dumbass.”

Oh, this is a lecture.

“I couldn’t move him…” You find your voice.

“Hah?!”

“I thought-” You clear your throat. “He might have had a spinal injury. If I moved him, I risked injuring him more, or worse.” You look down at your fingers, clutching the blanket. When he doesn’t immediately respond, you look back up. Those red eyes are looking at you with a narrowed expression. You can’t read him.

“C’mon, we need to go.” A new, deep voice comes from the door. You look over towards the door, where a man stands in front of a team of nervous-looking nurses. It must be another hero, not that you recognize him. A blue man dressed in a puffy black jacket and blue pants.

“Yea, yea. One fucking minute. ” Ground Zero responds, not looking away from you. “What the fuck were you even doing out there?! You’re not supposed to be inside the perimeter!” Your head hurts, his loud voice echoing painfully in your skull. You want this to be over, whatever it is.

“He survived.” You look back up to him, meeting his eyes as calmly as you can. “Because of what we did , that man is going to live. Without the flare, would you have even seen him? Without Eito using his quirk, would you have been fast enough to save him?”

The blond doesn't seem to react, but you notice his hands curl into tight fists at his side. You can’t imagine what he could say to your words, you speak the truth after all. While it had done absolutely nothing for your team, the flare is what led the heroes to realize someone was there and alive on the street. There is no way they noticed before, or else the man would have been moved earlier. And no matter how quick the blond can move with his explosions, that building would have crumbled on top of all of you without Eitos quirk being able to pause it. The man would not have lived through that. He would have been buried and forgotten.

You continue to meet his eyes. “It’s my job. Surely you of all people would understand, hero .” Your voice is darker than normal, angrier after being yelled at for no reason.

“Ground Zero. We need to go.” The blue man's voice is more insistent. In the corner of your eye you can see a larger crowd has formed behind him in the hallway. The blond straightens up, eyes flickering over you in the hospital bed. The scowl fades into a more confused frown.

“Now.” The blue man says. No room for argument.

The blond's eyes look at your angry face one last time before he turns and walks out the door with the blue man. The crowd begins to disperse quickly afterward.

“What was that?” Your nurse from before pops his head in, looking between you and down the hallway.

“I have no idea.” You shrug. “My head hurts, though, can I have a bit more of the meds?”

He chuckles, walking over to check if it was possible. A moment later, he confirms. “After all that, sure.”

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

You feel more awake the next time you wake up as if you know you’ll be able to avoid sleep for at least a few hours this time. Unfortunately, it looks like the sun is setting outside. You missed the day.

Something new is on the little table beside the bed. A plastic bag, full of probably the items that you had on your person as you came in: your I.D, your work badge, and your phone. It is the phone that gives you pause.

You think about not looking. It can’t be that bad, right? It’s only been... probably less than 24 hours since the villain attacked. Nobody is going to freak out in that little of a time.

Who are you kidding?

You grab your phone and turn it on, grateful that it still has battery life. You’ll ask the nurse for a cord later.

[ 10 Missed Messages ]

[ 15 Missed Calls ]

You let out a long breath, skip the messages and go straight to your contact list. There are only two people who would have called you: Dad and Naoko. Naoko, as your emergency contact, should know that you are in the hospital and okay. Dad though… You hit call.

It picks up on the second ring. He screams your name into the phone, making you cringe and hold it further from your face.

“Hey, Dad.”

“ARE YOU OKAY?” He screams again.

“Yes, I’m fine. Stop screaming!”

He goes on. “Where are you? Why didn’t you respond? Are you injured? Should I come get you? I’m coming to get-”

“Dad, stop.” You interrupt. “I’m okay!”

“Did you use your quirk?”

Hesitation. “No. I wasn’t even in the area of the attack. I was at the office.”

“What was with the pause?” He insists. “Are you lying to me? You know you can’t use your quirk. If they find out then…”

You look around your hospital room. “No, I’m not lying to you.” Your heart hurts. Your eyes feel hot. “I didn’t even know there was an attack, really. I was working on this big accounting...thing.”

A long silence where you can just hear him mumbling on the other side. Then, “Just...text or call me next time, okay? I was worried.”

“I know.” You sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better about it.”

“Okay.” He replies. “I gotta go. Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you.” And he hangs up. You feel...a bit empty as you lay back against the bed. You hate lying to him, but that's what your life has become.

Your hand rests on your chest, lightly running over the bandage you can feel through the loose t-shirt you are wearing. It’ll probably scar. How are you going to explain that? He’s going to know. He’s not dumb.

Your quirk doesn’t have a fancy hero name, you never thought of one for it and none was ever assigned to you as you are legally ‘quirkless’. It’s a simple quirk at face value, where you can heal hypothetically any wound by touching them. You never tested the limits of your quirk, so there may be some you don’t know of. The wound gets transferred to yourself, healed by a random chance of anywhere between 25-75%. That means that no matter what, the wound is healed by at least 25%, and could be almost completely healed. Cool, right?

Not exactly. You have to ‘roll the dice’ on your own health any time you try to heal someone. If you were to try and heal a fatal wound and get unlucky, you would die. You also cannot control what part of the wound heals in the process. The wound doesn’t heal in a ‘most important’ type way. The 25% that might heal during transference might be the smallest or least helpful part. You cannot rely on it. For example: if you were to use your quirk on a gunshot wound, you may end up with healed skin and no visible entry wound, but have all the remaining internal injuries. Not only could this make dying faster, but it could make it much more difficult for medical professionals to help. It is beyond risky.

Your quirk had manifested when you were about five and playing with some kids at a park. You had initially been really excited at your glowing green hand, despite not knowing what exactly it meant, and ran home to tell your dad. However, your excitement dropped instantly at the look of pure horror on his face. You had been a late bloomer in regards to your quirk and he had been hoping that you would be like him, quirkless.

Instead, you ended up with a healing quirk. Healing quirks are very rare and very sought after by hero agencies. You don’t know of a single person with any sort of healing quirk (big or small) that doesn’t work directly in the hero industry. They are usually recruited at a young age and brought to special training, to hone their quirk as much as possible to use on heroes.

That’s what happened to your mother. She had been a top healer in many large agencies throughout her life. Her quirk allowed her to heal others using her own energy. If she fell asleep or got injured, the healing would stop. Dad says she was always drinking energy drinks and caffeine to keep her levels up. In the end, her hero work is what killed her. You’ve heard the story many times throughout your childhood, Dad working hard to ensure you won’t follow in her footsteps, to ensure that you won't end up a victim of the (as he called it) ‘healing quirk curse ‘.

Well, look at you now. Maybe he was on to something about the curse.

You take another moment to recoup before going back to your contact list. You hit the call button.

[ Contact: Naoko ]

She picks up after three rings. “ARE YOU OKAY?”

“Not this again.” You groan. “Yea, I’m fine. Didn’t they tell you?”

“Well, yea.” She replies, voice quieter. “But it's different to hear it from you versus some random nurse. I tried to come to visit you to see for myself, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

“That’s weird.” You mutter. “You are my emergency contact.”

“I know, right?!” She grumbles. “So, what happened? I assume it was in the villain attack.”

“Yeah.” You begin your story, leaving out Ground Zero (you would tell her later) and just how close the attack had been (it would only worry her). “In the end, some debris fell from a building onto us. That’s how I got injured. Luckily we had the patient already in the stretcher and the team got me to the ambulance.” Your heart pulled angrily at the lie. It always felt bad, but after your phone call with your dad, it just hit harder.

Someday you’d tell her. You told yourself that every time. You trust Naoko a lot, and the girl could keep a secret. It’s just...difficult. Not only would you have to admit that you’ve been lying to her for years (something she might not forgive you for), you’d have to tell her everything . It’s a lot and...something you’ve been putting off for a while.

“You’re gonna put me into an early grave girl.” She sighs. “Talk to the doctors and I’ll come to bring you some stuff. When are you being released?”

“In a few days, apparently.” You reply. “Can you bring my laptop too? I feel like I’ll be bored as hell in here.”

“Of course!”

The two of you talk for a few more minutes before you hang up. You hit the ‘call nurse’ button and wait for them to arrive. Time to find out why your friend was denied access.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugouxreader #bakugou x you #bakugou fanfiction #reader-insert #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #j writes

11 notes · View notes