Reader Imagines

Tugging it over his head, he padded into the living room, where he could already see your form where you danced around the kitchen, entirely unaware of his approach. He’d been trying to teach you self defence, said you needed to learn to have a sixth sense when it came to people on your tail, because he had a tendency to worry about you more than Steven and Jake did. But maybe it was the fact he had naturally light footsteps, or maybe it was the fact you knew in the comfort of your home he would always be there to protect you, either way your guard was entirely down by the time he swooped behind you, grabbing you in a warm, soft hug, pressing kisses down the side of your bare neck and onto your shoulder. 

“Morning,” His voice was muddied with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping to take some of the husk out of it despite the fact you whirled around to look at him with something that told him just what you thought of his rumbling voice. 

“Morning, honey,” You said, pressing a small kiss to his lips, your hand still on the frying pan that he now realised had been filled with mini-chocolate pancakes, the batter sizzling and cracking in the oil, “You hungry?” 

Marc wasn’t really listening as he gave a ‘mhm’, too busy burying his nose in the crook of your neck and jaw, kissing lazily there as he tightened his grip on your waist. 

His gaze fell on the counter after a moment, the blueberry porridge Steven went crazy for already dished up in the little purple bowl you’d painted for him for their birthday, whirled of steam coming off the breakfast that was slowly turning a cornflour colour with the chopped fruit swirling in the centre. 

“Sorry, baby, I think Steven’s still sleeping, I can try ask him-” He started as you used a spatula to quickly flip the pancakes, their underside a golden brown that made his mouth water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sure who was joining me for breakfast, or if all of you wanted something, so I made a bit of everything,” You said, smiling at him as you turned the gas down and spun in his arms, batting your eyes at him with an innocent smile, “Chocolate pancakes for you, blueberry oatmeal for Steven and a black coffee for Jake since I know you guys got mad last time we had bacon together,”

“What a woman,” Jake’s voice was a growl of appreciation that Marc couldn’t help but agree with, and he was quick to lean in to steal a handful of long kisses, grabbing the soft plush of your hips with feather light fingers and pulling you towards him, “Ay, Romeo, your pancakes are burning.”

You sprung away from him like you’d heard the alter yourself, your eyes wide in surprise, “Your pancakes are burning!” 

He heard Jake chuckle and a smile made it’s way onto his face as you fretted over whether the brown was where the chocolate had melted or if the mix had singed, but Marc thought he might just eat anything you gave him because you poured so much love and affection into it he couldn't help but think it tasted divine. 

“Marc, I’m sorry, I know we have the no hogging the body rule and I got to have her all last night, but please let me have just a few bites- o-or atleast ask her to save it for me, that stuff smells delicious,” Steven seemed to be wide awake and kicking at the sight of food, and Marc sighed, reaching out with one hand to swoop your hair off your neck as he kissed the very top of your spine. 

“Steven asks if we could save him the blueberry oatmeal since it’s my turn to spend time with you,” He said gently, and he feels you smile before he sees it, the way your cheeks crinkle and pull tightly. 

“Of course I can, baby, I’ll put it in the fridge,” You said, despite the fact the man was inside the body, scooping the little circular goods onto two plates for both of you. Turning to set the plates on the table, Marc grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet, opening the fridge door with a rattle as the magnets clasped pictures of the two of you to the cooler. 

“Orange or apple juice?” He asked, pulling the former out of the side drawer for himself. 

“Orange, please,” You replied politely, grabbing some cutlery out and laying it beside his plate. 

The two of you sat down finally, Marc sliding the filled glass over to your half of the dinner table and allowing himself to just watch as you picked up your knife and fork, digging into the chocolatey breakfast before it went cold. 

He never deserved any of this, the light touches and the breakfasts and the devotion and the way you put him on a pedestal. But sitting in the slow hum of the radio, the most obscure top hundreds playlist he thinks you could have chosen, he bit into his pancake, his tongue exploding with sugary yumminess, as you told him the weird dream you’d had about him becoming some kind of half horse, centaur type man and how you wondered if he would wear jeans on the front legs, the back legs, or if you would have to have custom, four legged bottoms made for him. 

It was not lost on you that many other people - not just women - also desired him. Which led to some downright hilarious instances.

“It's not funny, Y/N.” He pouted, that adorable furrow in his brow coming back and finding it's perfect place on his face as you stared up at him. You knew the expression you were showing him was a little bit dreamy, head in both hands as you gazed admiringly up at him, but you simply didn't care what kind of company you were in.

“Spencer, you were propositioned by 11 prostitutes.”

“I'm sure they were just teasing, Y/N. I'm awkward, I stand out like a sore thumb, I'm not buff or hot, I'm-”

“A complete and total liar!” You stood, gasping and grasping non existent pearls, playing up your disbelief. He cracked a smile and you paused briefly to send up a prayer to God, thanking them for putting a real angel on Earth.

“Spencer, you may be a little bit nerdy, and you absolutely do not know when to shut up. Your hair may always looks like your mom did it for school picture day, and your fashion sense is questionable to out it kindly-”

“Is there a but? I need there to be a but or I'll cry myself to sleep.”

“But those things are incredibly endearing. And did I mention you're really hot? It's like you're all members of the Scooby Doo cast rolled into one body and somehow that really works for me.” To punctuate your words, you took a step closer, letting your hand play with his tie as you slowly encouraged him to take a small step towards you as well, until you weren't sure where the heat that warmed you was coming from.

It could've been rolling off of him, or you, or it could've been a fire burning between you, as you fixed his tie and ran a hand through his hair.

“I'm not joking with you, Spencer. I love watching everyone appreciate your beauty and your intellect. Frankly, it turns me on.”

“Okay. I'll remember that, thank you.”

“Turns on the prostitutes, too.”

“Y/N! They're just trying to make a living, if you'd have been out there canvassing they'd have tried it with you too.” You had to giggle a bit at his loom of exasperation, flas to see that it was tainted with an uncontrollable smile, a small lifting at the corners of his mouth that he couldn't combat.

“Spencer Reid, Hotch told me that one of the girls offered you $100 for a ride.”

“That's not exactly cheap or a discount, Y/N, the going rate for a working girl in the area is-”

“Spencer. She was offering you money.” His brows knitted again and then his eyes widened in realisation.

“Oh. Oh, she did look very disappointed now that I think about it.” You pressed your hand to your mouth to suppress the small pleasurable giggles from slipping out and composed yourself, before slipping your arms around his waist.

Inej chooses to respond to you instead of retreating back to the Slat to tell Kaz his latest fear campaign has worked, unlike how she’d treat anyone else. Although she wasn’t visible in the room, the second you speak aloud to the seeming emptiness, Inej appears in a flash of dark fabric, crouched on your window ledge, and says, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You frown at her. “I am not being ridiculous. I think he actually means it this time.”

Inej rolls her eyes, slipping into your room through the window you’re pretty sure was locked from the inside when you were last here. “That’s just his usual friendly demeanor. You’ve known him even longer than I have, Y/N, you can’t possibly think that he means you any harm.” 

You grimace. “See, that’s what I thought too. I mean, I met Kaz when we were both kids, I’ve kind of taken our friendship for granted. He’s never so much as stubbed my toe with his cane.”

Inej frowns. “So what changed?”

“It’s happened a few times now,” you admit. “He keeps saying stuff about how something with me has got to change, and if I don’t get around to it, he’ll fix the problem I’ve created. He wasn’t joking, Inej. Whatever I’ve done, he’s not inclined to back down until he gets it sorted out, and you know how Kaz likes to solve his problems.”

Inej winces. “Kaz threatens a lot of people. You can’t take it too much to heart.”

“If you were there, you would know,” you grumble. “He seemed, like, genuinely unhappy. He said that my problem was starting to cast a pall on his reputation. He said I was making it his concern. Usually, he trusts me to sort out my issues, but this– this was different.”

Inej must be able to sense your genuine concern, because her expression softens and she walks forward, placing a soft hand on your shoulder. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. Kaz has a lot on his plate. You’re his best friend, Y/N, or so Kaz would say if he would let himself rely on anyone. He doesn’t want you dead.”

You lean into her palm. Just like always, it brings comfort like nothing else. Just like always, you can’t help but chase the warmth of her touch, wishing for more that you may never receive. Not as a friend. Not just this. “You’re his best friend, too. Have you heard anything?”

Inej shakes her head. “Not a word. I can ask, though. Discreetly, of course.”

You smile. “Of course. I trust your secret ways, you know that.”

Inej laughs, and pulls away after a heartbeat, although her eyes follow the place her hand had been for a while longer. “I think I’ll talk to him now. I don’t want you worrying for no reason.”

You let out a grateful sigh. “Thank you, Inej. I mean it.”

She flashes you a grin as she heads back towards the window. “Anytime, Y/N. One more question, though,” she adds, perched halfway in your room and halfway in the open air of the Kerch streets, “How did you know I was here? When you first said you thought Kaz was going to kill you, I mean, how’d you know I would hear it? I didn’t make a sound.”

You lift a shoulder. “I just did.”

Inej frowns crossly. “I need to know so I can improve my skills. What gave it away?”

You grin. “Maybe I didn’t know. Maybe I was just talking to myself.”

Inej scoffs. “You don’t do that.”

She says it with absolute certainty, the product of enough time spent watching from the shadows. “What if I knew when you were watching so I only talked to empty rooms when I knew you weren’t around?” You ask, laughing.

“That still brings us back to the subject of how you always know when I’m there,” Inej points out.

You wave a hand vaguely around. “I don’t know. Honestly. I just feel it, I guess.”

Inej considers this, still crouched on the window ledge, her heels over empty air, her knuckles brushing the cracking paint. You walk closer so you can get a better look at her. The midnight moonlight clings to her hair, her skin; it’s not just you who doesn’t want to let her go, or so it seems. Inej smiles at you, fond, and then she’s gone, disappearing into the empty night air. You surge to the window, but even after sticking your head out and looking around, you can’t spot one flicker of movement. She has simply vanished, as if from the very country itself.

You don’t know that you could respond any better to Inej’s question even if you were ready for it. You never have been able to put a proper name to the sensation you get whenever Inej is nearby. Some could call it infatuation, others could refer to it as a good friendship, but it’s more than that. Inej is the person you look to first in a firefight. Inej is the one you want to see when you have the day off, when you’re finally safe from a dangerous job. It’s her. Always has been.

You started looking for her in earnest the day you realized that the feelings you had for her were more than just platonic. After that, it was easy. Inej is not so pedestrian as to reveal herself in a shower of loose roof tiles, nor a kicked pebble on the street, but she is still human. If you really try, you can hear her in the quiet of perfect stillness. The brush of cloth against cloth. One held breath. Even secrecy makes noise, and you’ve memorized every way to tell it’s her when a shadow lingers nearby.

You don’t get a response until the next morning. You’re idling on the cobblestoned streets, pretending to wait for a friend but really watching the flow of pigeons from the Dime Lions’ club to the Dregs’. You tuck your face into your hand to hide a yawn, and when you look back up, blinking against the crisp wind, Inej is by your side, leaning against the railing of a bridge just a step or two away. 

“‘Morning, Inej,” you greet her. “Sleep well?”

She smiles, closing her eyes so she can tilt her head back and bask in the meager few rays of morning sun that have managed to break through the dense clouds that usually block out Ketterdam sunrises. “You know,” she says absentmindedly, “I really do like that about you. Everyone else just demands information whenever I show up. You say hello.”

You feel the corners of your lips flicker up in a traitorous smile despite your best attempts not to respond to the compliment. “Is it terrible if I ask for information on your conversation with Kaz now, then?”

Inej laughs, shaking her head. “No, that's why I’m here. I think you’re right to be scared, by the way.”

You freeze slightly. “You actually think he’s going to kill me? Inej, I thought you were here to reassure me that everything was fine, not confirm my fears.”

Inej ponders this. “I don’t think he’s actually going to kill you. Just shake you up a little, maybe. I think he was more mischievous than genuinely threatening.”

This doesn’t make you feel any better. “Kaz’s idea of a fun parlor joke is stabbing someone through the hand. I’m going to need a little more evidence of his support of me before I sleep well at night again, thank you very much.”

Inej shrugs. “I think it’s very unreasonable for you to want to feel safe around Kaz Brekker, but everyone has to have their dreams, I suppose. If you want an indication of his favor, though, he’s assigned both of us to a job.”

This does grab your attention. Kaz would only trust you with Inej on a job if he really believed in you. Of course, he could be sending Inej to kill you, but you don’t think she’d do that. Inej would never hurt you. She’s pledged that before, and you made the same promise to her. 

We all come to the Barrel for terrible, terrible reasons, and sometimes those reasons make themselves known in long and awful nightmares. Sometimes, when you wake up screaming, you need a friend who will never hurt you. Someone you can trust unconditionally. Sometimes, when one girl wakes up in a haze of bad memories, tears hot on her face, she needs another girl to hold her until the shaking stops. A girl to promise that there will be someone else in the world who will watch after her, who will keep the endless fears at bay. It was you for Inej, and it was Inej for you.

So no, then– if Inej was asked to hurt a hair on your head, she would not only refuse but protect you from other would-be assassins. The only answer is to then trust that this mission of Kaz’s is not designed to hurt either of you.

“Alright,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, “What does he want from us?”

He doesn’t provide you with an awful lot of information, that Dirtyhands. Inej tells you an address, a room, an object, and a time. You both head to your destination. There isn’t much security at all, hardly any passersby, so you’re able to slip in without difficulty. Once inside the designated room, you notice that there’s not much inside, just some simple furniture and a note on the desk.

The note you read with increasing indignance. Inej, who has been scouting out the room’s perimeter, glances over at you with concern when you fling the paper back against the desk. “What is it?”

“This is a trap,” you tell her, furious, “And it’s all Kaz’s doing.”

Inej furrows her brow, then softly pads across the room to pick up the note and read it herself. You can tell from the swiftly changing expression on her face alone what she’s discovering, having practically committed the note to memory yourself.

Dear Y/N and Inej,

I have had enough. Both of you have something that you need to tell each other. I have grown tired of both of you tiptoeing around it, so you won’t be leaving until I hear you say it.

K.B.

Both you and Inej turn in unison to stare at the door, but before either of you can start towards it, you hear the door lock with an audible click. You glance towards the window, but Inej shakes her head. “Locked from the outside. He must have specifically chosen this room and secured it beforehand so none of us can get out. It’s basically a holding cell.”

You yell some choice insults at Dirtyhands in general, but you only hear a soft, low laugh from behind the door, which is incredibly frustrating. You pivot slowly back to Inej, who is swaying slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Well,” you say as casually as you can, “I guess we have to say something to each other, then. That’s it, though, and then we can leave.”

“Yes,” Inej says evenly. “But what to say?”

You have a terrible feeling building in the pit of your stomach, something telling you that you know exactly what Kaz wants you to say to Inej. It might have something to do with the feelings you keep burying whenever she’s around, but the note said that both of you had to say this thing, and there’s no way that Inej could ever– she wouldn’t feel the same way, no. It must be something else, then.

“Any idea what Kaz would want from us? You’re pretty up to date on his motives,” you mention cautiously.

Inej looks studiously at the ground. “You’ve known him for longer. Maybe you would have a better guess than me.”

The floor receives your stare as well. It’s easier than looking her in the eyes. Easier than trying to make a guess as to whether or not she could possibly love you. Inej takes to prodding the door and window for possible gives, even attempting to see if the ceiling could be pushed aside to make room for escape, but no luck.

You plead weakly with her as she attempts to unscrew the hinges of the door with one of her knives. “Is whatever he wants you to say to me really that bad that you would go to all this trouble to avoid it?”

Inej stills, her hand still on the frame of the door. “You have no idea what he wants me to say.”

“But you do,” you counter, “Don’t you?”

“It’s about you,” she whispers. “It could be terrible.”

“If it’s you,” you tell her, “It could never be terrible.”

Slowly, carefully, Inej turns to look at you. Her eyes are wide and haunted. It occurs to you that maybe you were wrong, maybe she is here to kill you in some sort of way. She could hurt you without ever drawing blood. It would be easy at a time like this, with your entire body thrumming in the wild, desperate hope that the secret Inej must share is something that you have to tell her as well.

Her voice is quiet, barely even a sigh, when she speaks at last. “He knew that I love you.”

It is strange, how even with your mad hopes and prayers, you’re still absolutely consumed by the knowledge that Inej Ghafa loves you when it is finally confirmed aloud. You go completely quiet, mind racing with this incredible knowledge. Inej owes nothing to the world. She defies gravity, she defies nations. She gives nothing if she can take it, but Inej– Inej has given you her heart, free of charge, and it is the most lavish and lovely gift you could ever hope to own.

Whatever reaction Inej was hoping for, she must not find it in your awestruck face, because she abruptly turns to the door and knocks on it loudly. “I told her,” she says crossly, although you swear you detect a little bit of fear undercutting her words, “Now let me out.”

“Not yet,” you plead with her. “He can’t let you go yet. Not until I tell you that I love you, too.”

This time, Inej doesn’t turn slowly. Instead, it’s as if she’s crossed from the door to you in half a second. “Really?”

Inej never doubts herself, nor the information she gathers. Still, the look of pure joy on her face when you repeat your feelings makes her ask again, and again. You have no problem answering her. For once, you are not afraid.

The door clicks open. You glance towards it. “Footsteps on the landing.”

Inej lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Let him go. It would be sporting to give him a head start before we chase him down for pulling a stunt like this.”

You grin in response. “Still, I suppose we shouldn’t be too devastating in our wrath. Who knows how long we would have kept this a secret.”

Inej tilts her head to the side, considering this. “I don’t know. I’m rather good at finding out secrets.”

You arch a brow. “Is that so? How long do you think I’ve loved you, then?”

Inej beams. “Tell me.”

You impulsively reach out a hand, smoothing back a dark lock of hair from her face. “Since the very start.”

This is only the first of many such secrets. Inej has yet to learn just what made you love her, or where you were when you figured it out, or even perhaps how you learned to tell when she’s trying to sneak up on you. Until then, however, you have no doubt that she’ll commit herself to figuring out every intricacy that makes up the girl she loves. You. Until then, you welcome the challenge.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen

He gives you a quick but loving embrace and a soft kiss. It's swift, because he doesn't want to violate the pda workplace rules or anything.

"Hi, handsome," you greet him again, smiling big, "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too, sweetheart, so ridiculously much," Spencer tells you as he ushers you towards his desk.

He notices the heavier looking bag in your hand, takes both bags instantly from your hands, and raises his brows in question at you. "Did you pack a lunch for a whole army?"

You chuckle, because by the weight of the bag you definitely could have fed a whole armada. Spencer chuckles in return, putting both of the bags on his desks.

You give a still slightly shy nod to all the team members that are currently in the bullpen. Meaning Derek, Emily and JJ.

"I just brought you a lil something," you say sheepishly, pointing at the heavy bag. Spencer eyes the bag with suspicious face while you sit in Spencer's chair, innocent smile on your face.

He opens it, and instantly gasps. "No way. No fucking way, " he beams at you. Eyes sparkling like some kid's in a sweets shop.

Spencer reaches into the bag, and pulls out not one, not two, not even three, but four chunky books. The thickest of them is a book that Spencer's been trying to get for a while now. It sold out everywhere, and by some miracle, you found it in your favourite antique book shop.

"How did you get this? Oh my god," Spencer questions happily, leaning down towards you to peck your lips again.

"It's a secret," you beam back at him. Just happy to see him happy. Spencer drops the book, and goes to hug the life out of you, deciding that the kiss wasn't enough. Squeezing you oh so tightly.

"Spencer, you're gonna break my bones," you chuckle as he finally let's you breath again.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Thank you, I love this so much. I can't wait to get home to read this," Spencer tells you, his eyes softening.

"We can have a reading night then. 'Cause I bought myself one book too........" you start to tell Spencer as you make yourself comfortable at his desk, while he unpacks his lunch.

From a few desks away, Derek murmurs to the girls, JJ and Emily, in amusement, "there's two of them now."

"Maybe we are just seeing double?" Emily jokes. Though she finds you two adorable.

"Remind me to never accept their invitation to a fun night at their place." Derek deadpans, and the girls laugh.

The lights are buzzing.

It’s hard to ignore. The policeman/detective/whoever he is who’s filling the team in on the case smacks his lips in between sentences. This is equally hard to ignore.

The tag on your neck has moved up from a small itch to what feels like a small stab everytime you move your head.

The muscles in your neck jump and twitch in the urge to shake— to firmly overcompensate for the feeling, to establish equilibrium.

But you know where that goes. One shake becomes two, and then everyone’s looking at the FBI agent having “some sort of fit”. You squeeze your hand until your nails dig scarlet crescents into your palms and focus on the pain instead.

But it doesn’t work. The lights are still buzzing, and the guy has stopped talking but now everyone else is talking and it’s louder and all the conversations sound like the same volume, all digging sharp claws into your brain, right under your scalp.

Your entire body itches— absolutely writhes with the feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong, too much.

Your hands twitch and jerk at your sides. You’re to focused on stopping the rest of your body to stop them and it hits you all at once that you have to get out.

But you don’t know where you are in this precinct and you don’t know where to go to find quiet and not the bathrooms because what if someone flushes the toilet and did you bring your earbuds you can’t remember it’s loud and you have to get away—

A tall figure steps in front of you, effectively cutting off your field of vision save for a specific pattern of dark maroon gingham. It’s a button down, and a black tie, and a grey suit jacket.

Your skin itches marginally less now that you can’t see anything, and then large, careful hands slot in place over your ears, applying pressure just shy of hurting.

With the sound gone, or at least muffled, your lungs don’t feel quite as constricted, and your body feels less like an open, raw nerve.

You suck in a careful breath, and then another, and then another until you think you can probably pass for normal now.

You tap Spencer’s arm once, and slowly, as to not shock your rattled brain, takes his hands away from your ears.

“I have your earbuds. Do you want to go to their secondary briefing room? It’s nice. I scoped it out.”

He leans down when he says it, eyes searching your face but not making eye contact. He’s mentally cataloging your expressions to see if you’re still upset. You’re familiar with this process by now.

“Yeah,” You force the words out of your mouth like pulling teeth and he frowns a little. He always knows when you overcompensate.

He takes your right hand in his, squeezing intermittently to keep your focus on him and leads you through the precinct, expression and body language stating very clearly:

Stay away.

You stare at your shoes the entire time he leads you to the briefing room, skin prickling at the idea of how many people saw your not-well-concealed freakout.

You should’ve found this room faster, so you could’ve been alone and no one would have seen—

“Stop beating yourself up.”

You snap your head up to glare at him. “Stop profiling me.”

He’s standing next to you, still not trying to make eye contact, though your hand remains firmly in his.

He shakes his head, then reaches into his pocket and produces a pair of earbuds.

Emphasis on a pair, not your pair.

You stare at where they lie innocently in the palm of his hands. “Those aren’t mine. Mine have a chip right there from when I dropped them getting out of the car.”

“I saw a pair when I was out the other day so I got them. So you’d have a backup. They’re the exact same make and model.”

You blink, unable to tear your eyes away from them.

He bought them. For you. Because sometimes you forget your earbuds and can’t get to them in time. Because he knows you prefer earbuds bc they’re more casual and subtle than noise cancelling headphones. He bought them.

He pushes them towards you again, and you give in, because who can say no to that? It’s easy from then to plug them into your phone and start up the playlist of music you have saved for these specific situations.

He steers you to one of the tables in the back, turning the lights off as he goes, and tucks you both, side by side, into the two chairs in the furthest, quietest corner.

His hand never leaves yours.

Eddie stopped in his tracks, standing in the hallway as his excitement instantly vanished, shoulders drooping an inch when he set his sight on his locker.

‘FREAK.’ Painted in bold red letters, surrounded by various satanic symbols.

He could hear the bolstering laughs of Jason and his crew a mile away. He could feel the stares around him- some amused, some anxious as they awaited his response.

Eddie clenched his jaw at the sight, his lips set in a tight grimace, umber eyes ablaze with fury. He was used to this sort of stuff for as long as he could remember, but he wouldn’t deny that he was tired of the snide remarks, the glares and the whispers behind his back that continued well into his third senior year. All the more reason to use it against them, right?

He forced the lump in his throat down before it could get any bigger and closed his eyes for a split second, forcing his mind to flood with the thoughts of the boys navigating through his excellent campaign in Ravenloft. Boy, they're gonna be pissed when they find their way blocked by the Boneless in the end.

Eddie was only stood there for half a minute, but his thoughts was enough for a cheeky smile to grow, the usual twinkle of mischief returning to his eyes as he paid the hurtful graffiti no paid, humming under his breath while he opened his locker to shift for the old marker he knew he threw in there. Letting out a small exclamation of triumph, Eddie closed his locker, his tongue poking out in between his lips as he got to work. He casually threw the marker over his shoulder before making his way to the cafeteria, smirking at the bewildered stares of everyone around him.

“Did he just add devil horns to that?”

The campaign was going to be a major hit. Well, it will be once he can find the damn dice.

Eddie rummaged through his papers and the set-up on the table, letting out a string of curses under his breath at the lack of dice. He stood straight, with his hands on his hips, letting out a defeated sigh. He would have to go all the way to his van, meaning that he will inevitably pass his locker. Fuck it.

He wasn't going to let those mouth-breathers ruin the adventure he spent three weeks building.

Back in the empty hallway, Eddie rounded the corner to find himself once again freezing in his tracks at the sight of his locker, his eyebrows rising in surprise. There you stood, furiously scrubbing at the red marking with a wet rag.

Eddie quickly shrank back into the shadows of the hallway when you turned to replace the now pink and rumpled rag with a fresh wet cloth, hiding in the corner he just turned from. You continued to mop up the graffiti, brows knitted together in focus as the music played through the headphones connected to your Walkman.

Eddie scratched the back of his neck, head cocked to one side as he watched you, his eyes quizzically moving back and forth over your form. He couldn’t figure out your angle– were you cleaning up his locker as a form of punishment or was it so you had enough room to vandalize his locker even more?

He remembered you from back when he was a junior—you were a grade below him, just starting out in the art club as the artist delegated to designing the logo for each school club, even the slogan for the school newspaper. He had designed a new insignia for the Hellfire Club- the very one he printed on the t-shirts- and approached you for the official design. The interactions he had with you were limited but the design looked way more skilled than his rough drawing—the details and colours blew his mind. He never got a chance to thank you, barely seeing you for the rest of the school year. Until now.

You continued to mop the paint until you could barely see what was on there. You then reached into your rucksack, letting out a small huff in triumph when you found your spray can, the beige colour not quite matching the colour of the lockers, but it was close enough to cover the faded red drawings.

Stepping back, you relaxed your shoulders when you finished, the locker looking good as new- no trace of the stupid drawings in sight. You wiped your hands over your jeans, a small smile lingering on your lips. You couldn’t stop the jocks from being assholes, but you could undo their work.

You shoved your belongings back into your rucksack, taking hurried steps out of the building, unaware of chocolate brown eyes lingering on your retreating form. Eddie retreated from his hiding spot and towards his locker, letting out a small huff in disbelief as a shaky smile slowly formed at your work.

You never liked spending time in the cafeteria. It was too crowded for your liking and the noises clouding your head, every sound like a microphone on full blast. You preferred the quiet; it gave you the peace you needed to work on your sketches without the paranoia of people staring and judging you.

So here you were, currently sitting in the hallway, your back to your locker as you worked on your latest piece, your head bobbing along to your favourite song playing on your Walkman. The music was loud enough to drown out the echoes of any background noise.

The click of the Walkman soon played, signalling the end of the song. As you turned to find another cassette tape in your bag, a pair of scuffed Reeboks entered your line of view. Glancing up, your eyes widened when you saw Eddie standing a few steps away from you.

“Hey,” his smile was kind, so bright it drowned out the sun.

“Hey,” you replied, nervously lifting the headphones to rest around your neck.

“You mind?” Eddie asked, gesturing to the space besides you.

You nodded, shifting towards the side as Eddie sat beside you, leaving a small gap in between, but still close enough you could feel the warmth radiating from him.

“Y/N, right? I gave you my Hellfire sketch last year.”

“Ye-yeah. I remember,” you replied, biting your lip. You were surprised he remembered you; it had been years since you met . “It looked pretty cool.”

“Pssht, it was nothing compared to your brilliant design,” he shot you a small smile.

You smiled bashfully, looking down to avoid his gaze. You felt a jolt in the pit of your stomach, the butterflies flying haywire. Little did you know, the same thing was happening to Eddie, lips parted into an affectionate smile, fidgeting with his hands as a pang of butterflies hit him.

He tore his gaze away from you, his eyes focusing on the pencil you twirled in your free hand, your sketchbook half open in your lap. “You working on anything now?”

 “Oh, um..” you hesitated, clutching your sketchbook hard in your grasp. You never showed anyone your personal drawings. It felt private to show your own art, classed as a separate hobby from what everyone else requested. What if they hated it?

Sensing your hesitation, Eddie let out a chuckle, holding up his hands briefly. “You don’t owe me anything,” he offered.

You shakily let out the breath you were holding in. You looked at him with fond eyes, grateful for his compromise. Leaning your head back on the wall, you continued to stare, observing him-- Eddie really was beautiful. His wild mane of soft tousled curls hid his face, often sticking to his strong jawline, but up close you could see his enchanting round eyes, framed by his dark lashes that brushed his cheeks as he looked down at his hands, adorned by the chunky, silver rings he never took off. He was so much better than half the guys in school; his beauty emphasised in his kindness, his humour.

Eddie continued to fidget with his hands, oblivious to your gawking. “I, uh, I actually wanted to say thanks. For cleaning my- for cleaning all that up last night,” gesturing at his locker.

Your mouth parted slightly, sitting up straighter. You didn’t know he saw that, having waited until you were sure the hallways were cleared after school to clean up the horrible graffiti.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he continued.

“Yes I did. You didn’t deserve any of that.” Shouting at him in the hallways was one thing, but this was a step too far. It irked you how everyone was against Eddie, carrying on with their hounding, yet you found yourself admiring him over the years for never retaliating against their cruelty.

Eddie ducked his head in gratitude, growing silent. You bit your lip, your eyes flitting down back to your sketchbook. Glancing back to Eddie, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself. If Eddie could be brave every day in this hellhole, you could at least bite the bullet and be brave yourself.

You opened your sketchbook, flicking through the pages until you reached the first page before you nervously handed the book over, catching Eddie’s attention as he looked at the book, and then at you with questioning eyes. You lifted the object before him with a small smile, watching nervously as Eddie took the sketchbook from you, thumbing through the pages.

Eddie was impressed beyond words. All of your drawings were incredibly detailed, complemented by the lifelike shading. Eddie chuckled when he turned the page, his fingers lightly tracing your tracing of Hawkins High, his smile reaching his eyes at the depiction of Principals Higgins as a gargoyle.

 “I love it,” he beamed. “If this was mine, I’d have it framed.”

“Here,” you ripped the page out carefully, handing the sketch to him without a second thought.

Eddie’s eyes widened, glancing from the sketch in your hand to your kind eyes. “Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“I insist.”

Entranced by your smile, he slowly took the sketch from you, inkling his head in thanks. Before Eddie could continue, he was cut off by the bell ringing, causing you both to briefly look up at the ceiling. You sighed, shoulders deflating as Eddie quickly stood up, clearing his throat as he took care not to crush the paper in his hands.

“I should uh- should check on the other sheep,” Eddie uttered, taking a few steps backward as you packed up your belongings. “So, I’ll see you around?” Eddie asked nervously, biting his lip.

You looked up, your eyes scanning over Eddie as he shifted his weight from one leg to another. He was nervous; he didn’t want this to be the last time you spoke. He already missed his shot once, he wasn’t going to let it get away this time.

You broke out in a smile, immediately nodding. “I’ll be here.”

Wylan Van Eck. A living sunbeam. Jesper often teased him, shouting ‘Hey, Van Sunshine! Come over here!” across the room. Sometimes he did it at the Crow Club and Wylan would get a soft blush across his cheeks as he made his way to the bar where Jesper stood. The rest of the crows found it sweet and Wylan often mumbled under his breath how he would set off a bomb to kill them all some day. Jesper would laugh, throw an arm around his shoulders and snicker about how he would never do that and Wylan would just roll his eyes but smile.

His friends were the most treasured thing in his whole would. He loved his friends. His first and only friends. A criminal gang in Ketterdam who robbed merchants, people like his father. These people who Wylan trusted with his life was a group of traumatised, young criminals. A boy who grew up at a beautiful farm, with a brother and a father, taking care of animals and playing around. He got that life ripped from him and ended up on the streets of Ketterdam as a broken and lonley boy. A girl who got sold to the menagerie and had learnt to stitch herself up because no one cared enough about her to do it for her. A zemini-born sharpshooter with a severe gambling addiction and a charming smile. A fjerdan drüskelle who had left his county and “betrayed” his people. And two lost Grisha from the little palace. A heartrender who fell in love with the “slaver” who captured her. And a healer with a bigger heart than all of Ketterdam but who still was fierce and alert.

A odd gang actually. But Wylan loved them all. He loved Nina’s home made waffles. He loved when Matthias helped him reach things from the highest cabinets. He loved Inej’s scarfs that she would silently wrap around him when she noticed he got cold. He loved Jesper’s soft kisses across his cheeks and to be held in his warm embrace. He loved Kaz’s silent gazes to check if he was alright and his quiet ways to care. He loved Y/N’s warm, caring touches, just telling him she was there for him if he needed anything. And tonight, he needed her more than ever.

-

Nightmares haunted him in his sleep. Not necessarily scary ones, just nightmares that reminded him of the past he so desperately tried to forget. And tonight, no matter what he did, they didn’t seem to go away.

It was in the middle of the night. Everyone at the slat was asleep. Jesper and Kaz were out on a heist, which didn’t really settle his nerves either. So after he’d waken up the third time he tiptoed out in the corridor and up to your room.

You awoke to soft knocks on your door. A soft “come in” told Wylan that he was welcome. He stepped inside and closed the door carefully behind him. He paused before silently walking over to the bed. You sat up against the headboard and reached out to take his hand in yours.

“Hey, Wy, it alright. Talk to me. What’s on your mind,” you mumbled and softly stroke a finger over his knuckles. His hand squeezed yours in appreciation.

“Just, a lot. Everything and nothing,” he carefully explained and sat down beside you on the bed. You wrapped your arm around his shoulders and he rested his head in the crook of your neck. “I’m worried about Jes,” he continued. “And Kaz.” He breathed out. You nodded slowly, letting him take his time. “And I’m having those nightmares again.” That’s when he broke. Hot tears fell from his eyes and he fell into your embrace. He felt so weak. How could he let so little break him down? How could he come to you in the middle of the night with his silly problems? Like you read his mind you softly reassured him.

“It’s okay, it’s alright. You’re alright. Jesper’s alright. Kaz is alright,” you quietly told him through his sobs. “You’re not a bother and you know you can come to me anytime you want or need, okay? It’s fine.” Wylan shakily nodded and pulled away slightly.

“Thank you. I feel so weak, how can I let so little get to me and let it break me down?”

“You’re not weak, Wylan. It’s not little. Everything weight different to everyone. What may not be much for anyone else may be much for you. And neither is right. You’re strong Wy. Never think anything less.”

Wylan nodded, thankful for you and your reassuring words. You squeezed him a bit tighter in the hug and Wylan relaxed against you, feeling his eye lids starting to feel heavy.

The soft, rhythmic sound of a cane was heard from outside your door and you shook Wylan slightly. He hummed in response.

As much as you hating waking up early, early mornings with Jesper were something you always savoured no matter the time. It hadn't been that way at first, but that was before Jesper had won your heart.

-

You would lay awake staring at the ceiling, fuming at the loud noises coming from the room next to yours in the slat. You had no idea what Jesper could possibly be doing to make as much noise as he was but you were at your limit with the boy. You'd stood up too fast for sure, vision going blurry as you made your way to the door and across to Jesper's room. One harsh knock after another you slammed your fist to his door making close to enough noise to wake up the entire slat.

It was dark, only a few candles lighting the hall, but your eyes still had a hard time adjusting to the change in luminosity. When the door opened you came face to face with Jesper, brow furrowed with a slight smile on his lips. Shockingly cute, not that you would fall to his looks.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?"

You simply scowled at him, watching his smile fade as something near confusion consumed him.

"For some reason I'm getting the impression this isn't a pleasurable visit" He tried for a smile but it was more of an awkward half-grin as if afraid you would smack the smirk off his face the second it grew too wide.

"Can you quit being so loud?"

Clearly bothered, your words brought a bit of spark back to Jesper as he fell into mock offense "Who me? Loud? Never".

Placing a hand over his heart in fake innocence he looked at you with puppy dog eyes that you wished you could ignore. You never had much of a problem with Jesper, you enjoyed his company most of the time whilst on jobs, but now he was getting on your nerves. In the end you knew you couldn't win with him, his cheerfulness at odd hours of the morning was something you couldn't understand and you doubted that you ever would. Giving up you sent him one last glare.

"Just shut up"

-

You look back at those times now wondering how you could ever think of Jesper as an annoyance. Sure he was still an early riser, loud and boisterous, but you'd grown to love that about him. And now you often found Jesper would try not to wake you. Opening your eyes you could sometimes see him in the darkness sneaking about as quiet as could be, trying his very best not to disturb you. And when he realized he had unintentionally, he would apologize profusely unlike the times before your relationship. But thinking back to those times you understood that was all for a reason.

-

There was something about Jesper's odd loudness from out of the blue that you couldn't understand. You knew he would wake early but he had never been this loud before, and the night after your first confrontation with him he just seemed to get louder. Getting out of bed, frustrated once more after rolling over a thousand times trying to block out the impossible noise, you made your way to Jesper's door.

He answered almost immediately as if he had been waiting for you to show "What can I do for the beautiful lady?". He lent against the doorframe with the cheekiest of grins that almost made you think he was doing this on purpose. Rubbing your eyes still only half awake, you looked up at him "It's two in the morning Jesper, keep it down".

"But that wouldn't be any fun would it?" Jesper winked at you making a flush of red run to your cheeks. You tried to convince yourself it was simply out of anger and that it had nothing to do with the charms of the Zemeni boy.

"Jesper, don't make me break that pretty face of yours" you scowled at him with clenched fists at your sides yet the threat seemed to take no effect.

"So you think I'm pretty huh? I think I'm pretty too".

A wave of embarrassment swept through you but you hid it well, slamming your fist against the wood of the ajar door that led into Jesper's room. "Don't test me Fahey, keep it down".

You expected silence from the boy as you made your way across the hall to your room but instead Jesper spoke up once more "That was extremely attractive".

You sensed nothing but pure honesty in his voice.

-

Thinking about his words now made you smile. How cheeky he was but also how obvious. You must have been blind not to see it, the heart eyes he had for you, and deaf not to hear your own heart rate pick up every night you stood knocking at Jesper's door. It was almost fun to think back to how oblivious you had been, as if you were seeing a perfectly planned romance novel through your own eyes.

-

No matter how much noise Jesper made over the next week you refused to get yourself out of bed, hoping that it would stop if you ignored it. It never did and it seemed to get louder, as if Jesper became frustrated with each hour that passed, like he hated the noise as much as you.

It was the start of the second week when you decided to storm up to the boys room again. This time you weren't at all asleep, having been awake with the noises all night. You had been trying to interpret what they could be, but couldn't seem to figure it out. It wasn't a woman or another man, nor was it music. It sounded familiar, like the common gunfire that sounded in the streets, but it couldn't be. Jesper wouldn't possibly be shooting people every night for two weeks. Alas you were awake and confused, heading to the room of Jesper Fahey once again.

Knocking upon the door you heard a final bang from inside. It truly did sound like that of gunfire, a shot fired by someone startled with your presence. A few seconds passed before Jesper answered the door and before he could say a word you pushed past him, slipping into the room.

It was dark, the only light coming from the moon outside the open window. Jesper's bed looked as though it hadn't been slept in for days and you turned to him with a frown.

"Do you ever sleep?"

With the smirk of a crazy man he took a few steps forward to the other side of the room, propping himself up on the windowsill. The light breeze of the Ketterdam night ruffled his clothes slightly, moonlight casting an angel-like glow on his dark skin.

"When I do, I dream of you".

Rolling your eyes you scanned the room again, gaze landing on that of wooden boxes stacked high against the wall. They were riddled with bullet holes, dark circles, the entrances and exits of ammunition.

"Jes, what is this?" you gestured to the damaged stacks of wood, briefly glancing to the revolvers still in their holsters at Jesper's hips. He caught your eyes and spoke as if the answer was obvious.

"Target practice".

"Yes" you nodded still slightly bewildered "But why?"

Jesper had glanced over his shoulder at the night sky as if he was contemplating his next words. His shadow fell across the floor merging with yours, the moonlight making you both seem longer and skinnier than you were.

"If I told you I did it for you would you believe me?" Jesper glanced your way with a raised brow and you frowned at him, something that had become almost constant. His continuous flirtations had become more sincere, startling you, making your heart jumped in your chest.

"I don't think I understand" Your words were riddled with feelings. Confusion, concern and a possible hint of amusement which Jesper clung too.

"Well if I told you, I adore you as much as I do moon, would you believe me?" His words hung in the air for a moment, awaiting your answer and you couldn't stop a small smile creeping to your lips.

"That depends on how much you adore the moon".

Jesper grinned then, seeing you play along with a smile alighting him like a match, burning brightly. You could see the spark in his eyes just as he could feel it. Jesper took a single step forward then, hardly making a sound as he did so.

"I happen to think the moon is quite beautiful"

You grinned back at him "Only quite? I think the moon is stunning".

The both of you continued playing this game, knowing full well where it was headed but neither of you backing down. It was exhilarating, almost more so than the dangerous jobs Kaz would send you on each week.

"I agree she is stunning" Jesper took another step forward and you allowed yourself to chuckle. As much as you had been annoyed in the weeks before, you couldn't find an ounce of that irritation now. There was something about him, Jesper Fahey was certainly a charmer and most definitely a heart warmer.

"I didn't know the moon was a she" You stepped up this time, staring Jesper down with a grin just as wide as his. He shook his head brushing at a strand of hair in your face. You felt the light touch of the silver bands on his fingers as he tucked it behind your ear, tilting his head down just slightly to be closer to you.

"I think we both know I wasn't talking about the moon".

You lifted your chin, smirk growing wider.

"I think we both know you never were".

-

From there Jesper was never as loud at late hours unless he wanted your attention, which you now understood was the reason he was banging about at night in the first place. You grew closer and closer until eventually you shared the same room, where Jesper would wake you with those frost bitten flowers and wonderful kisses. Early mornings spent with him whether he intended to wake you or not, were the best you could ask for and you could hardly understand why you had hated them so much before.

And every time Jesper would wake you whilst the moon was still in the sky you would ask if he still loved the way it shined. You would joke around like you had the night of Jesper's confession, And every time, no matter how often it happened he would respond with the same seven words that made you blush bright red.

"Not as much as I love you".

-

AN: I wrote this last year and I am cringing please send past me help

GRISHAVERSE TAGLIST: @avyannadawn

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