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moon-lixie · 3 years

Text

about a letter left to be found and a boy who disappeared into thin air.

word count: 2.046k

genre: slight angst

song: 말할 수 없는 비밀 (Secret Secret) - Stray Kids

I don't think any of you would be able to understand, not even if I sit down and speak all of my truths. Still, I think I owe an explanation.

With trembling hands he gathered his things, the notebooks filled with dreams spilling from the edges of every page, his favourite hoodies, the pair of bright red headphones he had since the beginning of high school.

From the open window a cold breeze came in and ruffled the slightly damp hair of the boy, paying special attention to the ends that were still clamped together due to the dampness.

He wasn't exactly in a hurry, but he still felt nervous and anxious, because even if it was almost impossible, at the back of his mind he was haunted by the idea of someone coming in and stopping him.

Moving quickly he reached down for the towel hanging around his shoulders and ruffled his hair a couple of times more until he felt satisfied.

First of all, I have no idea where I am going but know that I'm fine.

A loud sigh caressed his lips as it escaped, filling the room that he had always called his own, his little world nobody could disrupt because in between the forgotten comics and the piles of clothes sprawled here and there he had felt more at home than he has ever felt anywhere else.

Throwing the towel to the basket of dirty laundry at the end of the hallway, he finally finished everything he had to do, simply being left with staring at himself in the mirror and fixing the wild strands of hair that had been upset by the freshly washed hoodie hugging his torso.

He could barely muster a smile at his reflection, not because he was sad, but because it all felt surreal in a sense that left him wondering if it was still the middle of the night many years ago and the last years had been nothing but the hopeful dreams of his younger self.

Maybe it's a bit selfish of me to simply leave without a warning, but please understand that I want much more than this place could ever offer me.

He closed the front door of his house, locking it with the pair of keys his mother had given him once he turned twelve; they were still held together by the Pororo keychain he had bought one day after school with such an overwhelming excitement that made the memory pull at the corners of his lips.

It felt bizarre to walk away from the entrance of his home knowing that he was never really going to come back, that this was the last time.

Just like the very first time he had arrived there along with a moving truck packed with boxes and furniture, he felt breath leave his lungs at the sight of the white façade. It made him stop for a second and contemplate in utter silence.

Goosebumps coated the length of his arms once he turned around and kept moving forward at a steady pace, leaving his old bike behind as well.

Know that the decision to leave wasn't made in a haste, I've been thinking about it for long and now just seemed like the perfect time.

Mr. Kim lazily waved in his direction, gentle smile and downturned eyes with the familiar brown that reminded Jisung of his grandfather; maybe that's where he would go next, to visit his grandfather.

Without much thought he returned the sweet and familiar greeting, feeling a bit nostalgic when he thought back to all the summers that he had spent working with the man in his garden.

Back then a young Jisung had been happy to make a few bucks while getting to stay out all day in the yard playing with bugs and with the sun kissing the skin of his chubby cheeks and legs that weren't covered by his favourite pair of green shorts.

He couldn't help but wonder where had all that time run to because despite being the one who lived through it, he could barely make sense or when had he ended up where he was.

Time moved too fast and without a warning, it left everyone wondering.

It isn't easy to leave my whole life behind but it feels right, the mere idea makes me feel lighter because who knows who I'll get to be when I get to the end of my journey.

Perhaps I'll be braver, a little bit smarter, more mature, maybe even a couple of centimetres taller.

He could walk the streets with his eyes closed and still know where every bump and crack was in the sidewalk, he could still point where his old school was, where the closest convenience store stepped in his way and as usual tempted him to buy a snack even on those days were his pockets were empty and his tummy full.

From there he knew his way to everywhere else in town, he even knew how long it would take him to get to said places on foot or with his trusty bike.

It all felt too easy and familiar, too comfortable, and those things weren't bad at all but Jisung thought he had had enough of them. He craved discovering himself inside the walls of another place so foreign that every single one of his truths were only known by himself.

Was it silly? That he thought a change of scenery would make him a new person, one much more alike to who he truly was.

Sometimes talking to someone isn't enough, because you don't think they'll understand, you know they won't. That's why I never said anything about the deepest desires looming in my heart or the biggest fears that tied me down for as long as I can remember.

All the interrogations running leaps around his mind made him walk faster, filling him with the same dreadful excitement he felt every first day of school, one that mixed with nervousness and fear.

He wasn't sure if starting fresh would let him be someone whose fears didn't weigh upon his heart so harshly, he wasn't sure if he would get to be the person he had always wished he could be but he could only hope.

Hope had been what drove him this far and today he was giving it full control of where his feet moved to, control over how his next day would look like or where he would wake up the next day.

Never in his life had he felt more ready to wander around by himself.

But I guess, since I'm going, it's only fair that I try to sit down and talk to someone, hoping that they will understand even if my words are scarce and there will be nobody to talk back to at the end of this letter.

On the horizon the sun rushed to slumber, leaving a comforting lilac pooling around the clouds and making them stand out even more.

Night hovered over his shoulders making him breathe with much more ease because if there was something that portrayed hope and tomorrow with an uncanny resemblance and lack of effort, it was the night sky with its endless stars and its shining moon.

In his childhood days he had discovered that there was no better cure for uncertainty and a nostalgic heart than staring up at the night sky; there was something about it that made him feel like time stopped for an instance, that time wasn't quite as unforgiving while the veil of darkness covered everything.

If he could go anywhere he wanted —which he was already doing— he would wish to go to the sky, not the endless and uncertain space, but the idea of the sky that humans have in their ignorance, a canvas that goes no further than our eyes can see.

Ever since I can remember I've felt like there was a place for me somewhere out there, a place I always called home without knowing what it really was.

It wasn't like I didn't feel at home here, there was just a feeling in my chest that told me out there I could feel completely free in the way I've always craved.

For him it had always felt unfair, how everyone got to live and walk around without the things that kept him back. Of course when he grew older he understood that everyone had their own problems but sometimes that was easy to ignore when one's own darkness loomed around their heart.

He had spent many years wishing, praying to whoever was listening, that he could just be himself without the voices in his head and the uncertainties that made every single one of his steps be cautious.

Nobody seemed to have listened as years went by and things got harder, still, he never gave up and even though he could never really say that there was nothing else bothering him he could at least say that he had everything under control.

If time is unforgiving it also is healing, and for him it had healed many wounds that couldn't be seen.

Unknowingly I spent a lot of time wanting to go to that place, craving to find where it was.

Some years ago I understood that it perhaps wasn't a place but a version of myself that could bring such soothing feelings. That's where I'm going to, that's why I have no destination.

He wanted to believe that nothing had been planned, that his savings carefully stuffed at the bottom of his backpack had just been him being responsible about his money and having enough for the impulsiveness that one day had won over reason and had driven him to this adventure.

He wanted to pretend but it was stupid to do now, there was nobody around to judge him or question his motives, so there was no use in not being honest with himself.

Thinking back to all those evenings spent running around the small restaurant in which he had found a job, he could see that perhaps this plan had been many years in the making.

Unconsciously he had always been hoping for a moment like this, a moment of unadulterated freedom.

Hopefully I do get there, hopefully I get to be happy and everyone I left behind does too.

The journey to happiness, to authenticity, to being unapologetically himself, had taken him to the airport, another thing that wasn't as spontaneous as he had tried to make it seem.

Passport in hand and trembling self, the whiteness of the place and the various people walking back and forth made him realise that this was really going on, he was really leaving.

For the first time in his life overthinking had no place in his plans.

I wish to be who I am meant to and disappearing was perhaps the thing I had always been destined to do. A boy who disappeared into thin air, that's who I am, a boy with secrets that weigh down on my heart and that I'm unwilling to carry with me on this journey.

Approaching the desk he was met with a young woman, in her mid twenties or early thirties, sweet but practised smile covering her lips as she recited the words that he must've learned a long time ago when she first started working there.

"I want a ticket for the next flight available," Jisung said, offering a reassuring smile after the confused look the woman gave him.

He looked around as the sounds of typing filled his ears and before he had time to start regretting something the ticket had been placed on his palm and his savings were short by a considerable amount.

I'm afraid that wasn't much of an explanation but it was my truth.

Good luck and see you whenever we're meant to cross paths.

The last thing he saw before falling asleep were the clouds from above and the sky now completely dark like the many nights he had wondered where he belonged.

Now he had an answer, he belonged wherever he felt free and right then in that comfortable plane seat he felt the freest he had ever been.

#kpop #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz angst #skz comfort #skz han #skz jisung #stray kids han #stray kids jisung #han angst

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mossybank · 3 years

Text

Baby You're a Haunted House — W. M.

Wanda Maximoff x GN!Reader

Summary: Y/N helps Wanda grieve and gain closure on Pietro's death in their own special way, a perculiar way to flirt in the eyes of others. — au/non-canon accurate timeline

A/N: Baby You're a Haunted House is a song that's been stuck in my head on a loop, and although it was only meant to be a place holder title I've actually become quite fond of it.

semi-proofread

Y/N had been meaning to talk to Wanda for a while, amongst all the chaos of Ultron, they didn't get a proper opportunity to introduce themself; and to do it afterwards, as the girl realised she'd lost her brother, just seemed crass. They thought that maybe now they'd left it too long to introduce themself, coming off as rude and tone deaf for not doing it earlier, but the longer they avoided doing this the worse it would become.

In order to give themself an excuse for waiting so long, Y/N made Wanda a welcome hamper of sorts. They'd scoured the Eastern European aisle at the shop in hopes of finding something Sokovian, hoping it would remind Wanda of what was once her home, but they also feared that would be cruel, they didn't want her to feel anymore homesick than she most likely already did.

Eventually they threw a few things together, mostly sweets and snacks of the sort that they thought she'd enjoy, and anxiously knocked on her door before entering sheepishly.

"Hey, uh, I—" They glanced at Wanda and then at her TV before fixating their gaze to the floor, it was much less intimidating, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no," Wanda shook her head and paused the TV, the laughing track stopping, "Nothing important."

Y/N knew Wanda would have a Sokovian accent, she was from the country for gods sake, but that didn't stop the tips of their ears from heating up at the sound of it. It was typical, but Y/N simply had a thing for accents, and they hoped Wanda hadn't noticed.

"I wanted to introduce myself, I've know we've met before," Y/N cringed, righting a robotic threat to earth seemed like a bit more than just meeting, "But we haven't met-met... I, um, I brought you a gift!" They held the gift basket out awkwardly, a lopsided smile overtaking their face.

Wanda chuckled quietly at Y/N's antics and shuffled from her position of the edge of her bed, making space for Y/N to sit beside her and patting it. Y/N quickly obliged, placing the gift basket between them.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like so it's a bit of everything."

"Thanks.. No one else has done this for me." Wanda said fondly, looking through the basket with a content expression, "You didn't need to do all this."

Y/N looked down at their hands, and shrugged, "I just wanted to make sure you felt welcomed here and stuff, y'know? I know what it's like to be a new Avenger, it's a lot of change at once so I just want to make sure you're doing okay."

After some small talk, the two decided to watch one of Wanda's sitcoms together. Y/N wasn't too sure what it was called, but they'd definitely ask her later in order to binge it themself.

"We used to have movie nights as a child where we'd only be allowed to speak english to help us learn it," Wanda's expression dropped temporarily, gazing to the side. Y/N followed Wanda's gaze, eyes landing on a framed photo of her and Pietro.

"... I'm sorry." Y/N said hesitantly after a second of silence, "If there's anything I c—"

Wanda's expression caused Y/N to stop talking, she'd clearly heard that phrase repetitively from everyone.

"The only thing you could do to make me feel better would be to bring him back." She said bitterly before looking at Y/N, her sour tone dropping off of the end of the sentence as her eyes met their, "I didn't mean that, I shouldn't... It's not your fault."

Y/N shook their head, cutting Wanda's apology short, "No, no! You have every right to be upset and excited, but.." They trailed off, a moment of debate in their brain, "If you, um, really wanted to see him again, I could try help?"

Wanda raised a brow, frowning slightly as if she thought Y/N was making some sick joke.

"The little ghost army thingie back in Sokovia when we were fighting Ultron? That was me! Uh.. Trying to reach Pietro would take time though.. Usually ghosts follow people around but I haven't seen him.."

Wanda sighed and shook her head, "You don't have to do that for me, you looked exhausted from how you used your powers back there."

"But I'd like too! And it'd be a great bit of training even if it didn't work, I've never been able to summon anyone specific before." They tried to reason, but ultimately they wouldn't do anything without Wanda's permission.

"... I'll think about it."

It was a week later when Wanda next spoke to Y/N regarding their conversation about Pietro, they'd spoke in between but dancing around the topic of a dead brother was difficult work. Eventually, they had to discuss it once more.

"I'm willing to try, but if anything goes wrong, that will be it." Wanda comes to the compromise, presenting her deal to Y/N one morning in the kitchen. Y/N looking at Wanda and nodding, zoning out slightly and taking in her features, only snapping back into reality as boiling liquid came into contact with their hand.

They cursed, almost dropping their mug, foiled by the classic sitcom trope of overpouring your coffee and burning yourself as the result of some stupid crush.

"Oh, Y/N! Are you o—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine!" They reassured, shaking their hand dry, ignoring the sting of the burn, "If you give me an hour, we can try immediately!"

Wanda nodded and promptly left, she longed to truly make sure Y/N was okay but held back,she’d dread to come off too doting this eraly in their relationship. Y/N's shoulders slumped and they let out a breath they didn't know they were holding. They'd barely knew Wanda, whatever they were feeling had to go away soon, it was just unprofessional when their whole thing right now was helping the girl talk to her brother one last time!

The medium was pulled out of their deprecating thoughts by a boisterous chuckle, turning their head, they recognised it to be Thor.

"Ah, young love," The god teased, giving Y/N a firm but well-meaning pat on the back, "Good luck, young Y/N."

Y/N blushed and defensively assured Thor that is was 'nothing like that', but it was clear to everyone else that it absolutely was.

Arriving to their semi-impromptu séance, Y/N gave Wanda a run down on what was going to happen. Usually, when summoning a spirit, Y/N only summoned those already around, but it seemed Pietro had already moved on from this world- it made sense, his death was somewhat honourable and he didn't seem to have any unfinished business or grudges- that just meant Y/N's process would be a little more difficult and required a few more attempts. For a summoning like this, they'd have to temporarily leave the mortal realm, appearing to those around them as unconscious. Luckily for Y/N this was something they were particularly good at, often doing so accidently and getting stuck when their powers first manifested as a child.

Laying down on the floor, Wanda knelt beside them with a soft grip on their hands ready to wake them should something go wrong, Y/N closed their eyes, the last thing they felt before slipping away being Wanda tenderly stroking her thumb across their knuckles.

With a start, Y/N woke up, sitting slowly and looking around their surroundings. Blue, everything was blue here and although usually a tranquil colour, here it was chilling and made everything feel off. Standing up, Y/N thought of a game plan, there was no point wandering around the blue plains of this realm, they'd get nowhere; not that there was anywhere to go or find regardless. The best way to find a spirit was to call out to them, and so that's just what they did.

If they steadied their breathing and kept quiet enough, they could make out distance conversations in hushed tones, they sounded like gibberish to them though— whether they were speaking English or not, they didn't want Y/N to know what was being said, and so that's how it stayed.

Their first few attempts at summoning were futile, each time they'd wake up with a start, taking a surprisingly deep breath and breaking out in a coughing fit, Wanda vigilantly by their side to help them through it, always offering a glass of water or a cough drop.

The pair began to hang out outside of Y/N’s attempts to contact Pietro, by now the two both knew they most likely wouldn’t find his spirit, but neither of them mentioned this, thinking giving up on the summoning would mean they’d stop hanging out. Of course this likely wasn’t the case, but anxieties between the two certainly made it seem so.

One thing the two seemed to bond over a lot was food; it was what Y/N used to introduce themself to her and now Wanda was teaching Y/N a childhood recipe, opening herself up to them. There were little things the two did that everyone on the team seemed to notice except for them; for example, when telling Y/N to stir the food, she place her hands softly over their own to show them how to do it, her touch lingering longer than it should have. Occasionally other avengers would point this out, only being met with blushes by the two of them and various statements of denial, but with those statements of denial came coy but questioning looks from one to another as if to ask if they really meant that.

“It’s always best to try summoning on a full stomach, you never know how long it’s going to take so you should always be in good condition.” Y/N explains, cleaning the plates they’d just used to eat.

“How did you get your powers?” Wanda asked, warily, getting her powers wasn’t the best experience of her life and she’d hate to know something similar had happened to Y/N.

Drying up the plates, Y/N leans against the counter and faces her, “They run in the family.. sort of .. I mean, everyone on my mums side has some kind of fascination with the supernatural, but I’ve by far shown the most power in generations, apparently.”

Hearing that put a smile on Wanda’s face, she was glad it was something that came naturally to Y/N and that they could so easily embrace it.

Done with the washing, Y/N held an arm out for Wanda, her gladly taking it, and the two walked side by side ready for another attempt.

Y/N found themself once again in the place they'd now dubbed their own personal blue hell. They shivered, fiddling with the fraying hem of their sleeves and looked around. It was empty, of course, it always was. Occasionally they'd accidentally summon someone, but sensing that they weren't wanted, they often left quickly.

"Pietro?" Y/N yells, cupping their mouth to try enhance the sound of their voice, it was no use, "Wanda misses you.."

They were yet to find a buzz word to pique the spirits attention.

After a few more minutes of waiting, Y/N sat down, they sighed exaggeratedly,

"Quick bastard, powers probably made him move realms quicker too.." They muttered angrily in defeat, about to begin their process to return back to Wanda.

Just as they closed their eyes, Y/N felt a sudden gush of air pass them, jumping, they looked around. Nothing.

Groaning, Y/N put their head in their hands, at this point they were just being teased.

Another gush of wind went by and Y/N swore.

There was one final gush, stopping when a bright light stood in front of Y/N. It was impossible to make out what, or rather who, it was, no features discernable through the blue light that shone out the figure, so bright Y/N had to cover their eyes.

After a few seconds, Y/N knew they needed to question it, ".. Pietro..?"

The figure moved, tilting its head and trying to speak back, but just like everyone else here, it was distorted and hard to make out.

The longer Y/N looked at the figure, the less it began to shine, features becoming more readable.

Just as its face was finally revealed, Y/N only just catching a glimpse of its face, they awoke back in Wanda's room, the red-head leaning over them with a worried expression.

"Y/N!" She exclaimed, helping them sit up and handing them tissues, it was only then that they realised their nose had been bleeding, "I was so worried." She kept her hands on their shoulders.

Y/N looked at her confused, tilting their head in question.

"I—.. You, you starting shaking and mumbling something, then your nose started bleeding," She looked down nervously, "I've been trying to wake you up for ages, nothing was working.."

She was clearly distressed, her hair a mess from running her hands through it and tears brimming her eyes.

"Wanda..." Y/N pulled the girl into a tight hug, "it's okay, I'm fine," They reassured.

Wanda sniffled and pulled back, "We.. We should stop trying to do this.. I don't want it to hurt you." She says sternly after calming down.

Though disheartened by the comment, Y/N knew it was coming, Wanda’s one condition from the start had been that they stop immediately should something go wrong.

As Wanda and Y/N had feared in their heads, they didn’t seem to speak as much since stopping the seances. It was weird, like something had changed, Y/N would try make conversation with Wanda but she’d only give them a guilty sort of look and make an excuse to leave the interaction.

It started to frustrate Y/N after a while but they didn’t want to push her, they knew they never should of suggested summoning Pietro, it would only bound to cause more heartbreak for the poor girl. Knowing this, they wanted nothing more to fix it; they never wanted to go against Wanda’s wishes, but they were just so close the last time they tried and knew that they couldn’t give up till they succeeded.

A week later, Y/N was content, but clearly exhausted, they would try summon Pietro’s spirit often, thinking that they could surprise Wanda, but they’d gotten so used to trying with her by their side offering comfort that it know became difficult to carry out this ritual alone. By now they'd accepted that perhaps this one spirit was just too far gone to bring back.

Reluctantly, contradictory to their original plan of letting Wanda approach them first, Y/N decided they needed to say something. They refused to go see her empty handed though, they made her an overly extravagant mug of hot chocolate in order to satiate her sweet tooth. Besides, it was much better to talk over a drink.

Opening her door after knocking was awkward, making a mug for themself too, the whip cream and marshmallows piled high, Y/N had no hands free. This caused them to need to do an awkward elbow maneuver with the door handle, the drinks threatening to spill. Wanda gave Y/N a funny look for a second, questioning their difficulty to open the door, before noticing the two mugs in their hands and quickly made her way over to them to take them.

“It’s just the way you like it..!” Y/N says, looking down at the floor and grimacing at where some of the hot chocolate had stained right outside of Wanda’s room; they’d have to remember to clean that up later if a janitor didn't get to it first.

Wanda smiles, humming, she thanks Y/N and puts the drinks down. The two sip on them awkwardly for a minute, unsure of what to talk about without addressing the elephant in the room. The two of them seemed to think alike, breaking the silence in unison,

“I missed you.”

Both seemed shocked by the others words, eyes widening and cheeks dusting a warm hue, before laughing.

Wanda held her hand out for Y/N and they took it, hands resting intertwined on the coffee table, “I’m sorry for avoiding you, I just... seeing you like that.. I felt like it was my fault.”

Guilt pang in Y/N’s chest and they shook their head, giving Wanda’s hand a comforting squeeze, “It’s my fault, I should know my limits, I do know my limits, but I decided to exceed them anyway. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“Maybe,” Wanda starts, a teasing undertone in her voice which lightens the mood, “You could take me out to apologies?”

The suggestion alone was enough to knock the wind out of Y/N, they did a double take before finally bringing themself to respond, “Like a.. like a date..?”

“If that’s what you want.” God, this girl could be the death of Y/N.

“You know, this whole time I’ve been berating myself in my head for liking you.” Y/N chuckles, letting Wanda in on the secret, knowing from her amused expression that she had been doing the same, “so, its a date then?”

A wide smile spread across their face being able to say that, widening further as Wanda nods in confirmation. This whole time Y/N had thought the only way they’d be able to get to Wanda’s heart was to bring her brother back, that ended up not being the case at all.

They realised when thinking this, zoning out, they’d been staring at Wanda this whole time, who looked back at them with a bright red blush across her face, the sight was almost too adorable for Y/N to handle.

Wanda looked at her and Y/N’s joined hands and then back to their eyes, “Could I.. kiss you?” she asks catching Y/N off guard, “To seal the agreement to our date!” She adds on flustered, the line sounding much smoother in her head than it did aloud.

Y/N didn’t seem to catch the awkwardness in her words, nodding enthusiastically, then toning it down quickly thinking that it was too much, and lent forwards, Wanda doing the same.

They closed their eyes, tilting their head to the side in order to not ruin the moment by accidently bumping noses or heads.

As their lips touched, everything felt just right, it was like electricity and fireworks, like the perfect first kiss every book seemed to describe. It was like a gush of fresh air, and as the two pulled away they gave each other matching coy smiles. Fully invested in each other, it was like nothing else existed around them. Maybe that’s why they failed to notice a new addition to the room.

A fake gagging sounds comes from behind the two, causing them to jump and quickly look for the source of it. Like the realm Y/N had traveled to many times before, this figure was blue, but now in the realm of the living it wasn’t as bright nor did it sound so distorted. It took a second, but the two finally realised what, or rather who, was in Wanda’s room; Pietro.

Wanda gasped, letting go of Y/N’s hand and standing up, hesitantly approaching Pietro who gave her a smug smile. The two looked at each other for a while before going in for a hug, Pietro spinning Wanda around. Y/N’s heart warmed at the sight , though it also frustrated them a bit, if they’d known all it would take to summon him was to get with Wanda, they would have made a move much sooner.

Y/N got up and nervously stood behind Wanda, not wanting to say anything and ruin their reunion. Tears brimmed in Wanda’s eyes, but this time they could tell they were from happiness. She stepped away from Pietro and put a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm.

“So you two are a thing now?” Pietro questions, crossing his arms and giving Y/N the classic look of an over protective brother who would kill them should they hurt Wanda. Looking back at Pietro, Y/N noticed he was still slightly transparent, he wouldn’t be able to keep up a physical form in this realm for long.

Wanda looked down, blinking away her tears and looking back up with a smile on her face, corners of her mouth quivering slightly, “You didn’t see that coming?” She uses Pietro’s catchphrase against him, voice wavering slightly as she does so. Hand still on Y/’N’s arm, she lead them and Pietro back over to the table, the three would have a lot to talk about till Pietro had to leave once again.

Taglists;

Wanda Maximoff Taglist — @tatesimper

#wanda maximoff x reader #Marvel x reader #Scarlet witch x reader #Wandavision #Mcu #Avengers #Pietro Maximoff #Quicksilver #One shot #Headcanon #Imagine #Drable #Elizabeth olsen x reader #Gender neutral reader #Male reader

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thewidowsghost · 3 years

Text

The Temple - Pt. 2 (Skye x Coulson!Reader)

Main Masterlist

Part 1: The Temple (Skye x Avenger!Coulson!Reader)

Previously on The Temple:

The elder Coulson reaches up, brushing a piece of hair behind Skye's ear in a fatherly fashion.

"I'm so sorry. I'm gonna make it right. I'm gonna find the Obelisk."

"No," Coulson murmurs hoarsely.

"I'm gonna stop the drill. I'm gonna make it right," Skye continues, bolting from the room before (Y/n) can even think.

"Skye, no," Coulson calls. "Don't go down there."

"Dad, I have -" (Y/n) begins.

"Go! Go after her!" the elder Coulson says and (Y/n) jumps to her feet, glancing between the doorway Skye had gone through, and her father lying on the ground. "Go!" he yells again, and (Y/n) wipes away her tears, sprinting after Skye.

. . .

There's a metallic grinding nose, and Skye, Trip, (Y/n), and Raina focus on the Obelisk on the pedestal. It opens, revealing crystals and (Y/n) tenses.

"How do we stop it?" Trip asks.

"I don't think we can," (Y/n) says. She turns to Skye, tears welling in her eyes.

Skye grabs the front of (Y/n)'s shirt, pulling (Y/n) closer and kissing her.

"I love you," both young women whisper at the same time; the two focus back on the Obelisk.

Skye exhales heavily as the chamber trembles.

. . .

"And Skye and (Y/n) barely made it out alive! (Y/n) hasn't even woken up yet!" Mack shouts.

"Thanks to Trip! He sacrificed his life, Mack!" May counters.

"No, he traded his life for theirs!" Mack yells. "And then he was shattered into a thousand pieces!"

"That's enough!" the Elder Coulson yells. "If Trip was here, he wouldn't be arguing. He would't be bitching. He would be gearing up to do what needs to be done." Skye looks horrified at the can that had been trembling, and looking around, she sees her girlfriend curled up in the floor in a corner, her hands pressed over her ears. Skye crosses the containment module and sits down next to where is sitting on the other side of the glass. "Yes, we're dealing with forces we don't understand, but HYDRA I do understand. I want everyone ready when the sun comes up - end of discussion."

Everyone else leaves the room and Skye murmurs, loud enough for (Y/n) to hear. "(Y/n), what's happening to us?"

. . .

"The Avengers wouldn't have been necessary if we hadn't unleashed alien horrors," Simmons cuts Skye off again.

(Y/n)'s eyes had gone cold. "Go," she says bitterly, turning away from the scientist.

"But -" Simmons tries but (Y/n) turns back to her.

"There's always danger, Simmons," (Y/n) snaps, the stirring feeling rising up in her again. "Not everything is something that has to be destroyed or -" (Y/n) stops, turning her head away. "Go."

. . .

There are metallic crashes as pots and pan fall onto the ground and into the sink.

"Skye, (Y/n)? You want to talk to us?" May asks, and the two lover exchange horrified glances.

"Skye, what's doing this?" Coulson asks, his eyes widening.

"I am," Skye admits shakily.

Lady Sif goes to grab Skye's arm, and Skye flinches away, "No." Skye pulls (Y/n) along slightly, removing her hand from (Y/n)'s as she claps them to her forehead.

Skye's fist clenches and the glass behind (Y/n) and Skye explodes.

And, as if in slow motion, (Y/n)'s frame grows larger, towering over Skye.

The grizzly bear wraps it's arms around Skye, protecting the brunette from the shattered glass.

"Hand them over," Lady Sif orders and the elder Coulson and May pull out their hand guns, moving in front of the two younger women. "It will be safer for all of you."

. . .

A sword tip is stabbed through the wall.

"Agent May, release the girls!" Lady Sif orders.

"May, she'll get through," Skye whispers.

"Ignore it. Remember - focus," May says.

"I can't," Skye breathes as Lady Sif breaks the barrier.

May steps back and Skye grabs the agent's ICER, shooting herself with the gun. The rumbling stops and (Y/n) turns to her unconscious girlfriend.

"Skye," (Y/n) whispers, fear spiking through her. "Skye!"

"She harmed herself," Lady Sif says, staring at (Y/n) and Skye, her eyes wide.

(Y/n) pulls her unconscious girlfriend closer to her, her eyes wide.

. . .

"A right to know," Fitz echoes. "What - is that the same way that Sif and the Kree had a right to know?"

"I think this situation's a little bit different, mate," Hunter responds.

"No, you would have done to them exactly what Sif and the Kree wanted to," Fitz argues.

"You don't know that," Simmons says.

"Yes, I do know that!" Fitz yells. "They would - You would - You'd 'handle them'! Mack just said it! Like, uh - Skye and (Y/n) are something to be locked away in a cage somewhere. We should be protecting them."

"No, Fitz," Mack interupts. "We're the ones that need protection from them." Then Mack goes silent, looking over Simmons's shoulder.

Fitz and Simmons turns around, and five SHIELD agents catch sight of (Y/n) and Skye - (Y/n) supporting Skye's weight.

Skye looks into the room, looks away, and then she and (Y/n) start back down the hallway, a disgusted look on (Y/n)'s face, and a large dufflebag thrown over (Y/n)'s other shoulder.

Fitz looks between the other for SHIELD agents, and then follows (Y/n) and Skye.

"Skye. (Y/n)," Fitz calls down the hall, but the two women keep making their way down the hallway.

The two make their way into the BUS, entering the containment module.

"You don't have to stay," Skye tells (Y/n).

"You know I'm not going anywhere, love," (Y/n) murmurs, sitting down beside Skye on the small bed. "Please, rest," (Y/n) says softly lying down on her side and lifting an arm so Skye can cuddle up to her. "We'll figure out something," (Y/n) murmurs. I hope . . .

3rd Person POV

Skye leans over a bowl, dipping a piece of her grilled cheese into her tomato soup.

"I got to say, Director, no doubt, this is the best grilled cheese I've ever had," Skye says, humming in contentment.

"Other times, I'd be offended, but I agree," (Y/n) says, looking appreciatively at her father as she stuffs another mouthful of grilled cheese in her mouth. "Isth really gud," (Y/n) says, her mouth full and Skye looks slightly disgusted.

"Secret ingredient," the Elder Coulson asks.

"Ooh, what is it?" (Y/n) asks, having swallowed her mouthful.

"I will not disclose," (Y/n)'s dad replies, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Skye laughs and her spoon lets out a little chime against her bowl, setting it aside before nestling herself into (Y/n)'s side.

(Y/n) hums contentedly, shoving more grilled cheese in her mouth.

"How are you doing with all the monitoring?" Coulson asks gently.

"I barely notice it," Skye lies.

"We wouldn't subject you to it if it wasn't absolutely necessary," Coulson tells her.

"I assume you're putting us on the gifted index," (Y/n) guesses.

"We are," Coulson the Elder nods.

Skye sighs, looking slightly regretful. "I've been doing some monitoring of my own," she says. "Check this out," she shows the older Coulson her bio-meter watch which shows her heart rate at sixty-five beats per minute. "My entire life, I've been searching for my parents and my search ended with answers that are so much worse than I could've imagined," Skye admits and (Y/n)'s gaze softens and she sets down her grilled cheese, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend. "Sad, twitchy, not-all-there Dad, a dead Mom, alien mist that turned me into a walking natural disaster, a friend dead -"

(Y/n)'s eyes cloud with pain. The Avenger had always been close to Trip, and his death made that so, so much worse.

"Hey," the Elder Coulson says softly, coming over to sit beside (Y/n) and Skye on the small bed. "Trip was not your fault."

"My point is, I'm steady. Nothing is shaking," Skye tells Coulson, looking slightly proud of herself. "I'm stopping them before they start."

"That's good," Coulson replies, looking happier than he just had.

"If I keep working on this, I can be back in the field in no time," Skye says excitedly.

(Y/n) squeezes Skye, happy for her girlfriend's excitement.

. . .

"She's acting like everything will go back to normal," Coulson tells May a little later, pulling Skye's and (Y/n)'s files to add them to the SHIELD Gifted Index.

"That's what Skye does," May says. "Do they know they're being put on the Index?" May asks.

"They do," Coulson replies. "They both do seem to be getting control of their powers."

"That's good," May admits. "But we barely understand them - other than they're strong."

"Catastrophically so," Coulson agrees, referring to Skye's powers.

"Protocol is, anyone on the Index undergoes a full psych eval and a treat assessment," May reminds Coulson.

"We'd need to bring in someone from outside," Coulson remarks.

"Someone we can trust," May agrees.

. . .

"I think it's so cool," Skye remarks, looking at (Y/n) the Husky admiringly, "that you can turn into animals."

"Are you kidding me?" (Y/n) asks, shifting back into herself, her eyes gleaming lovingly. "What about your powers?"

Skye smiles at her girlfriend, cuddling into her side, listening to the radio. (Y/n) wraps her arms around Skye's waist.

youtube

"Hey, look what a hello from a stranger turned into / Caught up in a moment like it's just us in this room / All the right words at the right time and you know 'em 'cause you know me / Better than anyone else, we don't need anyone else / There's a couple billion people in the word / And a million other places we could be, but you're here with me / Take a moment just to take it in / 'Cause every high and every low led to this / I'm just so glad you exist / Don't you ever go, don't you ever go, don't you ever go changin' / Never let me go, never let me go, never let me go, baby / Don't you ever to, don't you ever go, don't you ever go changin' / Never let me go, never leg me go, never let me go, baby," (Y/n) sings softly along to the song, swaying her and Skye slightly. "I'm just so glad you exist," (Y/n) murmurs in Skye's ear.

Skye looks up into (Y/n)'s gentle (E/c) eyes.

"I love you," Skye murmurs, pressing her cheek against (Y/n)'s.

"I love you too," (Y/n) replies, her eyes closing in contentment.

"You remember our first mission together?" Skye asks and (Y/n) fixes her gaze on Skye's chocolate brown eyes.

"I do," (Y/n) answers, her eye sparkling

"Yep, you were kicking ass and looking hot while doing it." Skye asks and (Y/n) throws back her head with a laugh. "You were so sweet, too."

Skye is sitting in her bunk on the bus, typing on her laptop.

"Mission brief in five," Coulson says, knocking on the door.

"Okay," Skye mumbles.

"Katherine Shane?" Coulson asks, reading the file off of Skye's laptop.

"Do you know her?" Skye asks, looking interested.

"We ran a few OPs together in the '90s," Coulson tells Skye. "Smart, resourceful. Had a soft spot for Truffaut movies."

"Easy there, charm school," Skye says, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "According to these files, Agent Shane could be my mom," Skye suddenly looks excited.

"Even if Shane was the Agent who dropped you off at the orphanage, it doesn't mean she's your mother."

"I started looking into all the female agents active when I was born," Skye says and Coulson hums. "Needle, haystack, I know. But then I factored in age and marital status, and then I built a program to narrow down the field."

"You're still looking at a long road," Coulson tells Skye gently.

"Well, it would be a lot shorter if I could access more files," Skye tells the agent. "Maybe you could remove my internet nanny?" she then asks. "I'm talking about my tracking bracelet," she clarifies, shaking her wrist.

"I got that," Coulson says, looking down at the brunette.

"So you'll take it off?" Skye asks.

"No, but I asked May to look into SHIELD's more restricted files," Coulson replies.

"Uh, I was kind of hoping to keep this private," Skye murmurs.

"Agent May specializes in private," Coulson tells her gently. "Let's go," Coulson says, walking out of the little room.

. . .

"At 0800 hours, three men infiltrated the Havenworth Federal Penitentiary," Coulson tells the others - Fitz, Simmons, Ward, May, and Skye.

"Infultrated? More like cannon-balled," Skye says softly.

"They were in and out in less than two minutes," Coulson goes on. "Left no prints at the scene, but we do have one lead."

Coulson swipes up, and the computer beeps, and there is an image projected on the screen.

"Centipede," Ward says, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Seems they salvaged some of their research from Hong Kong," Coulson tells the group.

"So we were right," Simmons says, and Fitz turns to look at his friend. "Chan's platelets solved their combustion problem. Now they can create super soldiers with no fear of explosion."

"Maybe don't get so excited about it," Fitz murmurs to Simmons.

"Two of Centipede's labs have been destroyed, but they keep popping back up," Coulson says. "Now they have at least three of these guys, maybe more."

"Who did they break out?" May asks, her brow furrowing.

"Edison Po, former Marine," Coulson replies. "Expert in tactics and rapid response. He fell off the grid in '08, reappeared eighteen months ago at a diner in Boston."

"Where he stabbed a friend's eyes out," Ward grumbles.

"With a steak knife, then finished his meal," Coulson finishes, glancing at Ward.

"That's funny. Po doesn't look crazy," Skye remarks and everyone looks at her.

"I'm kidding," Skye says, looking exasperated. "The guy is a walking mug shot."

"Which means he shouldn't be too hard to track down," Coulson agrees. "Finding Po and these Centipede soldiers is a top priority for SHIELD. We'll be running point, but we won't be working alone," Coulson tells the others.

"What team did HQ send for backup?" Ward asks, looking suspicious.

"Not a team -" Coulson says, his lips twitching. "Two people. One who is skilled in combat - trained by SHIELD's finest. And one who can help us fight fire with fire -" Coulson begins.

"Somebody we worked with before?" Skye asks.

"Not exactly," Coulson says.

. . .

Mike Peterson exits the SHIELD vehicle, another figure who looks like she's being harassed by a blond archer and a redhead nearby.

"Don't make me flatten you, Clinty," the younger of the three says, pointing at the man and the archer backs off, looking slightly horrified.

"Bye, you," the redhead grumbles, pulling her former apprentice into a hug.

"Nat!" the younger woman complains. "You're squishing my head!"

"This was a bad idea," May comments, looking between the two figures - the young woman and Mike Peterson.

Natasha Romanoff hands the younger woman a backpack and the women softens, hugging her former mentor one more time before hurrying off to join Mike.

The young woman turns, grinning at Mike, and the older man just shakes his head, amusement evident in his gaze.

"Agent Coulson, Agent May," Mike says, nodding respectfully to the older agents, but the woman just grins.

"Agent Coulson, at your service," the younger Agent Coulson says, faking a serious tone and her father shakes his head.

May just walks away and the elder Coulson turns to Mike.

"Last time you saw here, you threw her into a brick wall," Coulson reminds the super-soldier.

"Right," Mike says, looking uncomfortable. "First time around, I wasn't who I wanted to be," Mike tells the elder Coulson, "but now I get it. Having all this - it's a privilege. And training to be an agent, working with SHIELD, it's me trying to do better, trying to be better," he pauses. "I just need you to give me a shot."

"Everyone deserves a second chance," Coulson says, stepping forward. "But let me be clear - there will not be a third."

Mike dips his head, "Understood, sir."

"Good," Coulson says, glancing at the younger Coulson and turning around; Agent Coulson gets the feeling like she should follow.

. . .

"It's not good. At all," Ward says grimly to the three younger people in the room - Simmons, Fitz, and Skye. "The guy was literally a ticking time bomb - literally."

"HQ wouldn't have sent him if he was still combustible," Fitz reasons. "They must've found a way to stabilize him somehow."

"What about this other person they're sending in. Coulson said he was trained by SHIELD's finest, and yet none of us know who it is?" he questions. "Just saying, this could easily go sideways. Seriously, the last time we saw Peterson, he was a raging homicidal maniac -" Ward pauses, the other three looking behind him. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?" Ward asks.

"Mr. Peterson, this is Agent Grant Ward," Coulson says, and the others wonder why Coulson hadn't introduced the pretty young woman standing behind him. "He's the man who shot you at Union Station." Ward looks uncomfortable and an amused expression flashes across the new woman's face. "Fitz-Simmons," the two scientists wave at the super-soldier, "designed the weapon he used, and I think you remember -" Coulson gestures to Skye.

"Kidnap victim," Skye says, looking happy and the unknown woman is slightly confused.

Mike chuckles. "You joined SHIELD?" he asks.

"Yeah. Turns out, guys in suits - not so bad," Skye says with a grin.

"Look, I know Union Station could have gone another way," Mike says, looking uncomfortable again. "Another team might not have let me out of there alive. I owe you - all of you."

"That's bygones and water under a distant bridge far away," Skye says and unknown woman fixes her gaze on the brunette, studying her, and Skye looks back, her lips twitching in a smile. "How's your son?" Skye asks, turning back to Mike.

"Still with my sister. He thinks I'm working construction, but he's good, happy," Mike answers, smiling.

"So, what do we have?" Coulson asks.

"An unintroduced agent," the new woman says and there is a laugh from everyone in the room.

"Right," Coulson says, glaring at the younger woman. "This is (Y/n) Coulson, my daughter."

The other agents cast their gazes onto the tall young woman and (Y/n) looks unenthuiastically at her father.

"So, what do we have?" Coulson asks again.

"Not much on Po," Sky replies, tearing her eyes off (Y/n). "I checked his previously known addresses and old military contacts - came up empty."

"We've been looking for where Po might be on the outside," Coulson tells them, (Y/n) leaning against the doorway. "Let's look at his life on the inside - at the prison. See if that gets us any leads. Anything on the Centipede soldiers?"

"We found a facial recog match on one of them," Simmons says and (Y/n) fixes her gaze on the British woman.

"Name's Brian Hayward," Ward says, pressing a button on the debriefing table. "Stationed in Afghanistan for three years, then fell off the radar when he got back."

"Only living relative - sister, Laura -" Skye begins and (Y/n) pipes up.

"I know a Laura," (Y/n) says and Coulson glares at his daughter as the others laugh.

Skye shakes her head, looking amused, before continuing, "Sophomore at the University of Ohio."

"She's our best shot at finding Hayward," the Elder Coulson says, glancing at the board. "You and I will go talk to her," he nods to Ward. "Have May set a course for Cleveland."

Coulson points at (Y/n) and Mike. "Follow," he says.

"Bye friends," (Y/n) says with a wave, her gaze resting on Skye.

. . .

"Hey," Skye says, scrolling through her laptop, Agent May walking up to the brunette, her normal scowl on her face. "Coulson told me you were helping to, you know, find my long-lost folks, so thanks," Skye says, and (Y/n) remains in the shadows, not wanting to intrude. "I'm glad you're in on this with me. It means a lot."

May scowls even more and Skye swallows thickly.

(Y/n) winces as May says some harsh things to Skye. May leaves Skye alone and (Y/n) steps out of the shadows.

"Hey," (Y/n) says gently and Skye looks up. "Don't take what May said to heart, okay?"

Skye meets (Y/n)'s eyes, and then nods.

"So what did you find?" (Y/n) asks.

. . .

Skye leads (Y/n) and May into the debriefing room.

"Po only had one visitor during his prison stint - her," Skye says and (Y/n) narrows her eyes at the screen.

"Recognize the outfit?" Skye asks. "Miles said a girl in a flowered dress asked him to hack SHIELD. This could be the same girl."

"Can we hear the conversation?" (Y/n) asks Skye.

"That's the bummer," Skye replies. "There was no audio, but it's not a total loss. I was able to use SHIELD's lip-reading program, because we have one of those," Skye chuckles.

"It's so cool, right?" (Y/n) asks.

Skye catches May's scowl and continues, "It didn't work on the girl because she never looks up at the camera, but Po did - once - and it caught this."

Skye presses a button and, "The Clairvoyant doesn't not like to be touched," comes from the screen.

"I wrote that down, so we don't have to hear that again - ever," Skye says and (Y/n) looks disgusted.

"The Clairvoyant," May says thoughtfully.

"Yeah," Skye says, furrowing her brow. "Does that mean anything to you?"

(Y/n) shakes her head, "But it means something to them - to Po and whoever that woman is."

"Her name's Raina," says a voice and Mike Peterson walks into the room.

"You know her?" Skye asks Mike.

"Yeah, she recruited me for Centipede, came up to me at the hospital where I did my back therapy out of the blue," Mike pauses. "Told me she could change my life."

. . .

An hour or so later, Skye finds (Y/n) by the loading doors of the BUS, the young woman attacking a punching bag.

"Time to suit up," Skye says and (Y/n) looks up, wiping the sweat off her forehead.

"Cool," (Y/n) says, jogging up the stairs. She passes Skye, shooting the brunette a grin, and Skye's cheeks flush.

. . .

(Y/n) suits up in her SHIELD uniform before meeting the others in the loading dock. Her SHIELD uniform was a Royal blue, but was almost exactly like her old mentor - Natasha's - SHIELD uniform, with light blue highlights running down the arms and legs.

"I think it's rather smart," Simmons remarks, looking at Mike's combat suit.

"How does it feel?" Fitz asks.

"Feels good. Comfortable," Mike replies.

"Having powers is cheating, but the suit's pretty cool," Ward remarks.

(Y/n) steps off the last stair, her combat boots making a thunking sound as she steps onto the floor, and Skye turns to look at her.

"Right, now that everyone's here," Coulson glares bemusedly at his daughter. "Hayward's cellphone has been traced to an abandoned factory about eight miles from here."

"We'll go in quiet. Do minimal damage to the facility and the people inside," May tells the others as (Y/n) pulls out her electric batons from her backpack, sliding them up the sleeves of her suit into the little sheaths against her wrists.

Ward, May, you'll go in through the west entrance. Mr. Peterson and I will enter through the loading dock," Coulson tells the group.

"So I guess you're my partner?" (Y/n) says, looking at Skye.

Coulson nods. "You and Skye will go through the main entrance."

(Y/n) dips her head.

"We're doing this just us?" Skye asks. "We've been playing whack-a-mole with these guys since Ward first picked me out of my van. Shouldn't big SHIELD be sending in backup?" she asks.

"Trust me, they already did," Coulson says, looking pointedly at his Avenger daughter. "They sent a super-soldier and an Avenger."

"An Avenger who has to pop an Ibuprofen after every fight," (Y/n) grumbles.

"Let's move," May says, leading Ward from the BUS.

"Take this," Coulson tosses (Y/n) a gun.

"Is the famous Fitz-Simmons ICER?" (Y/n) asks, studying the craftsmanship of the gun. "I'm impressed. It's just the right weight." (Y/n) glances appreciatively at the two scientists. "It's been a while since I've seen a gun this nice. I might be stealing it."

Fitz-Simmons glance at each other then grin at the Avenger.

"Enough fangirling," Coulson says and (Y/n) rolls her eyes.

"All right. All right," (Y/n) replies. "Come on, Skye."

. . .

"Are we alone here?" Coulson asks the group.

"It seems so," (Y/n) answers. "Fitz, dial Hayward's number."

There is a moment's pause, then the sound of a phone dialing.

(Y/n) freezes in front of one of the storage containers.

(Y/n) hears a cellphone ringing and she holds a finger to her mouth so Skye would be quiet.

Flicking her wrists, the batons slide out of their sheaths.

(Y/n) takes the two separate pieces, locking them together.

(Y/n) readies her batons, as the doors to the storage container fly off the hinges.

"Uh, (Y/n), Skye, you've got company," Fitz tells the two women.

"I'd noticed," (Y/n) replies, advancing on Hayward.

The soldier places his hands on the storage container and flings it towards (Y/n) and Skye.

Skye flinches but (Y/n) tackles Skye, pushing her out of the way. (Y/n) rolls, landing on her feet, and Skye, on the ground, levels her own ICER, firing at the soldier.

The soldier falls to the ground and (Y/n) pulls Skye to her feet. Looking down at the soldier, the two women see the dendrotoxin veins leaving his face. Hayward blinks, his eyes refocusing.

"That usually packs a bigger punch," Skye comments, her and (Y/n) stepping back as Hayward rises to his feet.

(Y/n) runs towards the soldier, smacking him across the forehead, and then in the stomach with the other end of the now staff, flooring the soldier with her mentor's favorite move.

"We're heading your way," Coulson tells his daughter.

"Who's doing this?" (Y/n) asks the fallen soldier.

"I don't tell anyone. I promise," the soldier says through gritted teeth.

There is a tiny spark, and the light behind the soldier's eyes goes out.

. . .

"I'm so glad you're here," Simmons greets Dr. Garner. "Especially since it's been well documented that powers can lead to psychological volatility. Not that Skye or (Y/n) are showing any signs. Their vitals currently are steady."

"May I?" Garner asks, looking at the iMac on the desk.

"So, it might be wise to do pharmacological evaluations," Simmons advises. "Dulling Skye's emotions could lessen the destructiveness of her powers - a-a stopgap measure."

"I should probably meet both of them before writing a prescription," Garner says sternly, looking at Simmons with a frown.

"I'll take you to them," May tells her ex-husband

"I appreciate the extensive and thorough debrief, Agent Simmons," Garner says, turning away from Simmons.

. . .

"Are you kidding me? A shrink?" Skye asks, (Y/n) sitting next to her on the cot as usual, a frown evident on the Avenger's face.

"It's not personal," May tells the brunette.

"Hell, it's not personal. It's a shrink," Skye argues and (Y/n) places a gentle hand on Skye's knee.

"It's standard procedure for anyo -" May begins.

Skye cuts her off, "No, I know, but we're not just on the Index. We're also SHIELD agents."

"Exactly. So you know it's non-negotiable," May argues right back.

Skye scoffs, shaking her head.

"Andrew is good, and he's done this before," May says, her tone softening.

"So have I. I grew up in the system," Skye replies. "I've been through enough of these to know that I hate them."

"You'll like this one," May tells Skye.

"Yeah, how do you know that?" Skye replies, focusing her gaze on (Y/n)'s hand resting on her knee.

"Because I was married to him," May answers and Skye looks up, her eyes wide with shock.

"I'm going to make us something to eat," (Y/n) tells Skye once May leaves. "I'm starving," (Y/n) leans over, pressing a soft kiss to Skye's cheek before standing up and walking over to the door. Opening the door, she steps aside to let Andrew into the house.

"Hello, (Y/n)," Andrew greet the young woman.

"Hey," (Y/n) replies with a short wave before leaving the room and making her way into the kitchen inside the Playground.

. . .

(Y/n) looks up from her pan as she notices the pots and pans rattling on the wall.

Skye! she thinks, throwing the hot pan into the sink and unknowingly shifting into a panther, and darting out of the room.

(Y/n)'s powerful shoulder muscles bunch and stretch as she speeds up, a black blur as she streaks past the labs.

(Y/n) charges up the loading doors and up to Skye's room, shifting back into herself.

"Skye! You need to wake up!" (Y/n) exclaims, gently shaking Skye's shoulder.

Skye starts, fixing her gaze on (Y/n)'s (E/c) eyes but then she looks at the door as Dr. Garner, May, Fitz, and Simmons burst into the room.

"Hey. Look at me," (Y/n) reaches out a hand, gently moving Skye's face to look her in the eye. "You need to stop this," (Y/n) kneels down and to her relief, Skye keeps her eyes on (Y/n)'s.

"If she needs a sedative . . ." Simmons begins, but May glares at the scientist.

"You can do it Skye. Just focus," (Y/n) whispers, gazing into Skye's brown eyes.

Skye exhales slowly and the shaking stops.

"No, no. It's good. It's good. It's stopping," Fitz tells Simmons.

Dr. Garner and May exchange a look before fixing their gazes on (Y/n), whose hand is resting on Skye's knee now.

"I'm going to stay," Garner says.

"Come on. Everybody out," May nods.

'Love you,' (Y/n) mouths as she leaves the room, looking back at Skye, and the brunette relaxes, smiling softly.

"May," comes a voice and May looks at her watch, a projection of Coulson appears in her hand. "We need backup."

. . .

Skye breathes deeply, looking at her bio-meter watch. "Under seventy," Skye says, taking another breath.

"How are you doing that?" Garner asks.

"May taught me," Skye replies. "You focus on a single point, let everything else become noise disappearing in the background."

"Except it doesn't disappear you're pushing it aside," Garner says, putting his hands on his hips. Which is why, when you were dreaming, the tremors started." Skye swallows thickly. "What were you dreaming about?" Garner asks.

"I don't remember," Skye replies, her cheeks darkening.

"You're seeming defensive," Garner says, frowning.

"Because you keep pushing," Skye argues.

"Because whatever you were feeling was strong enough to shake this entire plane," Garner replies, his brows furrowing.

"Well, I don't know, so let's move on," Skye says, her eyes watery. "How about you show me an inkblot, and I tell you about me and my girlfriend's first time?" Skye asks, leaning forward. The moment she says it though, she regrets it. Their first time had been magical, and Skye had never felt so loved that night.

Garner chuckles. "Humor. So that's your thing. Well, that's an effective way to avoid thinking about how monumentally painful your life is right now."

"Good pep talk," Skye says through gritted teeth. "Thanks," Skye frowns, her brows furrowing.

"Sarcasm. Same purpose - avoidance strategy," Garner says.

"What am I avoiding, exactly?" Skye asks, leaning forward and crossing her legs criss-cross-applesauce on her and (Y/n)'s shared bed.

"The truth," Garner says. "That - not just you, but your girlfriend too - are different now, that you have abilities, your abilities triggered by pain, and either you face that or you don't sleep again."

Skye swallows thickly, her gaze falling on the door, wishing that (Y/n) would walk through the door; wishing that (Y/n) would set her hand on her knee like she always did when Skye was feeling scared or nervous; wishing that (Y/n) would walk through with a carefully picked tub of salted caramel ice cream and two spoons.

Skye turns back to Dr. Garner. "I dreamed I was on a mission, looking through the scope of my rifle. The next thing I knew, I was on the other side. The rifle was trained on me.

"Pretty on point - going form being an agent to a -" Garner begins

"Yeah, to being on the Index," Skye interupts. "And I know SHIELD's policy for people on the Index."

There's a rumbling.

"I have executed that policy," Skye continues.

"Okay. Skye, I need you to stop," Garner says, looking around at the shaking walls. "Just calm down. Take a breath."

"Wait. The room is shaking," Skye realizes.

"Right," Garner replies, leaning forward in his chair. "Which is why I need you to breathe."

"No, this isn't me. I'm not doing this," Skye says, pursing her lips.

Garner looks around before moving out of the room.

(Y/n) enters the room a moment later holding two spoons and a tub of salted caramel ice cream.

Skye gazes softly at (Y/n) as (Y/n) comes over to sit beside her on their shared bed.

"Dad needed backup," (Y/n) tells Skye as she hands her girlfriend a spoon, then cracking open the tub of ice cream.

Skye leans affectionately against (Y/n), digging her spoon into the carton and making airplane noises like she would to a baby, poking (Y/n)'s lips with the spoon.

(Y/n)'s shoulder shake with silent laughter, and she opens her mouth, eating the spoonful off Skye's spoon.

(Y/n) takes her own spoon, scooping out another bite. She moves it towards Skye's lips. When Skye opens her mouth, (Y/n) steals the bite.

Skye giggles this time, her head falling on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

. . .

"That not-talking thing you do - not okay when we were married, but definitely not okay," Dr. Garner scolds his ex-wife.

"Not okay is Skye's lunatic father leading Coulson into a trap. Civilians could be hurt. I acted quickly," May says, her tone hardening.

"And me and Skye? We do what?" Garner asks, furrowing his brow.

May scoffs. "Same as if we were were on base," May says. "Stay in the cage. Continue your evaluation."

"That's so not going to happen," Skye says, and the two exs turn to fix their gazes on the two young women.

May's eyes flick down to Skye and (Y/n)'s interlocked pinkies and Skye's slightly relaxed expression.

"This is not a negotiation, Skye," May fixes her gaze back on Skye's eyes, which had narrowed, her relaxed expression leaving her face. "You're staying on the BUS."

Skye walks over to the debriefing table, leaving (Y/n) standing in the doorway.

"If Coulson needs backup -" Skye begins.

May cuts her off. "He'll have it. We don't need you."

"Yes, you do. My father's involved," Skye argues, her eyes narrowing. "And for better or worse, I matter to him, and we can use that."

"May, we can help," (Y/n) says, moving over to stand beside Skye.

"Having contact with your father is a bad idea," Garner says, furrowing his eyebrows. "If you can't control your feelings -"

"I'll ice myself," Skye interupts.

Garner frowns.

"Look. You put me on the Index. You're doing my intake assessment. How about we let my Dad know?" Skye asks.

"Okay," May says after a moment, but then she fixes her gaze on (Y/n).

. . .

"We want everyone to know what you do to people like us," Cal says, his voice echoing through the silent stadium. "And we want you to stop before you do it to her."

"Talking about her?" (Y/n) says through gritted teeth, pushing Skye forward, her unloaded handgun pressed to the side of Skye's neck.

"You monster," Cal turns to (Y/n), his brow furrowing.

(Y/n)," Coulson breathes, looking at his daughter in disbelief.

"Daisy," Cal says, gazing at his daughter. "What have they done to you?"

"We put her on the Index," May says, coming up and pressing her unloaded handgun into the small of Skye's back. "Now we decide - contain her or put her down." May shoves the gun into Skye's back again. "Your call."

"Tell me they didn't hurt you," Cal says, stepping forward to gaze into his daughter's watery eyes.

"Talk to me, not her," (Y/n) presses the gun into Skye's neck, hating herself for being so harsh, but she knows she has to keep up the facade.

"Now, you let these people go, or your daughter dies," May says, shoving the gun into Skye's back for the third time.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. I can't lose you again," Cal whispers. "Don't you see what they do? You've been changed. And it scares the hell out of them. I think it's wonderful." Skye swallows thickly. "I can help. So, tell me. What's your thing?" he asks. "I mean, I was hoping it was wings."

"Talk to me, not her," May growls.

"You chose them," Cal glares at (Y/n), then Coulson, his eyes full of disdain. "You threatened to kill me, your own father. You didn't know any better. They raised you. They brainwashed you. You won't kill her," Cal says, turning away. "Though, the truth is, you're capable of such things. That's what I'm trying to teach this whole damn town. I don't even know if they're listening. Maybe they'll listen to you," Cal hands the microphone to a man beside him.

The man with the microphone exhales deeply, but a blue energy field surrounds Cal and takes him away.

"Skye," Garner says, running over to the brunette. "Come on. Come on."

"(Y/n), go with them," May gives (Y/n) a slight nudge. "You're the only one who can keep her calm."

(Y/n) takes Skye's hand in her own, pulling her along.

Skye's breathing stutters as she watches Coulson and May fight Cal's companions.

Skye breathes deeply and the stadium begins to rumble.

Everyone looks at her and (Y/n) drops Skye's hand, clutching her left wrist.

The rumbling stops and (Y/n) looks over at Skye's hands and lower arms which were darkening with bruises.

Skye's vision goes blurry and (Y/n) moves behind Skye to catch her as she fell.

(Y/n) hits the ground, her wrist searing with pain, but Skye lands safely in her lap.

. . .

"You're awake," Simmons says, sighing with relief.

Skye looks around, looking startled and slightly scared as she tries to sit up.

"You're probably feeling a little drowsy," Simmons says, her voice soft. "We gave you something to help you sleep." Skye sits up, looking at her bruised hands.

"Why do I have these bruises?" Skye asks, her gaze finding (Y/n) sitting in a chair, her left wrist resting on the table, Fitz gently running his fingers down (Y/n)'s wrist before he leaves the room.

"I ran some tests," Simmons says. "The bruising was caused by capillary ruptures in your arms. X-rays showed more than seventy-five hairline fractures from your clavicle to your fingers."

"I . . . I don't understand," Skye stutters, Fitz returning to the room with a black velcro cast. He tightly wraps (Y/n)'s wrist with the cast, (Y/n) gritting her teeth.

"You weren't stopping your powers, Skye," Garner tells her. "You were . . . directing them inward."

Skye lets out a shaky breath, blinking back her tears.

(Y/n) runs her own fingers down her fractured wrist.

A guilty looking Skye meets (Y/n)'s gaze and Skye can see (Y/n)'s love and worry reflected there, along with pain.

"What am I supposed to do?" Skye asks.

"I made the casts from compression microfibers to help contain the shaking, minimize the damage," Simmons leans forward and (Y/n) narrows her eyes angrily.

"That's not what she means, Simmons," May says before she focuses her gaze gently on Skye. "We'll figure this out, Skye."

. . .

(Y/n) lies down on Skye's stomach, letting out soft kitten purrs that sooth Skye back to sleep, her bruised fingers gently brushing (Y/n)'s orange fur.

(Y/n) had realized that when using her powers, it was more helpful if she knew a lot about the animal she was going to change into.

. . .

"Well, the bruising has started to fade," Simmons says, looking at Skye's arm. (Y/n) is sitting close to Skye, (Y/n)'s fractured wrist resting on Skye's lower thigh, rubbing it with a thumb. "though I'm afraid these stress fractures will take a bit more time to heal."

"Great. Tried to go Zen to keep my powers in check only to find myself -" Skye lets out a soft yelp as he tries to pull her 'casts' back onto her arms "- back on the D.L."

"The down low?" both (Y/n) and Fitz ask in unison.

"The disabled list," Skye says, nudging (Y/n) with a knee.

"Oh, yeah," (Y/n) says, looking a little embarrassed.

"That makes more sense," Fitz agrees

"Yeah, and now I'm all . . . " Skye studies her bruised hands.

"You know, it could just be growing pains - from the new powers," Fitz says, trying to reassure Skye.

"It's okay, Fitz," Skye says, gently closing her fists. "You don't have to put a positive spin on this."

"I'm not doing that. I would never patronize the -" the three women look up at him. "Well, the - Things change, that's what I'm saying. So, maybe if you can learn to control this, then . . . You could have Avengers-level powers," Fitz says, looking at Skye. "Something like Captain America, even."

"I'd say more Thor-ish powers," (Y/n) corrects. "Thor's the God of Thunder. Tremors got, well, tremors. Both elemental based powers."

"I think it best we keep in mind the destructive capabilities of Skye's powers," Simmons says. "If there is an Avengers equivalent, right now, I'm afraid it's the Hulk."

(Y/n) turns her gaze on Simmons, an eyebrow raised.

"Well, Hulk saved the world, last I checked," Fitz says.

"You're absolutely right," Simmons agrees. "But given the choice, I believe Bruce Banner would not hesitate to cure himself once and for all."

"Actually," (Y/n) says, meeting Simmons's gaze. "Bruce is trying to find out a way to make himself and the Hulk the same being. Just because something is powerful, doesn't mean it's dangerous. Steve Rogers, for example, is a super-solder, but he's as gentle as a mouse. People have the capacity to choose who or what they want to be, Simmons."

"Well then, maybe we should be glad that Bruce hasn't tried to cure himself then," Fitz says.

"Oh, Fitz -" Simmons goes to say.

"Don't 'oh, Fitz,' me," Fitz retorts and the BUS begins to shake.

(Y/n) lets her uninjured hand's fingers brush soothingly up and down Skye's arm.

The rumbling stops as Skye fixes her gaze on (Y/n)'s gentle, loving gaze.

"Sorry, Skye. It isn't really about you," Simmons says apologetically.

"I'm pretty sure it is," Skye says, frowning. "We'll go back to our cage," Skye says, sliding out of the the booth, (Y/n) following closely.

Fitz and Simmons watch (Y/n) and Skye closely. They watch as (Y/n)'s uninjured hand brushes one of Skye's bruised hand with a gentleness neither of the two had seen before.

Word Count: 7454 words

Skye / Daisy Johnson Taglist:

@imapotato

@confusinggemini612

#skye x reader #skye x female reader #skye x fem reader #daisy johnson x female reader #daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson x fem reader #daisy johnson x coulson reader #skye x coulson reader #skye #daisy johnson #Youtube

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manjiroro · 3 years

Note

hello there! can i have a match up?? and congrats on reaching your 500 milestone keep up the good work :)) ❤

• my top kins are constantly changing, so there's no certain one but for now they're izana, yosano akiko, wakasa, edogawa ranpo and vanitas.

• i'm an introvert, and prefer to stay at home rather than going out to be with my friends. my energy drains a lot when i'm outside especially going to crowded places but i don't mind hanging out in a bookshop or anywhere that has lesser people. even though i tend to have a couple of friends, i would rather be the listener during a conversation. if a topic interests me, best believe they have my full attention or else i'll be in my imagination world.

• i would describe myself as hard to approach and silent type but will get along well with if warm up to. at first, i ignore the person that tried to talk to me and not even giving them eye contact until i think they're trustworthy enough. if i do warm up to the person, i talk more and be more active but not too much. i don't like telling others about myself and what i think. i keep most things inside of me but eventually forget what they are. i'm pretty forgetful when i'm tired or when i wake up early in the morning. i'm considered as a "forgive but not forget" kind of person, but i won't keep my grudge for long periods of time. i also am a no-nonsense person, trash talk doesn't work well with me. i'm a creative person and likes to imagine plenty of things, doesn't matter if it's realistic or fantasy. i tend to procrastinate a lot but still got my job done without pulling an all nighter.

• hmmm it's actually tricky when i'm switching from one hobby to another- but my hobbies are playing the piano&guitar and writing. i've been interested in poetry and write them during my free time or at school when the lessons got boring. even though i play both instruments, i like the piano more since i find it easier when i've been playing it for a long time. another hobby is practicing my martial arts especially when my mom wants me to protect myself.

• i dislike cockroaches, that's it. also i don't like it when people get too noisy for my liking, same goes to people who keeps nagging at me. i don't like hot/humid weather as pimples are extremely hard to take care of. mathematics and accounting are a big no to me.

• my main favourite traits are when people show their vulnerable side to me, it makes me really happy that they can trust me. i like it when people are loyal and this makes feel like i can trust them, to not betray me or toss me aside after using my trust. another one is passionate people, i like how dedicated they are to what they do and this makes me feel motivated for some reason.

• i don't do much tbh i'm lazy as hell- but with my s/o, i like it when we both get to stay at home and just cuddle while napping together. i don't mind it when we go out for dates but maybe a stroll in the park is nice, or hangouts at somewhere quiet.

• a match up for tokyo revengers plsss

• personally i don't mind any gender, but i'll go with male

500 milestone event (closed!!)

hi!! thank you for joining my event hoho im gonna be honest, i kinda had trouble picking and i hope you like the character i picked huhu

i ship you with.. HANEMIYA KAZUTORA

okok lemme explain, yes kazu wasn’t the best but he’s a changed man

i always see kazutora having a lot of issues but never feeling safe enough to be vulnerable

so with enough time to open up to you, he’ll actually show you his vulnerable side and he finds the most comfort being around you

baji is a really important person in kazu’s life and so he’s loyal to baji even if it’s not shown in the anime currently

he’s gonna be very loyal to you as well

kazutora doesn’t really care what the both of you are doing as long as he’s with you

if you wanna stay at home, he’ll stay with you. if you wanna go to a quiet cafe, he’ll go with you

he wouldn’t be discouraged with you ignoring him at the start because to me, if he really loves you he would never stop trying

he loves and cherishes you a lot and so he’ll quite literally do anything for you

kazutora’s favourite thing is when you’re playing the piano and he’s sitting at the side, watching you and listening to you play

your presence makes him feel comforted and safe

“hi hun~”

kazutora hums as he walks into your room to see you laying on the bed. you sit up at the sight of him and gave him a small smile, making him smile back at you.

“i missed you~”

kazutora said as he walked over to you, hugging you tightly as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. he sighs at the feeling of you stroking as back as if to take away all the stress built up.

“but you saw me yesterday kazu.”

you giggled at him, making him chuckle as well.

“that’s too long for me. i wanna stay like this with you.”

he lays down on your bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you, bringing you closer to him. he rests his chin right on top of your head, hands threading through your hair. he sighs again, feeling a sense of security and comfort when with you.

“i love you hun.”

he mumbles sleepily as his eyes start to close slowly. you can’t help the smile forming on your lips as you raised your head to give him a kiss.

“and i love you too kazu.”

#this made me super soft for kazu fuck #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo revengers matchups #tokyo revengers drabbles #tokyo revengers x reader #kazutora #kazutora fluff #kazutora matchups #kazutora drabbles #kazutora x reader #hanemiya kazutora #hanemiya kazutora matchups #hanemiya kazutora fluff #hanemiya kazutora drabbles #hanemiya kazutora x reader #kai’s 🌤#🌤 kazutora #feralfordazai 500 milestone event

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peaky-malachai · 3 years

Text

﹒☼﹒

UPON RETURN | T. SHELBY | ii

﹒♱﹒

part. ii

•requested: yes by a few

•tw: slight mention of blood/fight, alcohol? at the very end theres a bit of seggsual tension

•wc: 2k ish

•season set: 1 /2 (i vision just before 1 tbh)

﹒♱﹒

You almost went silent as you doubled over, laughing with John, trying to catch your breath. The Garrison was loud, a Saturday night was always the busiest, being that it was half of the towns last day at work. Unfortunately not everyone had a two day weekend.

"So this whole room is yours then, ay?", you asked after your laughter died down and you both took a swig of your beverages.

"Oh yeah", John sat up, his arm resting on top of the bench, a few foot between you both, "Meetings, parties, everything 'appens in 'ere", he cleared his throat as he watched you look around in awe.

"When I left", you snorted, "When I left, you boys were barely even feared by Misses Briggs down at the bakery, 'n' she's a scaredy cat", you laughed, "Fuckin' 'ell, now look at ya, practically run the town".

John shrugged, "I don't even know how it got to this, to be fair".

The door burst open to reveal a drunken Arthur, "Y/L/N!", he called, walking over to sit adjacent from you in a singular arm chair,

"Y/N/N, how are ya?".

You held back a laugh, slightly tipsy yourself from Harry's generous pouring, "Better than I was this afternoon, Arthur", you leant back into the bench, "Me 'ands are comin' along now n'all".

Arthur squinted his eyes as you held your hands out above the table. Suddenly he stood up and moved over to sit next to you on the end of the bench. You quickly scooted across it to make some space and practically fell against John. Which of course ended up with now all three of you wheezing with laughter.

As if on queue, Tommy then walked through the door. His eyebrows slightly knitted as he looked over at the scene before him. Y/N's practically in John's lap, Arthur practically hugging the side of Y/N. The three of them hadn't even noticed Tom standing there as they tried catching their breath, trying to remember why they were laughing in the first place.

"Tommy!", John saw his elder brother first, "Finally! Come to join us for a pint 'ave yah?".

Tommy barely nodded his head as he kept his eyes trained on Y/N, who appeared to be now busy talking to Arthur about something. Clearly ignoring Tommy. Which angered him. Not that he would exhibit any sign of that.

"Did you know that Y/Ns been taking notes from our books whilst she's been away", John asked Tommy, "She's practically made her own betting shop down in London, t' make a few bob on the side". John nudged you, bringing you into his conversation, "'Aven't yah?".

You shrugged, "It wasn't really a betting shop", you turned to face John as Arthur stood up, stumbling to the small double door in the wall to get a fresh pint from Harry. "It was more like a 'You bet money on this and I'll double your winnings if you win, except, you won't win because I've rigged it' kind of thing and it was in the middle of the street".

John laughed, "Yeah, exactly, that's what I said".

Tommy walked over to the arm chair where Arthur had first sat, "That's dangerous", he commented as he pulled a pre-rolled cigarette out of his own metal tin.

You scoffed, sitting up straight, realising Tommy was actually in the same room as you right now and you looked a mess, "That's a bit rich coming from you, Thomas", you lifted your leg across the other under the table as you held your chin high. Who was he to tell you something was dangerous; As if he wasn't a notoriously dangerous criminal himself.

Tommy narrowed his eyes as he quickly took a glance at you before lighting his cigarette and chucking his pack of matches onto the table, his spare hand landing next to them. "You know", he began, which made you roll your eyes already, "I'm only trying to look out for you, it's not as if you have us down there with you".

You arched your eyebrow as let out a dry laugh, turning to John to see if he found his just as amusing. He didn't, of course, he was a man, he thought nothing of it as took a swig of his drink. Unfazed by the conversation.

"What, so are you sayin' that 'coz I'm a woman, I can't run my own dodgy business 'coz I won't 'ave The Three Main Peaky Boys to protect me when shit goes bobbins?".

John turned to you, his drink a centimetre away from his lips, "Goes what?".

"Rubbish! Goes Rubbish!", you shook your head at your best friend with a light slap to the side of his head, he tutted and pushed you back slightly.

"This, Tommy", you turned back, "This is exactly why I run my own dodgy business, by myself".

"What do you mean by exactly why?", he said simply.

"I mean, I don't have to fuckin' explain myself every five seconds", you sighed as you leant forward, resting your elbows on the table, a clear sign that you weren't having any of it. Tommy had almost forgotten you were like this. So brash. He liked it. He liked you. It irritated him. "Because everyone down there understands what I'm fuckin' on about".

John turned to you, speaking lowly, "Yeah, but you grew up here?".

You turned to him with a scowl, "Yeah, doesn't mean I fuckin' talk like yous, does it ya muppet".

"Shut up".

"You're the one that fuckin' said it".

"Oi", Arthur shouted as he walked back over, "Why are you arguing like little kids again".

"'Cause Tommy thinks I shouldn't run my own business", you turned to Arthur as he sat down across from John.

"I never said you shouldn't be running it", Tommy said with a flat tone, "I said, it's dangerous".

"Yeah, but it's the way in which you said it".

"You knew I wasn't being condescending".

"Fuckin' seemed like it", you crossed your arms across your chest as you turned your head away from Tommy.

"Oh for fuck sake!", John shouted, "Can't you two go five minutes with out bickering? It's like 1912 all over again", he stood up, "I'm going to find a woman".

"Fine! Fuck off then", you smiled playfully as you watched John flip you off whilst leaving the room. Arthur watched in wonder, he didn't understand your friendship at all, though he admired it.

"Right", Arthur slapped the table, "I've gotta piss but I'll see you two when you've stopped arguing". With that Arthur left the room. You and Tommy now alone.

Wonderful.

Great.

Neither of you said a word. You watched as Tommy eyes moved from every item on the table until he had no choice but to look up around the room. You wasn't stupid. You knew he wanted you to speak first. He wasn't good with expressing his emotions.

But fuck that.

And neither were you.

You brushed your skirt down before standing up and walking behind Tommy's chair. You didn't get far before he sharply turned to grab your wrist, letting go when he realised that was a little boisterous.

"Where you off to then?".

You shrugged, "Dunno, anywhere that's going to hold more conversation then you".

Tommy sighed, "Fuck sake", he mumbled, "Sit down", he looked you in the eye as he motioned for you to sit in the singular seat across from him.

You pursed you're lips, thinking — although honestly, you didn't need to think twice before agreeing to whatever Tommy told you.

Getting comfortable on the seat you looked over at the broken criminal, the shell of who used to be a bubbly trouble maker. "Well".

"Well what?", Tommy asked as he spoke with the end of his cigarette in his mouth.

You shook your head slightly, amazed by the stubbornness, "Why did you want me to sit down, I was excepting at least a smile, or would you rather I leave and find Jack from down the lane", you smirked as you picked at your nails innocently.

Tommy looked over with a harsh glare, "We both know you'd rather spend eternity in a prison cell with me and a rat then have to get into bed with him".

You smiled, it was true, you both knew it.

Yet even the idea of you with Jack still managed to irritate Tommy, it was amusing. You chose not to speak, wanting Tommy to give you his full attention. He looked over, stubbing out the end of his cigarette as he turned to face you, body mirroring yours. He cleared his throat before speaking, "Remember the day you left?".

You shrugged, "Suppose – everyone hugged me a thousand times over and you gave me that pocket knife".

Tommy shook his head, "Wasn't asking a question".

Your voice faded as you knitted your eyebrows together with an irritated smirk, "Oh, sorry, so go on then", leaning forward and resting your elbow on the side of your chair with your chin in your hand you looked Tommy up and down, debating how much time you would have left alone with him before another brother made an entrance, "Enlighten me on my memories".

Tommy's body relaxed back into his seat as his tongue touched his cheek, he had always loved your argumentative side, it seemed as if you reserved it especially for him.

"When you left Jacks house", he spoke as he reached into his blazer to grab something from a hand sewn (by polly) inner pocket, "with this", he handed you a smashed pocket watch.

You took the old small gold plated clock and looked at it with a small glint in your eyes. That clock had once belonged to Jack. Poor lad. You'd been in his house helping out his mother with some letters she wanted to send out for Christmas. Everything was fine until Jack came home, drunk. He was a few years older then yourself. Almost the same as Thomas.

Skipping the details he was talking about a certain girl he had been trying to chat up. Of course she didn't want anything to do with Jack, which she seemed to have cleared up respectfully. However, Jack, being the piece of shit he was, didn't care for that and thought she owed him something.

After hearing enough of it you turned to his mum and said, 'sorry but I can't take this any longer'.

You then stood up and grabbed the pocket watch hanging loosely from his gin stained blazer and smashed it into the side of his head, hitting his left temple. Blood trickled down from his eyebrow as he stumbled back, tripping up and falling onto his settee.

You grabbed him by the collar of his shirt with your free hand, leaning down to face him, 'don't ever talk another girl who's uninterested in you ever again', you pushed him back and stood up straight, 'and if you so I'll let some not very nice men know about it, call in some favours if you know what I mean'.

He nodded profusely and started mumbling some apology as you turned back to face his mother, 'sorry, I'll see myself out', you said as you grabbed your coat and bag before quickly leaving to go find Tommy and tell him about how you probably just made a big mistake.

"He was an ass", you simply said as you placed the watch onto the table, "Whats your point, Thomas". The mans face twitched, almost invisibly, but you saw.

"My point", he leant forward, "Y/N". You gulped, sitting up straight. "That's when I realised you were the one". You visibly shivered when you felt his finger tip on your knee, slowly tapping it he moved it half an inch up as he spoke, "That's when I realised you were going to be the death of me, Y/N".

Biting your lip you looked down, watching Tommy's finger tease it's way across your thigh, unsure of his plans. Barely above a whisper you managed to get out a breathless, "Tommy".

You saw him smirk as he licked his lower lip, his eyes travelling over your body before finally meeting yours, "Yes?".

Cheeks rosey red as you felt yourself blushing you uncrossed your legs and sat up straight with your chin in the air. Only to recross your legs the opposite way.

"Is this an issue, sweetheart?", Tommy said gently, this time he placed his entire hand on your thigh, the thin fabric of the old dress you borrowed from Ada being the only thing separating your warm skin from Tommy's stone cold hand. The only thing stopping you from losing all self control you had.

﹒♱﹒

✒︎author note: part three then?

& comment any spelling mistakes x

✒︎feedback: plz :))

✒︎requests: open⎝09/2021⎞

☞published: 16.03.2021

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#tommy shelby #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

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itsadamcole · 3 years

Text

last christmas

fem!reader x finn balor

reader and Finn have been broken up for almost a year. they haven't seen or spoken to each other since Finn ended the relationship. it's now Christmastime, and they come face-to-face at the NXT Christmas party for the first time since the breakup ... "i loved you. i loved you so much that it hurt me"

word count: 2.5k+

warnings: angsty, mentions & actions involving cheating, drinking, implied sex, kinda nsfw

— day 7 out of 25. let’s gooo —

masterlist || request an imagine here

part 2

~ some 18+ content below - read at your own risk ~

You stand outside of BelaRosa Banquet Hall and stare up at the building. You know what's waiting for you inside.

While you've managed to avoid him at Full Sail, it won't be as easy to avoid him here. At least at Full Sail, you can hide in your dressing room. At BelaRosa Banquet Hall, there's nowhere to hide. Except maybe the bathroom. He's too much of a gentleman to walk into a women's restroom.

"Hey, girlie," you hear Candice LeRae say behind you. You glance back to see her walking up to the door with Johnny Gargano by her side. "Why are you still out here? You should be inside."

You say, "I'm trying to talk myself into going in. It's taking me longer than I thought."

Candice hooks her arm with yours and she says, "You know he doesn't like coming to these events. He probably won't even be here."

Anxiety hits you like a train as you say, "He's NXT Champion, Candice. There's no way that he's not here."

"That's a good point," she says. "I used to wrestle men so I won't be afraid to hit him or hurricanrana him so please come inside and sit with me and Johnny."

That gets a light laugh out of you. You give in and say, "Fine. You better hold your promise to hurrincanrana him if he comes near me."

Candice laughs and the three of you walk inside. "I promise," she says.

The banquet hall is huge and already full of NXT wrestlers and staff members. William Regal is even here. So is Triple H, Stephanie McMahon, and Shawn Michaels. If they're here then he definitely is.

You join Candice at a table with Tegan Nox, Dakota Kai, Raquel Gonzalez, Tommaso Ciampa, Tyler Breeze, and Fandango.

"Hey, Y/N!" Tegan says, patting the seat beside her. "Sit here. I didn't think we'd be seeing you."

Laughing, you say, "I decided to show up and not let a breakup dictate my life anymore."

Candice says, "She was standing outside the building for who knows how long when I showed up. Who knows if she would have walked in if it wasn't for me."

Everyone at the table kind of laughs.

The banquet hall is full of Christmas and holiday themed decorations. Garland hands all over the place with a large Christmas tree in one of the corners of the room. Wreaths are scattered throughout the room. The tables all have little Santa or snowman figurines as decoration.

"I love that dress, Y/N," Dakota compliments. "Very pretty."

The decision to come to this party was so last minute that you had to grab a dress from your closet instead of buying something new like most people did. The dress you're wearing is a short satin silver dress with spaghetti straps that crisscross each other on your back. The neck dips a little low, revealing a small amount of cleavage. You wear matching silver heels. Your Y/H/C colored hair is up in a messy bun on top of your head.

"Thank you, Kota," you say, smiling kindly at her.

The party goes well until dinner is served in buffet form. You're making your way down the line when someone says, "It's nice to see ya, Y/N. It's been a while."

You'd know that accent anywhere. That Irish accent that made you weak in the knees every time you heard it. Your suspicions are confirmed when you look to your left to see Finn Balor grabbing some mashed potatoes.

"Wish I could say the same," is all you say before grabbing a roll and some butter before walking off.

You sigh as you sit down, angry and frustrated that he even had the nerve to come up to you and say that it's nice to see you. You eat angrily.

Candice notices you and asks, "What's going on? You seem angry."

"I'm not," you snap. "Angry. I'm not angry."

Johnny chimes in and says, "Your vegetables say differently. Did he say something to you? I saw him standing next to you."

You look up at Johnny and say, "He said it was nice to see me, as if he didn't cheat on me several times then play victim every time I would find out."

Candice looks at you, upset that he even talked to you.

Tegan gives you a hug and says, "We won't let him talk to you again, Y/N. That was the first and last time he will talk to you tonight."

Dinner and dessert go by pretty much quickly and easily. Finn doesn't approach you while you eat.

After dinner and dessert, Candice and Johnny go off to dance. Raquel and Dakota go talk to Io Shirai and Rhea Ripley. Tyler and Dango go talk to Adam Cole and the Undisputed Era. Tommaso goes and mingles. That leaves you and Tegan at the table.

Tegan is in the middle of telling you a story about her dog as the two of you sip off your alcoholic drink when Finn approaches you again.

"I'd really like to talk with ya for a second, Y/N," he says. "Please."

You sigh and ask, "What part of 'I never want to talk to you again' didn't you understand?"

Tegan jumps in and says, "Take a hint, Finn. She doesn't want to talk."

Finn looks at you and says, "Just for a few minutes. Then ya can go back to hating my guts."

You turn and look up at Finn, meeting his eyes. "When I said to never talk to me again, I meant it, Finn," you say, growing more and more frustrated.

"It's just a two-minute long conversation, Y/N," he says. "Come on."

Tegan looks at you and you look at her. She says, "Get it out of the way that way you can enjoy the rest of your night."

Sighing, you look back up at Finn and say, "Fine. You have only two minutes."

He looks at Tegan before saying, "Alone. I want to talk to ya alone."

Rolling your eyes, you get out of your seat. Finn walks off to a more private and quieter part of the banquet hall.

"What do you want, Finn?" you ask. "Here to tell me how much you want me back and wish you never cheated?"

He says, "I'm getting married." You're surprised by these three words. "I wanted to make peace with the people I've hurt the most before I got married. Starting with ya."

You look up at Finn and say, "I'm not forgiving you any time soon, Finn. You hurt me so many times."

Finn says, "I don't expect ya to forgive me, Y/N. I'm just trying to make peace with ya so ya stop being smart when I talk to ya at work. I understand that I hurt ya and are mad at me-"

You cut him off and say, "You don't understand. If you understood then you wouldn't have cheated on me multiple times. I'm not just mad, I'm furious. I feel like the past six years were a waste of my time because of you. I loved you. I loved you so much that it hurt me. I took you back when you begged and pleaded because I believed you when you told me you wouldn't cheat again. I gave you chance after chance to make it up to me and just when you did, I'd find out that you cheated again. So no, you don't understand, Finn."

He hangs his head in shame as you speak. He knows that what he did was wrong. Now he's trying to right this wrong.

Finn waits until you're done talking before he says, "I understand what I did was wrong. I've grown and reflected in the past year, Y/N. I've met someone I'm happy with. I've met someone who's kind and beautiful and hasn't judged me because of my past. I've met someone who is nothing compared to ya. I know ya won't forgive me but I want ya back in my life because this whole ignoring me then being smart when we've talked sucks."

You squint your eyes at Finn and say, "Then maybe you shouldn't have cheated."

"I wish I didn't, Y/N!" Finn says, raising his voice. "Believe it or not but I did regret it every time. I hid it because I didn't want us to be in this exact situation."

You raise your voice and say, "Then maybe you should have just told me if you regretted it instead of hiding it! Hiding it did nothing but fuel my anger and hatred toward you. For the past year I have hated you, I have been angry at you, but most of all, I have loved you every second. It's frustrating, Finn! It's frustrating loving you when all you did was hurt me. Last Christmas, when you told me you cheated again, it broke my heart breaking up with you and honestly, I waited to see if you would come back but you never did. Instead you went out and got engaged, and it's not to me."

You've started crying by this point as you let out everything you've been feeling toward Finn for the past year. Everything comes spilling out as you talk.

Meanwhile, Finn's quiet. He's listening and taking it every single word you're saying. He wants to understand.

After sighing and wiping the tears away, you say, "All I wanted was for you to grown and think about your actions. That's all I wanted. Maybe I would have taken you back or tried again at a relationship with you if you came to me and talked to me instead of getting engaged. Now you're getting married and all I can think about is how proud I am of you and happy I am for you while being upset and angry with you."

A wave of sadness comes over Finn after you're done speaking. He finally realizes how much he's hurt you. He realizes his choices haven't been the best over the past few years.

Hesitantly, he reaches out and wipes away your mascara stained tears. Subconsciously, you lean into his touch and close your eyes.

Finn says softly, "I wanted to go back to ya, Y/N. I truly did, but I thought that I'd hurt ya too much and that ya wouldn't even listen to what I had to say. I've loved ya from afar this past year. There's always been a spot for ya in my heart, Y/N."

You look up at Finn, meeting his eyes. You cry, "If I had seen that you had grown and reflected and thought about everything then I would have listened. I'm listening now and I can see how much you've changed, Finn. I can see how genuine and sincere you are."

He looks down at you with a sad expression on his face. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he says, "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I truly am."

Eye contact remains as you say the words Finn's been wanting to hear for months. "I forgive you, Finn," is what you say.

He brings his forehead down to yours and he whispers, "I want one thing."

"What's that?" you ask, your voice quiet.

Finn says, "I want a last kiss. Just so we can both move on from this and grow as friends."

You stare up at Finn and say, "I can't do that. You have a fiancée, Finn. Don't do to her what you've done to me."

He nods and looks away, clearly upset.

You would do anything to kiss him again. His kisses always gave you butterflies, no matter where the kisses were on your body. His mustache would always tickle your lip when you kissed him.

You know what, you think to yourself. One last kiss won't be the end of the world.

"Finn," you say, getting his attention.

The Irishman looks at you. You wait a second before hesitantly kissing Finn softly. You squeeze your eyes so the last few years escape and roll down your cheeks as Finn kisses you back.

This is it. The official end of a six year relationship. You're both finally moving on. Finn's getting married and you finally have the closure you never thought you needed as your lips move more and more passionately against Finn's.

Both of you suddenly find yourselves not wanting to pull away from the kiss. Your hands slide up and rest on the back of Finn's neck as you continue kissing him. His hands rest on your waist.

Finn walks so he's pressing you against the wall in the hallway. His large frame pins you against the cream colored wall.

He leans down and picks you up by your thighs, pressing your back against the wall as you wrap your legs around his waist.

It's when his lips leave yours and attach to your neck that you say, "Finn. This isn't just a kiss anymore."

He looks at you and says, "I don't want it to be just a kiss."

"I don't want it either but it has to be," you say. "That's all it can be."

Finn kisses your lips again, this time more passionately and intensely than before. "Stay the night with me," he mumble against your lips. "Please."

In between kisses, you say, "You're getting married, Finn. I can't."

He says, "Ya can. Ya just don't want to."

You pull back and put your hands on Finn's face, holding him there. "Trust me, I want to," you say. "You have no idea how much I want to."

Finn pleads, "Then come home with me. I still live in that tiny apartment. My fiancée doesn't live with me. One last night together won't be the end of the world. If my fiancée finds out and leaves then we get what we both want in the end. Each other."

"That's a toxic way to think, Finn," you point out.

He says, "I know, but I love ya more than I'll ever love her. It's always been ya for me, Y/N."

Your mind begins to race. Do you go back to Finn's and get what you both want? Do you call it a night and maybe regret not going back to Finn's?

No matter what you choose, you'll probably regret in the future. Plus the hope of one day being with him again is the reason you say, "One last night. That's it. That's all you get from me."

Finn pecks your lips and smiles before putting you down and taking you back to his apartment.

As soon as you're back in his apartment, the clothes come off and they stay off until sunrise the next day. You spend all of Christmas Eve mending a broken relationship between you and Finn.

It's a terrible way to fix a broken relationship but you hope it works because you want Finn back in your life. No, you need Finn back in your life.

You just hope things don't get more complicated than they already are after the one last night with Finn.

#finn balor imagine #finn balor angst #finn balor x reader #wrestling imagine #wrestling angst #wwe imagine #wwe angst #imagines #imagine #nswf imagine #angst #angst imagine #nxt imagine #nxt angst

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geniusgub · 3 years

Text

north//chapter ten

genre: angst

pairing: season ten spencer reid x female oc

warnings: panic attack, talk of maeve and that whole situation, death, mention of drugs and relapse

word count: 9.8k

summary: spencer gets to see another part of amelia’s ugly side and amelia gets more than she bargained for when she steps onto her balcony

also i just wanted to say that the panic attack described in this chapter is based off of my experience with panic attacks. nobody has the same experience, but this is based off mine. also part two, i don’t know how medication for panic attacks really work, what i wrote is literally based off my experience with migraine medication. so if it’s not accurate, then i apologize. i also apologize for taking so long to write this. school was a lot and my mental health sucks. but it’s here now!! enjoy

AMELIA

"Yaz, if you don't stop moving, I'm going to purposely poke your fucking eye out!"

"It's not my fault! Quinn keeps nudging me!"

"No, I'm not!"

I roll my eyes at the two girls in front of me, flicking my wrist to put the final touches on Yaz’s makeup. "You two need to shut up." I then grab Quinn’s shoulders and force her to move against the wall, right next to Yaz. They continue to quietly bicker with each other.

"So," Frankie speaks up from across my studio, lounged back in a bean bag chair, fiddling away with a camera of his own, "Lia, you're coming up on one year with your genius doctor FBI boyfriend, right?"

"Mhm," I hum, too focused on painting my friends' bodies to give a full and coherent answer.

"Do you guys have plans yet? Dinner? Movie? I don't even know what you guys do as dates. In fact, I don't really know much about this guy at all. Are we even sure he exists?" Michael teases, waving around his bottle of beer. Quinn squirms away from my grasp to take a sip of his beer and only comes back when I tug on her hand.

"No plans yet," I mumble, biting my tongue for a moment as I focus on getting the swirls of blue and yellow just right. If the painting isn’t absolutely perfect then I’ll never be happy with the way the pictures come out. And if I’m not happy with the pictures that come from today then that just means I wasted my time today. "We don't make plans in advance, really. His job doesn't allow for that."

"His job doesn't allow for that?" Dani scoffs. "Stupid excuse. Horrible excuse. Men are trash. How can you be sure that all the time he’s spending ‘at work’ and not with another girl? Or maybe another guy? I don’t know, I don’t judge. Maybe he’s-"

"Dani," I hiss, twisting my head to send her a pointed look, "he's an FBI agent. He hunts down serial killers for a living. He travels for work on a whim and it’s not a big deal. He’s not gay and it’s rude to speculate about someone’s sexuality, especially if you’ve never met them."

"But don't you want him around him more?" Frankie jumps up from his seat and throws his arm around my shoulder, effectively pulling away from my work. He thinks that grabbing me will diffuse the situation, bring some humor, keep me from getting too upset. But it actually does all the opposite and I can feel a ball of heat growing and swelling in my stomach.

I’ve been friends with this bunch since college. We all went to Carnegie Mellon together and even lived in a house together in junior and senior year, but they aren’t always the best of friends. Clearly. They can be quite judgemental and exclusive when it comes to people outside of our friend group. Jenna and I commonly find ourselves sharing looks across rooms when one of our friends says something rude or stupid. They’re not the best, but we’ve been through so much together and they are all I have.

I push Frankie away from me as best as I can. "Do you guys just not like him because he's a federal agent?" The room goes silent and that's enough of an answer for me. I scoff, moving across the room to grab some more paint and squirt it into my palette. I wind up putting too much on my palette and groan, screwing off the top of the paint tube and trying to scoop the extra paint back in. The longer I try, the less gets back inside the tube and the more my frustration starts to grow, the more tears well up in my eyes. "You're complaining about my boyfriend who you've never met just because he works for the FBI. Ridiculous. Unfair."

"We get arrested all the time and all we do is spray paint empty brick walls," Dani protests, and, again, judging by the silence of the others in the room, I know that they have no problems with what Dani is saying. "It's bullshit! We should be able to express ourselves creatively without having to do art in the middle of the night and worry about being thrown in a holding cell."

"First of all; express yourself creatively on a canvas, not on someone’s property. Second; I can promise that you’re not getting arrested by federal agents. You’re getting arrested by cops and my boyfriend is not a cop," I growl at my supposed friends. I don't get angry easily. In fact, I'm a very patient person and I've been told that by many people on many occasions. My first instinct is to never get mad. Anger doesn’t get anyone anywhere. I prefer to have conversations instead of screaming matches and to hear out the other side's argument. But this is different. This is Spencer we’re talking about. I love Spencer more than anything and since meeting him, I know I'd do anything to protect him, even if that means arguing with my friends on his behalf. It’s not fair for them to be making these judgments about him. "You get arrested by Virginia Police so if you wanna hate anyone then hate them. Don't you dare all go hating my boyfriend for no reason. Don't hate him when you've never met him."

I throw my palette onto a table, not caring about paint splatter, and grab my phone, leaving my studio and heading into the fresh air. My heart is pounding against my tightening chest as I lean against the brick wall and slide down to an incredibly uncomfortable crouching position, tucking my head between my knees. The stance almost instantly makes my back ache and my neck sting but I ignore it. Maybe I deserve the pain. My breathing quickly gets more and more shallow and my head goes light. I try to lift my head to bring sunlight into my eyes, but my head seems far too heavy to move. I reach for my phone and it slips right out of my fingers when they tremble too much for me to get a grip on the thin metal. This feeling is helpless, painful, too familiar. I can’t seem to get a grasp on myself and I’m spiraling out of control more and more by the second. Every gasp for breath turns into a sob and every attempt to move my head turns into overwhelming shame when I notice people passing by are staring at me and whispering.

It's almost perfect that my phone starts to buzz on the ground and I manage to open my eyes enough to see that Spencer is calling me. I attempt another deep breath to calm myself down but it doesn't work and it only makes my grip on reality dwindle. It's getting harder to breathe and my eyes are stinging with tears. With every pounding beat of my heart, my chest gets tighter and tighter and tighter until it feels like someone has successfully squeezed my lungs flat.

The buzzing of my phone should bring me back to reality but it just makes it worse. It’s an annoying, persistent sound that just won’t stop. It won’t stop. It just won’t stop. I want to answer, I need to answer, but I just wish the sound would stop. The way to get it to stop is to answer. Just answer. It’ll stop if you answer. You’ll feel better if you answer. I slam my hand down on the ground and grope the floor until I manage to grab my phone and bring it up to my ear.

"Hi, love," Spencer's chipper voice comes through the receiver, none the wiser to my current situation. He's been away on a case since early yesterday morning, having woken me up while getting dressed, kissing me goodbye, and leaving my apartment to get to the BAU. I would kill to have him here right now. Maybe he could talk me down and reteach me how to breathe. Maybe he could reinflate my lungs and kiss my hands until they stop trembling.

I try to answer, but nothing coherent comes out. I let out a strangled sob, my fingernails digging into my knee so hard that I worry I might draw blood. My inability to communicate is frustrating and that ball of heat in my stomach rises up to my chest. The trembling overpowers me and I almost drop my phone again.

"Amelia? What's wrong? Are you okay? Talk to me," Spencer says quickly, and it's only followed by more choked wheezes from me. "You've gotta breathe, okay? Take really deep breaths for me. In through your nose and out from your mouth.”

His instructions seem simple enough to do. Just breathe. That’s all I have to do. It’s simple. Just breathe. I open my mouth to try to speak to him, to tell him what’s happening, even though I’m pretty sure he can tell, but all that comes out is fragments of words and whimpers.

"It’s okay, you’re okay. You don’t need to speak. In through your nose, out from your mouth, remember? Can you try that for me?" I’m not sure how long I’m sitting there for, on the phone, trying to focus on my boyfriends’ voice as he tries to calm me down. It feels like I’m sitting for a few hours, but my tiny grasp on reality lets me know that it’s been ten minutes at the most. I just do what I can to focus on Spencer and what he is telling me to do and how I can calm down. I clench my fists and finally succeed in doing what he tells me to after a while, breathing heavily in through my nose, my chest burning as the heaving comes to a gradual stop. I breathe out and then repeat the process a few times. “There you go. You’re doing so well. I’m right here for you, okay? Take all the time you need.”

He continues to tell me sweet nothings and encourages me to breathe until my breathing has regulated and my head lays slack against my knees. Spencer lets just a few moments of silence go by to let me collect myself before he speaks again. “Are you feeling a little better now?” I gather enough energy, the last of it, to hum a confirmation. "Where are you right now?" Spencer asks next. Even just his voice calms me down. Maybe it's his experience with his job but he sounds so calm right now. Nobody in my life has ever been able to remain so calm during one of my panic attacks, leaving me to cry and heave and occasionally faint in private. But Spencer's voice sounds so soothing and calm and low that just him speaking helps me more than anything. More than any useless, overwhelming, smothering hug ever has.

"Studio.”

"Okay. You should get home and get some rest. "

"Mhm.”

"You shouldn't drive. I don't know if you did, but either way, please don't drive. Take the train or call someone to drive you home," Spencer pleads. "I was calling to tell you that we're on our way home. We closed the case and we're leaving in a few minutes for the airport, but don't wait for me. You need to go home and get rest. Panic attacks are really taxing and you need to re-energize. I'll come over when I get back but you need to get home."

"Amelia?" I hear Jenna's voice approaching me but I don't even bother to look up. "Are you okay?"

I've exhausted my energy on speaking just those few words to Spencer so when Jenna gets close enough to me, I just lift the phone up for her. She crouches down beside me and grabs my phone, wedging it between her shoulder and her ear as she pushes my hair out of my face. I try to lean away from her touch but I can’t get very far. "Who is this? Oh, hi, Spencer. This is Jenna. She's right next to me. I can definitely bring her home. Don't worry, I'll get her home and I'll stay with her until you come around, it's no problem. I'll take her phone and let you know when I get her home. Okay, bye."

I finally lift my head and look at Jenna, watching her tuck my phone into her pocket, giving me this stupid, pitiful smile that I’ve seen far too many times in my life. A half smile that says, it sucks that you’re going through something but I only kind of care. "Mr. Genius says I gotta bring you home and keep you safe until he comes over and I don't feel like ending up in prison, so let's go, babe." I don’t have it in me to correct her to day Doctor Genius instead of Mister Genius. Jenna holds her hands out to help me up.

I bring my shaking hands up to hers and let her pull me to my feet and lead me over to her car, feeling weak and useless as she pulls the seatbelt over my chest. I pout as she dotes over me, humming casually to herself just so she can make this situation not so tense, but it just makes it seem like she doesn’t care. "Okay," Jenna says, hand poised on the passenger side door, "I'm gonna go kick everyone out of your studio and then we'll get going. Sit tight."

///

"Hi, Spencer, I'm Jenna,"

"Hi, Jenna. Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's sleeping on the couch. She didn't even wanna go upstairs to bed so she asked me to put on a record and she just passed out on the couch."

Everything sounds foggy as I wake up what I assume is hours later in an uncomfortable position, curled up on my couch. My head is pounding and my eyes feel puffy and I'm now regretting not forcing myself to get into bed. I would have much rathered waking up with my duvet wrapped around me and my head on Spencer’s pillow. Waking up on this stiff couch with my toes virtually frozen and my head twisted uncomfortably on the armrest isn’t how I wanted to wake up post-panic attack.

I open my eyes just in time to see Spencer setting his go-bag down beside the coffee table, sending me that same stupid, pitiful smile. "Hi," he whispers, coming to sit on the floor in front of me. He raises his hand to drag his fingertips along my cheekbone and the soft touch makes my eyes flutter closed. I’ve gotten used to being without him when he’s away on cases, and having Spencer with me makes all the separated days easier. I know that the moments like this make up for the times I lay awake at night, staring at the ceiling, because I can’t sleep if his arms around me and if I can’t hear his heartbeat. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Mm," I hum, but it's not much of an answer, not a satisfying one, at the least.

"It's good that you got some sleep but you gotta have something to eat too. Do you want me to order something?" I nod slowly at his suggestion that I couldn’t care less about. I just want his hands on me. "Okay, I will. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

A whine falls from my lips as I reach my hand out for his, hoping to keep him from leaving. I just need his touch and his love and his affection to feel better. I don’t need sleep or food or anything he could possibly suggest that helps a person relax after a panic attack, based on this study I read. I love his facts but I just want him to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be okay, even if it doesn’t feel like it will. The boiling hot baths I usually take after a panic attack never do the trick. Nothing does the trick like physical affection does.

"Don't go," the words could barely be considered words, especially not after I mumble them through almost closed lips.

"I’m not leaving," Spencer crouches down again and presses a kiss to my forehead, and I’m sure he realizes that a kiss was the wrong move because I just keep trying to pull him closer. “I just wanna order you something to eat, okay? Let me bring you upstairs and get you in bed and then I’ll call for something. Is that okay?”

Spencer is sitting up on his knees before I even try to answer because even though he's posed a question, he doesn't need an answer. He knows how to help me from the studies he reads and he knows what needs to be done and he's relatively stubborn. So despite how my body feels heavy and how I wish I could just melt into the couch cushions with my arms wrapped around my boyfriend, I force myself to sit up. Spencer scoops me up and carries me up the stairs, setting me down in bed and tugging the duvet all the way up to my chin.

Spencer goes a bit overboard with tucking me in, but I don’t mind, as long as his hands are on me. And he is happy with his work, he finally takes off his peacoat and sets it on the edge of the bed. "I'm just gonna go run downstairs and order something and make some tea, okay? Did you take your medication?" He turns away from me and goes towards the stairs, digging his phone out of his pocket.

"Huh?"

Spencer halts himself from walking down the stairs, turning his chin over his shoulder. "Your medication," he turns his body towards me. "You know, for your panic attack?"

I shake my head, eyebrows furrowed so much that it makes my headache worse. "No, no, I don't have any."

My fuzzy brain can't exactly decipher the look on Spencer's face, but he turns his back to me yet again and rushes down the stairs. I let out a hum at his confusing reaction, but it turns into a disappointed whine as he gets further and further away from me. So, still in my post-panic attack state, I reach for Spencer's coat for some sort of comfort.

As I tug on it, something falls out of the pocket. I blindly reach for it and have every intention of tucking it back into the pocket it came from, but the cool metal of the object heightens my senses, as if the object brings me back down to earth. I hold Spencer's jacket to my chest as I lay back down against my pillows, looking down at the metal circle in my hand. There's a triangle on the front- or maybe the back?- with a Roman numeral one on it, with the words unity, service, and recovery around the three sides. I turn it over in my hand and find a compass rose with only north labeled.

"Amelia?" My head pops up when I tune into Spencer's footsteps on the last stair, his phone in his hand and his untied converse in the other. He drops his shoes on the floor and then leans against the wall, his eyes traveling down to the floor instead of on me. I can feel his shame from all the way across the room and how his embarrassment starts to consume him. He instantly shuts himself off from me and it’s so disheartening to see how easy it is for him to do so.

"It fell out," I hold it out to him, despite our distance. "What did you order?"

Spencer doesn't move as I hold the medallion out to him, but all he does is tuck his hands in his pocket and study the patterns on his socks. "You don't wanna know what it is?"

I drop my hand against the bed and sigh, having used too much energy to keep my arm up for longer than two seconds, nuzzling my cheek against Spencer's jacket and trying to get a whiff of his cologne. If he won’t come to me then I’ll have to get a piece of him in my bed, even if it’s just the scent on his jacket. I need his comfort. "I know what it is, dove."

He takes a long breath and then walks over, taking the medallion out of my hand and shoving it in his pocket. "Pizza. I'm gonna go change and I'll be right back."

I hadn't even realized he had brought his go-bag upstairs at some point, but I only see it when he carries it into the bathroom. He doesn't shut the door all the way and I find myself wondering why. Maybe he doesn't want to completely shut himself away from me because he can tell I need him close. Or maybe because he didn’t want to rebuild his emotional walls around me, and closing the bathroom door would separate us. But I don’t have the time to come to a clear and coherent hypothesis before he has returned.

He's in a tee shirt and plaid pajama pants when he returns, dropping his bag onto the floor and letting out a heavy sigh. I watch him as he walks around the bed to grab his shoes and begins the process of shoving them into his bag, even though he doesn't need to. He knows he doesn’t need to clean his stuff up immediately. But I notice his medallion in his hand, squeezed between his pointer and middle fingers, and it makes me call out to him. His head whips over to me and I realize I have nothing to say. I need him beside me but he clearly has so much going on in his head and in all the time we've been together, I've never seen his medallion. That makes me nervous. Is this why he's acting like this? Is he thinking about getting his hands on a drug that will ruin his life?

I have nothing to say. But Spencer is staring at me, waiting for me to ask whatever question he thinks I’m needing to ask, as I clutch his jacket like my life depends on it, eyes half-closed as I start to struggle to breathe again. I open my mouth but nothing comes out and a tear drips down my cheek.

Spencer moves to kneel on the bed, pulling his jacket out of my hands and replacing the fabric with his body. "Hey, I'm right here, Lia, just breathe. Sit up for me, sweetheart," He places his hands on my waist and helps me sit up, coaxing my head between my knees. He somehow knows exactly what to do, despite not being able to see me during my previous attack. He knows just how softly I need to be touched and what volume to speak at without overwhelming me. "It's okay, it's okay, I'm right here, don't worry. I don’t want you to get worked up again." I manage to nod, and he kisses my forehead as a reward. Spencer just keeps holding me and whispering praises, tucking my head under his chin and rubbing my back with a feather light touch. “There you go. There’s my girl.”

“I’m okay,” I whisper, but it’s more for myself than for him.

“Yeah, you are,” he affirms. "Will you talk to me about these attacks and how I can help you?" His sweet voice is so buttery and smooth that I get lost in it, eyes fluttering and almost completely missing his question. I just want him to keep talking, to read me poetry or tell me random facts that I’ll probably never need to know. I just want him to talk, and talk, and talk, and break me away from the prison in my mind. I just want him to distract me.

“Um,” I lean into his touch when he brings his hand into my hair, scratching me behind my ears like a cat. But when I manage to open my eyes and look at him, he’s giving me such a serious look, one that says he means business, and I know that there’s no room for jokes or wit. “I don’t know. I’ve mostly dealt with panic attacks alone. I just let them happen and wait for them to be done.”

Spencer’s eyes widen in surprise but he quickly tries to hide his reaction, clearing his throat as a distraction, but it’s nowhere close to this distraction I had hoped for. “So you don’t know any coping mechanisms or take any medication for panic attacks?” I shake my head no. “Have you ever gone to a doctor or a therapist about this?”

Definitely not the distraction I was hoping for. I reach for the duvet and pull it over my head, deciding to ignore him. I manage to crawl out of Spencer’s lap and curl up on my pillow with my back to him, earning a defeated sigh from my boyfriend beside me. He takes a breath to speak but then the doorbell rings and I can only assume that means that dinner is here. Without a word spoken, Spencer climbs off the bed and goes to answer the door. I hear his chatting quietly with the delivery person before his sock-covered footsteps echo back up the stairs, and he returns with a pizza box.

Spencer just casually suggesting I go to a doctor or a therapist is so obnoxious and annoying and I truly can’t remember a time in our relationship when I was this mad at him. He talks as though a doctor's visit will solve all my problems and if taking a pill will turn me into the healthy, stress-free, mental illness-free girl that I want to be, but never have been, and never will be. I spent my childhood taking care of myself and my brother and I can keep doing that as an adult. I’ve gotten this far in my life, farther than I thought I would, so I’m not going to fix something that isn’t broken.

Spencer sits at the foot of the bed and sets the pizza box in the middle of the bed, not saying a word as he opens it up and separates the slices. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes as I tuck my legs underneath me. I reach for a piece of pizza and lean over the cardboard so I don't get the bed messy. If the bed gets messy and crumby then Spencer won’t be able to sleep tonight, knowing that there’s particles of food all over the duvet. He seems to be on the same train of thought because he refuses to move the piece of pizza in his hand away from the box. If I wasn’t so upset, I’d be telling him how cute he is and finding his cleanliness endearing and suggesting that we eat at the table downstairs instead of my bed. But the tension is so thick that I could cut it with a knife, and I don’t have the energy to ease it. But apparently, Spencer does.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Spencer asks casually, keeping his eyes down as he takes another bite of his pizza. "The way you talk,” he pauses and considers his words very carefully, “you've clearly had panic attacks before."

"It's not a big deal."

"Amelia," the stony, serious tone of his voice makes my head pop up. He looks annoyed, as if he doesn't believe what I'm saying. I haven’t yet learned that lying to a profiler is useless. "You had a panic attack on a public sidewalk and it was so bad that you went nonverbal. Panic attacks happen to a lot of people but they're serious and debilitating and you should get treatment for them."

"Don’t tell me what I should do. I don't need treatment," I answer far too quickly. "I know you have your degree in psychology or whatever but I don’t need to hear it. I’ve taken care of myself for this long and I actually happen to think I’ve done a pretty good job at it, so I don’t need medication or therapy to interfere.”

Realization flashes on Spencer's face and he puts his piece of pizza down, leaning his elbows against his knees. "Seeking out help doesn’t make you weak."

I scoff and roll my eyes into the back of my head, but maybe that's just to avoid eye contact or to repress the tears that burn at my ducts. "That's not what this is about."

"I didn’t mention anything about my degree, Amelia,” Spencer snaps. “And all I’m trying to do is help you. You can go to a therapist and discuss coping mechanisms and figure out why you even have them or go to a doctor and get medication that will regulate attacks and maybe you'll get something to take after you get attacks, it'll be so much-"

"No!" I shout, cutting him off, my hands balled into fists as I struggle to rein in all the nasty things I want so badly to say, but that I know he doesn’t deserve. "I won't! I'm not! I'm fine without it! I've gone my whole fucking life like this and I don't need to be fixed!"

I decide it's the appropriate time to throw a temper tantrum and scramble off the bed, not even bothering to grab a jacket or a blanket or shoes or anything as I stomp down the stairs and throw open the door to the balcony. It's colder than I remember it being and the air instantly seizes up my bones, but I ignore the feeling as I close the door behind me. I lean against the railing and let a few tears silently slip down my cheeks, not bothering to wipe them and instead letting them trail down my neck and dampen the neckline of my crewneck. Fresh air used to always calm me down, but now, being alone on a balcony after fighting with Spencer, the air only feels suffocating.

A few minutes pass before I head the door slide open and Spencer steps out. I expect him to speak right away, to use his profiling skills to defuse the situation, but he doesn't. He drapes a blanket over my shoulders and as frustrated as I am at him and at the world and at myself, the tiny gesture makes me feel better. I'm craving his touch yet again and I wish he would just wrap his arms around me, but yet again, he doesn't. I tug the blanket as tight as I can around my shoulders and imagine it's his arms. His arms that are so close to me but feel like they are miles away.

"I've been a hypocrite." Spencer's voice is quiet, but not in the same way as it was during my attacks. No, before he was quiet for my sake. But now he seems quiet because he can't bear to speak any louder. Like if he hears his own words, he will combust and break down. "I kept something from you too."

I turn around and find that he's sitting down in one of the armchairs, another blanket wrapped around his shoulders. I, yet again, notice that his medallion is in his hand. But he's not trying to hide it, he's staring right down at it.

"Does it have anything to do with your medallion and why it was in your pocket?"

"Partly," he answers, and then looks up at me, pretty brown eyes already glistening with tears. If I wasn’t so upset, if Spencer wasn’t so upset, if the tension hadn’t carried outside, I would have poked his perfect nose and told him how cute he is when the tip of his nose gets red from the cold. My eyes are just focused on the medallion though, being passed between his fingers with expertise and never slipping out. "I'm clean, I promise. I wouldn't risk breaking my sobriety. I have too much to lose now. I've got you, and my job, and my team- my friends, Henry. But, um, yeah, there's something that I didn't tell you and I know that I should."

Partially born from my own selfish need for affection, coupled with Spencer's broken down state, I go and sit on his lap. He happily lets me do so, draping one hand over my thigh, holding the medallion there. I rest my head on his chest and wait for him to feel comfortable enough to start his story. I can feel his heart pounding against his chest and I stare down his hand, tap-tap-tapping on the arm of the chair. His nervousness is just as palpable as the tension.

"So, um, do you remember when we first met? You always like to point out how you're not the profiler here but did you happen to notice how nervous I was?"

"Mm," I hum, racking my brain for the memories of our first few coffee dates. I remember his strained smiles and his stuttered out words. I think back to us spending Christmas together and how, later on, he just blurted out an invitation to be his girlfriend that lacked finesse and confidence. He has always been nervous around me, but I always just thought that he was nervous with new relationships. It never crossed my mind that there was a reason other than anxiety. "Of course. The first day we met, I don't even think you took your bag off, right? I just thought dates made you nervous."

"Well, yeah, that's kinda true," Spencer sighs and when he tilts his head down, his lips brush against my temple. His warm lips bring a shiver down my spine and he holds me tighter against his cold body. "The truth is, about two years before I met you, I had a girlfriend, her name was Maeve. Our relationship wasn't really conventional. We, um,” he pauses and shifts his weight, “she was a geneticist and I saw her when I was having migraines, but then we started dating. We never met each other though."

His constant past tense is alarming. Was.

"We talked on the phone. She had a stalker from before I met her and she wanted to make sure that I didn’t get wrapped up in it. And we had to be safe so we only talked on pay phones. Only on Sunday's and never from the same phone twice. I thought I, um, I thought I loved her and then-" Spencer lets out a breath that sounds defeated, tired, helpless. He drops the medallion into my lap and his hands fly up to cover his face, another shaky breath falling from his lips. “I shouldn’t be telling you this when you're in such a fragile mental state. This is a lot of information and-”

"If you want to tell me then you can. I’m not a fragile little girl, I can take it. But if you don’t think you can then that’s okay too. I don’t need you to show me all the skeletons in your closet because you think you’ve been hypocritical.”

Spencer drops his hands, revealing his quivering lips and wet waterline. I return the medallion to the palm of his hand and close his fingers around it. "I mean,” he lets out the tiniest, saddest chuckle, “I was being hypocritical, being mad at you for keeping information a secret when I was doing the same.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” my slight teasing gets a more genuine laugh out of him, and he drops his forehead to my shoulder to hide it. “But it’s okay. I understand that there’s some things you don’t wanna share immediately.”

Spencer keeps his head down, his hand in a tight fist around his medallion and the other on my waist, keeping me close. I can practically feel his fear and anxiety and his overwhelming pain through the tips of his fingers digging into my skin, and I want so badly to take it from him. I would gladly shoulder his pain so he doesn’t have to drag it around behind him like a suitcase with a broken wheel. But as badly as I want to, I can’t help him the way I want to and so I just need to comfort him to the best of my ability.

"She got kidnapped and shot in front of me," he blurts out quickly, the memory obviously too painful to say gracefully. "I realized she was gone so the team investigated and we found Maeve and the unsub brought me inside where she was being held and had me see her for the first time ever and then killed herself and Maeve right in front of me and there was nothing I could do about it."

Sometimes I don't know what to say to Spencer. He sees the worst that society has to offer, and the worst took away the first woman that he loved. I don't always know how to comfort him. Sometimes he just wants to be held and would rather not verbalize his feelings. And although I don’t love it when he decides to not talk things out, cuddling and giving out kisses is easier than arguing with him and trying to get him to talk about things he doesn’t want to. So physical affection is easier. But right now he doesn't seem to want to be held and I don't know how to help him. He didn't want to tell me this but clearly, today hasn't gone how either of us has wanted it to go. I've been spontaneously panicking and he's now confessing that his girlfriend was killed. None of this is right.

It takes him a few minutes to start speaking again, but when he does, his voice is quiet. "I almost relapsed after that," his head finds home on my shoulder again, and his other arm wraps around my waist. He holds me tight against his chest, adjusting the blanket around me to make sure I’m always covered and warm. "When I first got clean, I brought my medallion with me everywhere I went. I couldn't leave the house without it. I brought it with me on cases, to the store, everywhere. Then time passed and I could leave without it, and I was really proud of that. But then Maeve died and suddenly it was like I was right back at square one. I couldn't go anywhere without it. I needed the reminder of all my hard work and dedication or else I would've easily relapsed."

"Is," my voice is shakier than I wanted it to be, "is there something that's making you wanna relapse now?"

"Stalking cases," he answers, and that's not at all the answer I was expecting. I’m not really sure exactly what kind of answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t stalking cases. "They're common and they're not always violent so we don't always investigate but when we do, I hate it. It’s like torture on those cases, just having to relive what happened with her. Hotch doesn't even let me take part in takedowns of stalking cases because we both know I wouldn't be stable if a hostage situation happened. So,” he tucks his head into my neck this time, and I can feel his lips on my skin, leaving light kisses to make up for the heavy topic, “yeah, that’s what I was keeping from you. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, dove. I understand.”

I turn my head away from him and stare out at the city. The sun is setting and the sky is painted a pretty pink and purple, mixed together in a way I wish I could achieve in my work. But the people below pay no mind to it. They speed-walk to whatever their next destination is and keep their noses tucked in their phones, or to wave their hand for a cab and bark out orders and throw money at the person who spends their lives being chauffeurs to rude politicians and businessmen. Nobody cares to look up and admire the beauty around them, beauty that they won’t see some day. They don’t look up at the unnatural colors in the sky or check to see if the clouds have taken the form of a shoe or a candy wrapper. They just walk, and walk, and walk. They don’t care. Nobody ever cares.

"I'm sorry," I choke out, tears suddenly pouring down my cheeks. I reach for Spencer’s hands, intertwining our fingers but keeping his arms around my waist. I don’t want to be without his comfort and his arms and his warmth. He seems to feel the same because he pulls me even closer somehow, my body completely flush against his. "I love you, Spencer, and you-” I hiccup, “fuck, you didn't deserve any of that."

"You're all I need in this life, Amelia. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love again but now I have you and," I can feel his hands shaking in mine, and although it’s hard to tell if it’s from the cold or from anxiety. "I just love you so much. Please don’t leave me."

"I’m never gonna leave you, Spencer Reid. Ever. I'm not going anywhere," I whisper, but I can't tell who it's a reassurance for. "I love you."

///

SPENCER

///

THE NEXT MORNING

///

No amount of nights turned into mornings at Amelia’s apartment could get me used to being woken up to sun beams in my eyes.

I scrunch up my face as the sunlight flows through the windows and almost blinds me. I roll over and reach towards Amelia's side of the bed, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead of a fistful of her. I let out a disappointed sigh and force my eyes open, popping one lid open to confirm my sad realization that I'm waking up alone. Now I'm understanding how Amelia feels when I have to leave for cases.

I can feel the heat blasting and it makes it bearable for me to exist in only my pair of pajama pants, so I don't bother to put a shirt on. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and check my phone, just to make sure there isn't a spontaneous case on a Saturday, and there thankfully isn't anything yet. So I run a hand through my hair that is probably wild and climb out of bed, making the trek down the occasionally terrifying floating stairs.

I pause on the last step when I peer into the kitchen, the dumbest smile appearing on my face when I locate my girlfriend. She's sitting on the counter in the kitchen with her legs up and crossed at the ankles, dressed in only an oversized white tee shirt and pale blue wool socks. Matching, unfortunately. She's wearing her normal butterfly necklace, I can see from here, but she's missing all of her piercings- nose ring and earrings. Her natural curls are out in full force and are only contained by one of her patterned scarves, wrapped around her head like a headband. She's holding an apple in one hand and she has a book resting in her lap but I can't quite see the spine to read the title. But this is one of the moments I'm thankful for my fancy memory, as Amelia calls it, because she looks so effortlessly stunning and perfect and beautiful that I'm glad I'll remember this moment forever.

I watch her for a moment. She wiggles her toes every few seconds and then takes a loud bite from the apple, flipping the page and darting her eyes across the lines. Effortless. Remarkable. I'm often blown away by her simple beauty. I wonder how she does it without trying. How she renders me speechless. How she makes me feel like a teenager in love. How she makes me feel like a lovesick puppy, galloping around at her feet with stars in my eyes. How she makes me feel like she's completely out of my league. How she makes me feel like I'm the luckiest man in the whole world.

When I decide that I have to get my hands on her, I step off the stairs. She still doesn't notice my presence, I credit that to my bare feet on the hardwood, and she only looks up when a floorboard creaks. She lifts her chin and reveals her stunning dimples, ocean eyes wide for me. "Morning!" she quips, tucking a bookmark into the page and setting her book aside. "Wasn't sure you were ever gonna wake up."

"I don't like waking up alone," I brush my fingertips along her leg as I walk closer, eliciting a shy giggle from Amelia. No matter how many times I touch her, she still gets shy about it. I peer over her legs and my eyebrows raise. "You're reading Rossi's book? What's that about?"

Amelia giggles, picking up the book and inspecting the cover. "It's more of a courtesy, actually. I bought all three books of his the other day and I'm planning on ripping out all the pages to use for a piece of art for my next exhibit. But I figured I'd read them first before I destroy them, you know? He saved my life as a kid so the least I can do is read his books before I destroy them."

"Hmm," it's not really at all the answer I was expecting. I watch her face as she plasters on a shy smile, kicking her feet like an excited child and clutching the book to her chest. I don’t have the heart to ask her any more questions about her decision to rip up Rossi’s books because I don’t want to wipe that smile off her face. "Interesting. Breakfast?"

"Not before you give me a kiss," Amelia's delicate voice balances out the horrors Rossi illustrates in his book as she brings her lips to mine. "If you're cooking, I don't care what you make."

"Sounds like a plan,” and just as I didn’t have the heart to question her art, I don’t have it in me to go further than an inch away from her lips before she decides it’s okay. So that leads to kissing for far too long, the book tumbling out of Amelia’s hands and onto her lap, my hands holding her jaw. Her lips are different in the morning, slightly chapped and not yet bleeding from being chewed relentlessly. But, for some reason, I prefer them like this. And I definitely prefer chapped lips to glossy lips that get all over my face and takes a makeup remover wipe to get rid of. I quickly flip through the last few images of Amelia in my head and notice she hasn’t worn lip gloss in a while. Maybe that’s for the better though. She won’t have to hear me complain and watch me rub at my lips and grimace when my hand gets sticky too.

“Okay, okay,” Amelia giggles, grabbing my hands and pushing them away, “let’s not get carried away. I am hungry.”

“Then why didn’t you make breakfast yourself?” I sass, turning on my heel to start collecting breakfast ingredients and feed my hungry lady.

“Haha,” she snickers sarcastically, rolling her eyes at me. And a comfortable silence falls over us as I start cooking, occasionally glancing over to watch her thumb through the book. It etches a hopefully permanent smile onto my face.

"I do have a question, though," Amelia fiddles with the corner of a page, curling it between her finger and keeping her eyes down. I hum lazily in response, mixing pancakes batter, far too focused on making sure I get measurements correct to be able to make eye contact with her. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable but your medallion- well, it," she sighs, obviously not able to find the words for what she wants to say.

It’s not my favorite topic of conversation so early in the morning, but I guess the sooner Amelia asks her questions and gets them out of her system, the sooner we can stop having conversations about my demons. "You can ask whatever you want to.”

"It's not a bad question, I don't think," she responds, and turns so her legs are swinging over the edge of the counter, facing me. "I'm just curious what the compass on the back means. It seems odd to me. I mean, the front says recovery and all but the back has a compass? I've never heard of these medallions having a compass on them."

"The designs differ," despite the relatively tame question, I busy myself by trying to create perfect circles with the batter on the hot skillet. She could've asked me about my experience with drugs and how it feels and she could have unknowingly triggered me, but no. She just wants to know about the compass. I guess that’s better than making me relive relapse or make me remember what a high feels like. "I've obviously been clean for more than a year, so the other medallions I have for other years have different designs on the back. But I always liked the one year medallion the best."

"Will you tell me why?" She presses gently, pulling her knees back up to her chest. I've seen her do this plenty of times, shut herself off from conversations, I mean, and I hate it when she does. On normal days, when she shuts herself off from conversations, I do what I can to put her at ease and get her to open back up. But if anyone should be shutting off from this conversation, it’s me. "You don't have to, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Getting to one year is really hard," I admit quickly, keeping my eyes off her as I move the pancakes from the skillet to a plate. "So when I finally got to one year and I got the medallion, it was a huge accomplishment for me. And the compass? It’s just a thing that my program preached. North is always regarded as the right way to go, even though that’s not really true in theory, but I never pointed that out. But my program had us pick someone or something to represent north for each person. So that way, if anyone was ever going through withdrawals or cravings, we could think of that thing we chose and it would give us the motivation to get through a hard time. The thing would give us a reason to go north, the right way. Basically, the way to recovery. The way to go back home.”

“And what did you choose?”

“My job,” it’s such an unenthusiastic answer, no light or happiness in my voice. “My job was all I had at the time, but my job being my north never felt right. It was never really motivating. Maybe that’s why it was so hard to get past a year. I had nothing to look forward to.”

"One more question," Amelia speaks, softer this time. "Can you come here?"

I look up and find that Amelia is resting her chin on her knees, giving me that same cute smile from before. I nod, scooping the last pancake off the skillet and putting it on the pile before walking over, dragging my feet. Amelia drops her legs and holds out her arms, wrapping them around my shoulders the moment I get close enough. I instantly melt into her embrace and tuck my face into her neck, feeling her fingers on the back of my neck, tracing small shapes and letters.

"I know that I didn't know you back then," Amelia whispers, warm breath tickling my skin, "but I'm proud of you. I'm proud that you're strong enough to keep your head up and stay clean. And thank you for trusting me with all this information. I love you so much."

My body is filled with that familiar warmth that I only feel when Amelia is around, and I can't stop the smile that comes to my face. The tears in my eyes dry up quickly at the praise. "Thank you for loving me."

"I always will," she pulls away and slides her hands up to my face, pointer fingertips tracing my jaw and up to my cheekbones. She swipes her finger across my bottom lip and then brings it up to my nose, poking it gently and giggling under her breath. She’s deep in thought, I can tell from the look on her face. "You know,” she smooths down my eyebrows and then her fingers follow my hairline all the way down to my jaw, “I’ll be your north," she suggests. "I know you always tell me that talking to me when you're on cases helps, but I wanna help you with everything, with every aspect of your life. I wanna help you with the ugliest parts of your life, and not just the ugly parts of your job. I'll be your north. I'll be your reason to come home and I'll be- I'll be like your guiding light. I'll be your lighthouse. I'll just," her hands halt on my cheeks and her legs twist around my waist, bringing our bodies flush, "I'll be your north."

My heart is pounding as I smile at her, the tears that had just dried up coming back tenfold. She's smiling her stupidly gorgeous smile but not even making eye contact, just staring down at my lips as she lets her brain settle from all the words she just vomited and as she holds herself back from her obvious impulse to actually kiss me. So I lean forward and peck her lips, untangling our limbs. "I'll be right back," I ignore the sting in my chest at the disappointment clear on her face as I pull completely away from her hold. But I kiss her cheek for reassurance before I disappear back upstairs, grabbing my go-bag.

I return to the kitchen with last year’s Christmas present in my hands and open up to the page I'm searching for, walking up to my girl. Her back is to me, pouring more batter onto the skillet to finish up breakfast. But the moment she puts the bowl of batter back on the counter, I swing my arms over her head and bring the sketchbook in front of her to show her a journal entry.

"I didn't always use it for sketches," I explain as she grabs the book from me, "but I use it. A lot. Read that entry," Amelia goes radio silent as she reads, and I rest my chin on my shoulder to read with her.

Amelia is my north. I always thought that I'd be alone for the rest of my life and I'd never fall in love again. I thought I had been scorned too hard and I'd never recover. But Amelia gives me a reason to want to go home. She gives me a reason to not make that reckless decision that comes to my mind in the field and she gives me a reason to not go out in the middle of the night and go searching for a new dealer. She gives me a reason to live and maybe it's wrong of me to rely so heavily on another person who could leave me just as easily as everyone else in my life has, but I don't care. She gives me a purpose and she's the reason I come home every day.

It's the little things she does that make me love her. I love seeing her face pop up on Garcia's video chats and I love seeing the snacks she leaves in my desk and the notes she leaves for me and how she always makes a point to clean my apartment when she's over. I've never met someone quite like her.

I didn't think I'd ever find a person to personify "north." I always thought that "north" would remain this mysterious entity that I would blindly chase after my entire life and remain following towards a life of recovery, or a life of constant relapse and pain. Or that I would just continue lying to myself and saying that my “north” was my job. But now I know that Amelia is that "north" that will always be by my side. As long as I have her, then I'll never have to chase after a nameless, faceless goal. I'll always have my north right beside me.

Amelia sniffles as she shuts the sketchbook, setting it gently on the counter. "Okay, fuck you for making me cry."

I toss my head back laugh, grabbing her waist to turn her around, taking the job of wiping her tears. "I’m sorry, love, that wasn't my intention."

"That was really sweet, dove," Amelia disregards her tears, throwing her arms around me and pressing her face into my neck. “I’m never gonna leave you, Spence. I want you to believe that. I love you so much. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I clutch her waist in my hands as if that would keep her from leaving, “sometimes, I just feel helpless and unlovable and when I feel like that, I come to you.”

“Good. You’re not unlovable. I am so insanely in love with you and you’re never, ever getting rid of me.”

“Good,” I echo, pressing my lips to her shoulder and trailing kisses up her neck. “You’re-” Amelia’s stomach growling silences me, her cheeks turning pink as she ducks her head away. “Okay, alright, the mushy love fest is over. Eat some breakfast.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggles, turning in my arms to dish out pancakes for us, “I’m just really hungry and I wasn’t gonna make anything until you woke up. But the bottom line is that I love you and I’m always gonna be in your apartment, cleaning shit you don’t want me to and annoying the hell out of you.”

“Yeah, you definitely annoy me when you leave the curtains open and I get blinded in the morning.”

Amelia turns to me with the cutest smile, holding a plate of pancakes out for me. “At least you get to wake up next to me in the morning.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I lean over the plate to give her what seems like the millionth kiss to the morning, “waking up next to you is pretty amazing.”

TAGLIST

@bxnnywriting @babybloodstonebones @blameitonthenight21 @feralreid @anepiphany @goldenalvez @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @stxrryspencer @m0rcia @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @yasminwashere @shrimpyblog @blakes-dictionxry @anamelessfacelessnerd @wonderlandhatter @whxt-to-write @inkandexchange @just-call-me-non

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds fic #dr reid #dr spencer reid #mgg #matthew gray gubler #matthew gubler

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sleepy-exe · 3 years

Text

Shapeshifter AU - 4

Iwaizumi x f!reader

<< Part 3 | Part 5 >>

Summary: Iwaizumi goes stargazing with Y/n at a park in the forest. She tries to find out what he knows. She then stays the night with him for more info, but what’s the plan? Sakusa just wants his friend to be safe.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: y/n makes bad choices, and is kind of a creep but confronts that, poor Sakusa’s driving skills get shit talked and he ain’t even here, murder mentioned (1) one time, I prob got too detailed with the car reveal, sakusa is best boy, iwa’s a total dad

Genre: sfw (for now, 18+ regardless), shapeshifter au, strangers to potential enemies to friends to lovers

a/n: I probably wrote too much about the car, but I’m a car guy (gal? person?). I hope yall like stars/stargazing. This is like borderline fluff. Also did you like Sakusa’s contact name. Cause I thought it was funnier than it actually is.

Part 4: It Can’t Hurt

Now outside the bar, the two of them headed for her car. There was only street parking when Y/n arrived earlier, so she had to walk down the street for a good 5 minutes or so to get there; all along they chatted about Ikuno. She never really came here except for the dive bar. It was only about a 15 minute drive here from work, so that was a bonus, but otherwise she had no reason to be in Ikuno.

Reaching her black Civic, the doors unlocked. She crawled into the passenger seat herself as Iwaizumi agreed to drive to the park. Being a shifter, she’s not too afraid of being in the car with a stranger. Surely she could defend herself against one guy - she’d be alone with him in the car and at the park. On the other hand, if he thinks there’s something weird up with her, such as being able to turn into a wolf, she wondered why he would even agree to tag along. Wouldn’t he be afraid of her?

Once he was in and shut the door, he was checking out the interior: black with red accents on the dash, doors, and steering wheel. In dash computer, racing style seats and petals. “When you said you drove a Civic, this isn’t what I was expecting.” He found the push start before bothering to ask for the keys.

“She’s cute, huh? ‘17 Type-R. My baby,” she went on, running a hand over the dash affectionately and giving it a little pat.

“’Cute’.. Not sure if that’s the word I’d choose.” He gave her a concerned look, “You really want a stranger driving your.. ‘baby’?”

“What are ya shit at driving?” She teased, “Please. I’m not letting you take off without me.” The memory of Sakusa learning to drive a manual in Type-R when it was new popped in her head. That was a rough day for her poor car. If this guy really knows how to drive a manual, then it can’t be any worse for it than when Sakusa is driving. She chuckled, “A friend I let drive it, I taught him to drive stick in this. He still isn’t great, but he doesn't stall it nearly as much as he used to.” She shrugs and taps on the screen in the dash, setting the GPS for the park.

“You taught your friend to drive in this?” He started the engine, put it in first gear, and pulled out of the parking spot flawlessly.

“To drive a manual,” she corrected, “He could already drive. He just only drives automatics. I tried telling him these are a lot more fun.”

The bar isn’t that far from the highway, so they were on it in no time. Driving down the highway, again he was shifting through gears smoothly. A nice change from the rough shifting she usually experiences while riding passenger. She should really get Sakusa to practice more. Not that he wants to. Deciding to text Sakusa, she pulls out her phone and sends him her GPS location for their little outing. Just to be safe. It’s not even quite 10pm yet, so he shouldn’t care. Though regardless he’d never complain about this sort of text.

More time went by as they traveled down the highway. They sat in silence, other than the engine and various street sounds. It wasn’t too awkward and Iwaizumi has yet to complain like she’s used to. If anything, he might be enjoying the ride.

With a buzz, she checks her texts. Sakusa replied and asked that she check in later so he knows she's safe. As much as she mentally shit talks his driving, she knows he’s an amazing friend and she loves him to death.

Checking his text, she was reminded of Oikawa’s text in the bar essentially asking if she were single. Though he was likely teasing and just trying to text something other than ‘hi’ or his name, but why not have fun with it.

>> To ’Oi-chan‘: “who’s asking?”

“So,” she breaks the silence, “Have you been to this park?”

“What one is it again?” He glanced at the GPS’s listed destination, “No, I haven’t been in that area. At least not that I can’t think of.”

“But you’ve been south of there then?”

He hesitated. “I haven’t been in the forest or surrounding parks. I've just been by them. I have friends that live around there and down the street is a convenience store right by the tree line that I sometimes run to if I’m over there.. But other than that, I don’t know the forest or the area for that matter.”

“I see.. It’s really beautiful out there.”

“Maybe I’ll have to go sometime when the sun’s out then. You’re a regular, right? Maybe you can show me around?”

Well. Sort of.

Not a regular at the trails and parks. Or being there during daylight hours. “I wouldn’t say regular.. I haven’t been to this park in ages.”

He had no response. Only looking out the windshield as he exited the highway. The GPS showed only 8 minutes left. The area ahead full of trees.

Y/n directed Iwaizumi where to park as the gates to the parking lot were closed. All nature parks are closed at night after all. There was even a sign stating that and warning visitors not to enter after dark, but where’s the adventure in following those warnings?

“You.. Sure we should be here?” Iwaizumi asked warily, walking alongside her in the grass. They left the car along the road, but no one should be out here this late so it’s fine.

“Like legally or..?”

“Y/n!”

She laughed and led him to an open field. The trees were far enough from this spot to give a clear view of the sky, stars twinkling, crescent moon shining. This really is the best place to stargaze. She wasn't lying about that.

“Hey! Don’t run!” He yelled as she took off for the middle of the field, giggling in response.

“I’m sure you can catch up, Mr. Athletic Trainer!”

“That’s not-“

But she wasn't listening. Instead she was slowing down as she reached the perfect spot, sitting down in the grass. Very soon he was sitting down too, a couple feet from her.

He wasn’t even in arms reach. “Okay, so what now.”

She smiles at him then looks to the sky. It can be hard to see the stars with how bright the city was, but out here was far enough away from any unnatural light source that she could pick out constellations. Well, the ones she knew anyway.

The both of them sat quietly, looking to the stars, hearing nothing but the nocturnal sounds of the woods surrounding them. Generally such spaces were incredibly calming, but with the anticipated conversation her heart was pounding. She still didn’t know anything for sure and her excuse of too many people around to ask questions, like at the bar, didn’t work here. Alone, far from anyone, in her element - what better time to find her answers.

In a low voice, still admiring the stars, she spoke, “So.. You’ve seen me ‘round before, huh?”

She peeks at him from the corner of her eye. No response, he’s only staring forward. So she continues, “Like at that bar? ..I’m not in Ikuno much, and deeper in the city can be so crowded, I doubt you would have noticed me anywhere there.” She tried not to jump straight to the point. Frightened prey always ran after all.

In a similar tone, he answers, “Maybe the bar.. Maybe we crossed paths elsewhere..”

Still looking up, though not at anything in particular, she hummed. “I think I’ve seen you before too.” She could feel his eyes on her now, but chose to not make eye contact and instead point up to a small constellation she found. She named what she thought it was aloud, pointing it out to Iwaizumi.

“Where?” He squinted at the sky, no idea which stars she was pointing to.

With a snicker she inched closer to him. Tracing a finger in the air, “Look. Right there. A few kinda go in a line and some off the side.”

He keeps staring at the sky, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Pretty sure you’re just crazy.”

The look she threw his way was comical, “No! I’m not!”

“Uh huh.. Definitely crazy.. You didn’t bring me out here to kill me, did you?” He looked back to her, serious as ever, “..‘Cause Oikawa will be so upset if I don't show up for lunch tomorrow. Seriously. He’ll whine so much, and he has your number now. He’ll absolutely call you and whine, thinking I’m ignoring him. You don't want that, right?”

She stared blankly at him. For a second there she really did think he was serious. “..Yeah. That sounds really annoying. I’d hate to have to deal with a sobbing Oikawa.” She attempted a playful tone that may or may not have failed. She followed up with a chuckle for good measure, “Guess I can’t commit murder then. That’d look bad on my record anyway. Plus, someone as pretty as me in prison? No thanks.”

He laughed and leaned back on his hands, gaze back at the sky. Tension down, she scooted closer. “There really is a constellation there, I swear.”

“Yeah. I see it.” He glanced towards her for a split second, “I was just fucking with you.”

Her jaw dropped. “Rude!”

She returned her attention to the sky, searching for any other constellation she might recognize. He even pointed one out to her, though he couldn’t remember what it was called. Unfortunately, she couldn’t either, but it was definitely a constellation. Had to be.

“..The convenient store you said your friend’s by. I think I’ve seen you there before. Maybe you recognized me from there?” Silence, but she noticed he was looking at her again. Slowly she turned her head to meet his gaze. Keeping calm, she gave him a light smile. He didn’t look all that uneasy, like she felt in her gut. She spoke with warmth, desperate to keep the conversation from getting uncomfortable, “Iwaizumi?”

The corners of his lips ticked up and mischief shined in his eyes. “What are you a stalker or something?” He laughed as she scoffed. “Fine. I've probably been there enough times. Maybe I did see you there before.”

Leaning her head back, she looked at the sky once more, but this time she wasn't searching the stars.

He doesn't seem like he’ll be a problem..

She was sitting much closer now than when they first arrived at the park. Carefully, she leaned her head on his shoulder, inhaling orange and sage and something else. She glances up to him before quickly averting her eyes to the stars one more time.

Soon both of them were walking out of the field. “I can take you home,” she offered.

Iwaizumi was trailing close to her side, heading back to the car that was left forgotten along the small paved road. Luckily, no authorities showed up. “I might take you up on that. It won't be out of the way will it?”

“If you’re in Ikuno, then that’s not too awfully far off from my drive home.” She gave him a teasing look, “Unless you would rather go to my place.. Though Ikuno is closer. Maybe I’ll just stay with you.”

He rolled his eyes and complained, “Are you really inviting yourself to my apartment?” Nudging her arm with his, and teased, “Think I wouldn’t invite you myself?”

She cocked a brow, “Oh?” Car now in sight, she heads for the driver’s door, making the car unlock. “I’ll drive.” Opening the door she added, “Just put your address in the GPS for me.”

Mini mission complete.

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “didn’t die. didn’t go home tho”

Following Iwaizumi into his apartment, Y/n kicked off her shoes by the door and hung up her coat. He had done the same and was headed for the kitchen to the right. “Hungry? Want anything?”

“Nah, thanks though.” She helped herself to the armchair in the corner across the room. His home felt warm and cozy, the sofa now to her right looked just as comfortable as the chair she’s in, coffee table mostly neat with books and a stack of papers. A soft area rug covered the center of the living room, covering a large portion of the wooden floors, the walls were a soft tan and to her surprise not completely bare. An entertainment center sat against the wall opposite of the sofa, a bookcase next to that. And there’s the large window to her left on the wall behind her. It gave that homey vibe. Looking lived in, but not a mess.

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “Do you plan on going home or are you going on one of your late night runs?”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’:“Should I stay up waiting on a I’m home text?”

Iwaizumi walked in from the kitchen with two glasses of water and placed one on the coffee table in front of her.

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “neither and no”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “go to sleep sakusa”

>> To ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “and thank you”

>> From ‘Emergency Contact (‘Kusa)’: “I want to ask but also don't want to know so goodnight Y/n. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Without spilling his water, Iwaizumi fell back on the sofa, watching as she typed away on her phone. “Letting someone know where you are?”

“Maybe,” she mumbles, setting her phone in her lap, she reached for the water.

“I mean, that’s a good habit to have if you are.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure you don't want anything to eat?”

She laughed, “Do you normally parent the people you bring home from bars?”

“I’d hardly say I brought you home when you invited yourself over and then complained about being tired halfway here,” he complained.

“Well, I appreciate that ya offered to take over and aren’t forcing me to drive home tired.” She smiled then looked around again. “Do you have a dog or anything? Anyone live with ya? ..Ah! If you don't mind me asking.”

He shook his head, “No. No pets and it's just me here.”

Finishing her water, she carefully set the glass back on the coffee table. “I’m not hungry, but don't let that stop you from eating if you are.. If you don't mind, I may clean up while ya eat.”

“Of course,” he leaned forward to set his half empty glass down and retrieved hers before standing. “I’ll show you where everything is.”

She followed him down a short hallway as he led her to a bathroom. He pointed out anything she might need and got her a towel, as well as offering her clothes to sleep in to be more comfortable. She sniffed different soaps and such while he stepped out for a moment. Returning quickly with what appeared to be a t-shirt and sweatpants. She thanked him as he left the bathroom once more.

“Oh hey,” he stopped in the doorway and pointed in the opposite direction of the living space, “My room is that way. I’m just going to sleep out here.”

“Oh no no no,” she held a hand up, “You sleep in your bed. I’m fine with taking the sofa. I’m already using your place for tonight, it's no bother.”

“I can’t let-“ With the look she shot him, she cut him off. He lifted his hands, “Okay.. I’ll be in the kitchen for now.”

And with that he was gone, door closing behind him. Flipping the lock, she turned back to the shower. Turning it on, she messed with the temperature until it was just right before stripping and getting in.

After a probably longer than necessary shower, she felt clean and now smelled of sage, orange, and black pepper. Sweeping her damp hair back and out of her face, she got into the clothes he left for her. Which admittedly didn't fit the best, but they’d work. She stared at her dirty clothes for a moment before deciding to just leave them in a neat pile in there and picked up her phone.

Stepping into the hall, she didn't hear anything. Walking around the kitchen and living room, she determined he must be in bed already. Setting her phone aside, she situated the newly found blankets and pillows on the sofa and turned off the lights after opening the curtains to let some light into the room so she could find her way around the unfamiliar space. Crawling into the blankets, she played on her phone quietly, too awake and unsure about the decision she made to stay here. She was supposed to find out what she needed and go home. And yet somehow she was in the home of the very person who kept her up all those nights ago, wondering if he had seen her and what was going to happen if he did.

But nothing has happened. And the last sighting was over a week ago.

And he’s been nice to her even though she’s been a total creep.

What’s the plan?

Part 5 >>

#shapeshifter!haikyuu #shapeshifter au #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi fanfic #wolf shifter #iwaizumi x reader #shapeshifter #iwaizumi scenarios #strangers to friends #strangers to lovers

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