Prompt: Caught in the Rain (alternative prompt 13)
Pairing: Johnny Storm x Fem!Reader
Summary: You and Johnny take Franklin to the park, when the three of you are waiting for the rain to let up, Franklin innocently tells you that Johnny likes you.
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: fluff (obviously), friends to lovers, reader is Franklin's nanny, confessions via toddler
“And where are my favorite nephew and his nanny heading off to?”
“The park!” Franklin beamed as you finished buttoning up his coat.
Johnny couldn’t help but smile back, “The park! That’s awesome, have fun buddy.”
You double checked that his shoes were tied, because they always somehow magically came undone in the span of five minutes, and gave him a thumbs up, “You ready to go?” Franklin gave you a thumbs up as well, “Alright.”
“Can Uncle Johnny come with us to the park?” Franklin pulled at the hem of your shirt and looked up at you with those sweet little eyes of his.
“I don’t know, you’d have to ask him.”
Franklin happily waddled over to Johnny and gave him the same look he had given you, “Uncle Johnny, will you come to the park with us?”
Those cute little eyes and squishy baby face were dangerous; Franklin had practically everyone wrapped around his little finger.
Johnny sighed, “How can I say no to that face.”
“Yay!” Franklin took hold of his uncle’s hand, then yours, and pulled the two of you out the door.
~
Days like this were what you loved most about your job. Getting to be out in the crisp autumn air, giggling and playing with Franklin. And it was an added bonus that Johnny was giggling and playing alongside you as well. You liked him, a lot, and what wasn’t to like? Johnny was kind, smart, funny, and incredibly handsome. At times you felt like he might like you too, but he was such a flirt, you weren’t entirely sure if he was actually interested, and you were too chicken to find out. So, you settled for sending him longing glances and imagining what could be.
You watched Johnny push Franklin on the swings, pretending he was in a rocket ship and travelling through outer space. It amazed you how good he was with Franklin. You wouldn’t have figured him to be good with kids, but he was a natural. It helped that he had no issue being goofy in public.
“Uncle Johnny, watch me go down the slide next!”
Johnny helped the swing come to a halt and the two of you watched Franklin run over to the slide.
“Be careful, Franklin, use walking feet.” You shouted after him, chuckling when Franklin slowed down as much as his excitement would let him.
“So,” Johnny crossed his arms over his chest, “how’s the most beautiful nanny in all of New York doing this fine afternoon?”
His flirtations always sent a flutter through your chest, but you would roll your eyes playfully to hide any sign of being flustered, “All of New York? Really?”
“Well, I could say the whole world, but that seems a bit much for a Wednesday afternoon, doesn’t it?”
“And if it weren’t a Wednesday afternoon?” You glanced at him and felt your knees buckle slightly when he smiled at you.
“Of course, then you’d be the most beautiful nanny in the whole universe.” He paired that knee buckling smile with a wink, and you wanted to melt.
“Are you watching?” Franklin shouted from the top of the slide.
Johnny turned to face him, “Yup! Go for it, buddy.”
Franklin’s giggle as he went down the slide was infectious, filled with such joy and merriment. When he reached the bottom of the slide you and Johnny jogged over to him, and each gave him a high five.
“Great job, Franklin,” you checked the time, “we can play for another five minutes, and then it’s time to go home, okay?”
“Okay!”
A raindrop landed on your cheek, then another on your sleeve, soon enough the sky opened up and all three of you were getting soaked. You picked up Franklin as Johnny scoped out a spot to wait out the rain. The closest thing with a roof was the small castle structure on the playground, so Johnny ushered you towards it. It was a bit cramped, but you hoped you wouldn’t have to wait too long.
“Does this mean no more playtime?” Franklin asked with a pout.
“Yeah, sorry, Franklin, we’re gonna wait until the rain lets up and then head home,” you set him down and held his hand, “but maybe we can go out again tomorrow.”
“Can Uncle Johnny come with us again?”
You smiled, “If he wants to, I don’t see why not.”
“He will.” Franklin’s tone was so matter of fact it made you and Johnny chuckle.
“Such confidence from such a little guy.” Johnny mussed Franklin’s hair.
Franklin looked up at you, “Uncle Johnny says that he wants to go out with you all the time, so that means he’ll come out with us again tomorrow!”
Both you and Johnny stared at Franklin with wide eyes, yours in surprise, and Johnny’s in embarrassment.
“Uncle Johnny says what all the time?” You posed the question more to Johnny than to Franklin, but Johnny refused to make eye contact with you.
Franklin answered, “He tells mommy all the time that he wants to go out with you.”
A pink blush spread from his neck to the tips of his ears, “You know the rain is looking a bit lighter, maybe we should just head back now.”
“Alright,” you picked Franklin up again and started walking, “does Uncle Johnny say anything else about me?”
An exasperated sigh fell from Johnny’s lip as you tried to contain your smile.
“Oh yeah, I heard him tell Uncle Ben that you were really, really pretty and that he likes you.”
The walk back was filled with Franklin recounting all the different things he’d overheard Johnny say about you. By the time you got to the Baxter Building, Johnny was red, how he looked when he used his powers but without the flames.
Once you set foot in the living room, Sue and Reed were there and Franklin went running to his parents to tell them about his day. You said a quick goodbye to them, gave Franklin a hug, and headed for the door. Johnny passed you on your way out, and you turned around to grab his arm.
“Hey, Johnny?”
“Yeah?” He still couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye.
“Do you have any plans tomorrow night?”
At that he looked up at you, “N-no.”
“Good, would you like to get dinner together?”
You felt a rush of heat flow through his arm, “After everything Franklin told you, do you really think you need to ask?”
Summary: After a late night at the office, Clark walks you home like a gentleman. Though you wished he'd stop being such a gentleman and ask you out already.
Warnings: Fluff, idiots in love, Clark bein' a cutie
A/n: I changed the day 6 prompt to one of the alt prompts <3
“Clark, you really don’t need to walk me home,” you insisted, glancing over at Clark for the fifth time in the last minute. Side by side, the two of you exited The Daily Planet with leftover takeout in your arms. A tiredness hung around you both like a blanket, weighing you down with each heavy step on the sidewalk.
But Clark still offered a soft smile, ducking his head in that bashful way of his. “It’s no trouble at all. Your place is on the way.”
Your eyebrows furrowed as you bit back a grin. You’d visited his apartment just last week. “Isn’t your place the other direction?”
Clark slowly nodded, his eyes catching yours with a glint in them. “Uh, yes. Well what I meant was that I could use the exercise.”
“Don’t you spend half the day running around like a chicken with its head cut off?” You pointed out, a laugh bubbling up in your chest.
“If you do it right, chickens shouldn’t be running around after.” Clark said, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “And I do run around a lot, don’t I? What I actually meant was that the weather was too nice not to enjoy it as long as I could.” He nodded, like that explanation made perfect sense, and there was no way you could poke a hole in it. You didn’t have the heart to anyway.
Nudging his arm with yours,you told him, “I like spending time with you too, Clark.” And you swore the tips of his ears grew more and more red with each second that passed, his gaze unable to hold yours.
“Well, that too, of course. It’s been great to, uh, write this article together.” As his fingers gripped his bag tight enough to turn his knuckles white, you decided to cease your teasing for at least a minute.
It was easy to talk to Clark, and to listen to him. And to look at him. So, it made it much too easy to like Clark, in a way that felt like more than just late nights at the office and mutual brainstorming over bad office coffee. And how could you not?
The small-town charm wrapped up in his larger-than-life frame made your head spin more than once. His fingers brushing over yours when handing you a pastry from your favorite bakery, his ocean eyes giving you all of his attention when you spoke like it was the most important thing he’d ever heard, and walking you home just because he wanted to?
Yeah, Clark Kent was trouble.
Trouble in the way he made it hard to focus during work. His constant pen-tapping beat to the fast pace of your heart. The warmth that rolled off his body whenever he was near wormed itself inside you and made a home in your chest.
But even more so, Clark was a gentleman. So despite your frequent teasing and borderline flirting, he never asked you on a date. Which was why you were going to have to do it.
“Clark?”
He hummed in response, before clearing his throat. “Yeah?”
Your stomach twisted itself in knots. It was no big deal. He would still respect you as an editor, even if he avoided you forever for being so stupid and-
“What are you doing thi-”
As you spoke, something wet hit your face, interrupting your words. You wiped it away only for more drops to land on you. And that was all the warning you had before the sky opened above you.
“Oh gosh,” Clark muttered, head whipping around in every direction. But before he could find an awning to hide under, you took off speed walking.
Holding your leftovers above your head in a futile attempt at staying dry, you kept going toward your apartment. Clark, who quickly caught up to you, asked, “What are you doing? You’re going to get drenched.”
And you just grabbed his hand, pulling him along faster as you said, “We’re already drenched. Come on!” Your apartment was only a few blocks away, the heat of Clark’s large hand keeping you distracted from the chill running along your skin.
And the goosebumps kept you distracted from the nerve-wracking realization that you were holding Clark Kent’s hand. And he hadn’t let go yet. Turning your head, you risked a glance backward at him. Between the endless stream of raindrops, you saw his eyes fixated at your intertwined fingers.
When his gaze shot up to yours, you turned back around, trying not to quicken your pace even when your body told you to run. Instead, you coolly and calmly raced to the steps of your apartment building.
Even though you missed the feeling of him, you let go of Clark’s hand to rip open the door and rush inside — only for you to look back and see Clark still standing outside, on the other side of the glass, in the rain.
“Clark, get in here!” you shouted, waving a hand for him to come in.
And when he didn’t move, just slightly gesturing that he should go, you opened the door to yell at him better. “What are you doing? Get in here before you catch a cold.” Only once he climbed up the steps did you begin muttering under your breath. “I don’t even know if rain gives you a cold, but I’ll give you a cold myself if you don’t get in here,” you said while fussing over him, trying to wipe water off his bag.
You reached a hand up, aiming to swipe away a raindrop streaking down his cheek, but paused. He held his breath, watching you closely. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Unceremoniously, you dropped your hand back to your side, your own cheeks growing warm enough it felt like the water on your face would turn to steam any second now.
In the small entryway, Clark stood just inches away from you. You could practically feel the rise and fall of his chest, could count the raindrops dotting his glasses. For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Clark cleared his throat, his deep voice rumbling through you. “I, um, was trying to say that I can head home. I don’t want to overstay my welco-”
“Would you like to go on a date?” you blurted out, unable to take it any longer. For too many seconds, silence rang in your ears, your body frozen as the words hung in the thick air. “With me, I mean.”
“Oh.” Clark breathed out his response, his hand coming up to brush his hair back. His lips parted in the shape of an unasked question, just waiting to tip from his lips. Every moment that passed, the sound of blood rushing past your ears grew louder.
But that dopey grin of his eased it like aloe over your skin. “I was hoping to be the one to ask you that.”
“Oh,” you echoed, blinking slowly at his words. As you processed what Clark said, your gaze turned downward, watching the two of you create a small puddle in the entryway. With a meek voice, you said, “Well, uh, you still could. If you wanted to, of course.” You picked at your fingers nails until there wasn’t much to pick at, then you moved onto worrying a loose thread on your shirt.
This time, Clark took your hand in his, holding it like he never wanted to let go. “Are you free Saturday?”
You nodded, your mouth turning dry. “I am.” You couldn’t give any more of an answer, the weight of his gaze pinning you to the spot.
“Would you like to go to dinner with m-”
“Yes,” you rushed out, a wide grin overtaking your face before you could stop it. “I’d love to.”
You squeezed his hand, a sudden laugh bubbling up from your chest. “We are so ridiculous,” he whispered, beginning to laugh too.
letting out a laugh — which in turn made Clark begin to laugh. still never taking his eyes off of you.
“No,” you said, shaking your head and somehow finding your bravery again in between giggles. “You’re ridiculous for not asking me out sooner!”
“Excuse me, you could have asked sooner.”
“I didn’t know if you liked me! I mean, you’re Clark Kent.”
His face softened, his thumb beginning to rub across the back of your hand. “And you’re you,” he said, as if that were answer enough. That it was clear evidence that he liked you and anyone could see it.
You turned your head away, instead grabbing out your keys to unlock your unit. “Come on, loverboy. I need a drinking partner for my hot chocolate while we wait out this storm.” And for once more that night, you pulled Clark by the hand to follow you.
𝔸𝕝𝕥 𝟙𝟛 ⋮ 𝑪͋𝒂͓𝒖̽𝒈̟𝒉͋𝒕 𝒊͓𝒏 𝒕̽𝒉̟𝒆 𝑹͋𝒂͓𝒊̽𝒏 🩵 𝙶𝚒𝚢𝚞 𝚃𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚘𝚔𝚊 🩵
The River Crossing (1.2k words)
FLUFFTOBER MASTERLIST | 2025.
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[A03] [Fanfiction.net] [Wattpad]
summary: A storm, a river, and the moment Giyu Tomioka realises he’s not ready to lose you.
warnings/themes: Reader Insert, Kissing in the Rain, Near Death Experience (Minor), Light Angst, Emotional Repression, Intimacy, Mutual Pining, Feelings Realisation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Compliant.
The path winds through cedar and mist, narrow and slick beneath your sandals. The air smells of moss and river stone, pine resin drifting on the wind. You’ve been walking since noon, and the light is dim now—soft grey bleeding into complete darkness.
Beside you, Tomioka moves in silence. His steps are steady, precise, measured in the way everything about him is. The faint rustle of his haori is the only sound he makes. You’ve grown used to it—the way he never speaks unless it’s necessary, the calm gravity he carries as though the world might crumble if he let it go.
A drop of rain lands on your cheek. Then another.
You glance up. The clouds are as thick as wet wool, heavy with the promise of a storm.
He notices it too. His eyes lift briefly toward the sky, then return to the path.
“Keep close,” he says quietly, in that tone that never needs to ask twice.
You follow orders. The rain begins as a fine drizzle, whispering through the trees. But within minutes, it turns violent—a downpour so sudden that the sound swallows everything else. Even the forest with its heavy canopy offers no shelter. Water pools and streams from the leaves and branches, blurring your vision, soaking through your uniform until it clings to your skin.
Tomioka quickens his pace, feet splashing through puddles.
“There’s a crossing ahead!” he calls over the rain. “If we move fast, we can make it before the current—”
He doesn’t finish. The river appears, and the words die in his throat.
What was a calm ribbon of water that morning is now a thrashing current, white foam crashing against the stones. The river swells with each passing second, the rain feeding it greedily.
You hesitate. “We can’t—”
“We can.” He steps forward without another word, testing each rock with the tip of his sandal. The water rushes around his legs, dark and cold. He turns back to you, hand outstretched. “Careful. Step where I step.”
You nod and follow, heart thundering. The river bites at your ankles, then your calves. Each stone is slick beneath your feet. The current snarls, pulling hard. Rain needles your face.
One misstep—moss, a flash of motion. Your stomach lurches. The world tilts.
The motion stops. Tomioka's hand catches your arm—hard, his grip almost bruising—and you’re pulled forward, straight into him.
You stumble against his chest, the impact jarring the breath from you both. His arm locks around your waist; his other hand clamps onto your shoulder. You can feel his heartbeat through soaked layers of fabric. Fast, unsteady, alive.
The water churns angrily around both of your legs. He holds you there for a moment, head bowed, rain streaming down his face. The world settles, as if remembering itself. You breathe in rain and the faint scent of his haori, your own heartbeat slowing against his chest.
“Watch where you step,” he says at last. His tone tries for calm, but you notice it trembles at the edges. The sound of fear doesn’t suit him—it feels borrowed, out of place.
“I—” You swallow, voice small against the roar of the river. “I'm sorry... I tried to match your steps, but I slipped.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he shifts his grip, keeping you pressed close against him as he guides you toward the far bank. When your sandals finally find earth again, he exhales—sharp and quiet, like a wound closing.
Only then does he let go of you.
The rain doesn't stop. It's relentless. The forest seems drowned in it, colour washed away into grey. Water drips from his hair, his clothes, the blade at his hip. You stand a few steps apart, both breathing hard, both soaked to the bone.
He looks at you, and for once, you can read him. The tightness in his jaw, the slight tremor in his hand, the way his chest still rises too quickly—all betray what he refuses to say.
“You could have been swept under!” he shouts above the rain, breathing still laboured.
You try to smile, though your lips are numb. “But I wasn’t. I'm still here.”
He looks away, the corner of his mouth twitching—something caught between frustration and relief. “I told you to be careful...”
You almost laugh. “You say that like you wouldn't jump in after me.”
He doesn’t deny it. And his silence is answer enough.
The rain beats down, louder than words, louder than thought. You notice how it runs down the curve of his throat, how his wet hair clings to his jaw. There’s something fragile about the sight of him like this—so calm in the face of danger, yet trembling now in the quiet after it.
You take a step closer. “Tomioka-san…”
He turns slightly, just enough that you can see his eyes beneath wet lashes. They’re darker now, deep sapphire softened by worry.
“You’re shaking,” you murmur.
He exhales through his nose, eyes still on the river. “I thought I was going to lose you, too…”
“You didn't. I'm not going anywhere.”
His gaze flicks down, then up again. “Nobody knows that for sure...” His voice wavers on the last word, almost breaking.
You don’t know what to say. You only realise how close you are when a droplet from his hair lands on your lip. His haori clings to him, the patterned fabric heavy with rain, the shape of muscle visible beneath. The scent of damp cedar and wet steel lingers between you.
He looks away first. “We should keep moving.”
But his hand twitches—like he means to reach for you and stops himself. You see it, and before he can retreat behind his mask again, you speak softly.
“Giyu.”
He freezes. The rain softens just slightly, as though the storm pauses to listen, too.
When he turns back, his expression is flat and unreadable—but his eyes are not. They’re full of everything he’s never said: fear, relief, affection he refuses to voice.
You reach up before you can think better of it, brushing a strand of wet hair from his forehead. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. The moment stretches—quiet, shivering, endless.
Then, very slowly, he leans in.
His lips brush yours. Tentative—more hesitation than contact. They're cold from the rain, but the heat behind them is unmistakable. His hand finds your waist again, fingers steady now, anchoring you as though the river might still try to take you away.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath mingling with yours, steaming in the damp air. His voice is a whisper, almost lost to the rain.
“Don’t scare me like that again.”
You smile, small and shaky. “I'll stay closer next time...”
He doesn’t answer, but his hand slips into yours—his fingers rough, calloused, warm even in the storm.
The sky continues to pour, drowning the forest, the river, your entire world. But for a moment, it feels oddly peaceful.
When you start walking again toward the safehouse, he doesn’t look back. The mask is in place once more. But when you laugh softly through the rain, light-headed and alive, you swear you see him smile too.
Prompt: Day 4: Set In Another Time + Alternate #13: Caught in The Rain
Characters: 40’s!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Word Count: <850
Content Warning: Established relationship, no dialogue.
A/N: Banner and divider by me. Event and prompts by @flufftober. Written and edited on my phone; any and all mistakes are my own.
Flufftober 2025 Masterlist || Previous || Next
Never let it be said that James Buchanan Barnes isn’t a romantic. A bit of a ladies man, sure. But when he finds someone special…
The day started off beautiful. Sunny, unseasonably warm, the perfect picture for a Saturday picnic. And that’s exactly what Bucky had in mind for his best girl—a romantic picnic in the park.
He gathered everything he needed: an old woven basket from his mom, a stolen blanket from the foot of Rebecca's perfectly made bed, a couple plates and utensils, sandwiches with all the fixings he knows you like, and anything else he felt might be necessary to ensure the perfect outdoor meal.
By the time he left the Barnes residence and began the walk to your family’s place, there were a few clouds in the sky. He paid them no mind. Nothing could ruin today.
He knocked on your door, and after a few short moments, you opened it. The moment you saw the basket and blanket, your bright smile grew impossibly wider and made his heart skip a beat.
Conversation was light as you both made your way to Prospect Park. He couldn’t stop glancing at you. The way your dress swayed as you walked, the way your hair fluttered a bit in the breeze, and the way your eyes lit up with excitement as you spoke—it all made him feel like the luckiest man alive.
Upon your arrival, you pointed out a large tree at the edge of one of the larger grassy areas, and together you spread out the blanket in the shade. There were a surprising lack of people here today, Bucky thought, but he pushed that thought aside.
You looked up at the sky, noticing the increasing number of clouds and the breeze that seemed to be picking up. Bucky shrugged it off as he placed the basket of supplies on the blanket, taking a seat and began laying things out. He patted the spot next to him, silently urging you to sit with him. You smile and plop down on the soft blanket, ignoring the ever changing weather.
The sandwiches were only about half eaten when it started. The wind picked up, blowing your hair around and lifting the hem of your dress enough you had to hold it down with one hand. Bucky took the opportunity to tease you a bit—until a single raindrop landed on his nose.
It was downhill from there. Rain started quickly, a downpour that seemingly came out of nowhere, and Bucky immediately began tossing things back into the basket. He couldn’t help the feeling of guilt tugging at his gut for dragging you out here and ignoring the signs.
You just smiled, as you always do, and tilted your chin towards the rain for a moment, closing your eyes and laughing as you let the drops cover your face.
He finally grabbed the last of the items and stood, offering you a warm hand up. You snatched the blanket from the ground and ran for cover, with Bucky leading the way.
By the time you made it somewhere dry, you were both completely drenched. Bucky dropped the basket onto the ground and rubbed his face, groaning and shaking his head in frustration. How could he ignore the signs?
Laughing, you set the blanket on the basket before closing the short distance between you. You reached up and gently grabbed his wrists, pulling them away from his face before reassuring him that everything was okay.
All he could do was look at you. Your hair and dress clung to you from the weight of the water, like you had stepped out of the bath and forgot to use a towel. Your eyes sparkled with delight despite the weather’s interruption. And your smile—God, your smile. The sight of it flooded his chest with warmth, and it was in that moment he knew that he loved you.
Before another word could be spoken between you, one of his hands slipped from your grasp and reached around your waist, pulling you close as his other hand moved to push your wet hair behind your ear. His hand lingered on your cheek, the softness of it a stark contrast to his own callused fingers.
When he finally kissed you, it was soft. Tender. He could feel you lean into it before your arms wrapped around his neck.
Time felt like it stopped completely. The downpour of the rain was the only sound either of you could hear, and he never wanted this moment to end.
He’s not sure who broke the kiss first, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered were the three words that slipped from his lips before he could even think about stopping them.
Your lips parted slightly as you looked up at him, your body still pressed to his, your hands now fidgeting with the hair at the nape of his neck. It took you only the briefest of moments before you responded in kind.
And that was better than any picnic he could’ve properly planned.
Hi! I just wanted to say I love your work and it really means a lot to me. I was wondering if you could do something where reader is adopted by Elle and Spencer as a toddler/very young kid after their parents were victims in a case?
Serendipity
Spencer Reid/Elle Greenaway + toddler!reader
Flufftober Alt 12. Keeping someone safe Cozytober 13. A blanket wrapped around cold shoulders
Summary: In the middle of a case, Elle gets as attached to you as you do to her
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: Mentions of canon typical violence (blood, murder, UnSubs), inaccurate guardianship processes because Google is unhelpful, not the most proofread :')
A/n: thank you for requesting lovely anonie, this pairing is so sweet to me, i'm sorry if i didn't quite do it justice <3
Spencer lifted the yellow police tape for Elle to walk under, following behind her. The house they entered looked so ordinary. Rain boots welcomed them in the entryway, waiting to be drenched. Not a single book was out of place in the living room. If it weren't for the police officers and investigators inspecting every inch, you would have no idea a crime had even been committed.
They slipped on their blue latex gloves and made their way to the bedroom. A crime scene investigator left the room as they entered, leaving them to examine two bodies in peace. Killed in their sleep, unaware of what was happening. They slept on the same sides Spencer and Elle did. Minus the blood, that was them less than three hours ago.
"Nothing here is any different from the other crime scenes." Elle said, leaning down to stake out the underside of the bed. "Same victimology and MO. Just as cold and calculated as the last."
Spencer nodded in concurrence and scanned the room, only establishing Elle's point. He pulled a drawer open and paused. A framed photo inside spiked his cortisol. "Elle."
"Hm?" She reverted back to standing and looked at him expectantly.
"They had a child." Spencer flipped the frame for Elle to see, handing it to her a moment later. "Dust on the bedside table suggests it was moved recently, the UnSub must've put it away."
"He's only killed childless couples up until now," Elle stated. "But where is she?"
She put the journal back where she found it and left the room, checking all the others until she reached one with soft purple walls and a floor covered with toys. She inhaled sharply at the lack of a body in the small bed, it only provided an ounce of relief.
Her boots thumped against the floor in time with her heart rate, demanding to be felt and heard. She found a room pained in lavender, its floor barely peeking out underneath toys. The lack of a body in the small bed provided little comfort.
Spencer spoke out from behind her, "If he abducted her, that's a complete shift in his victimology." Before Spencer could continue, Elle held a finger to her lips, gesturing for him to be quiet. His frown dissipated in intrigue as he tried to observe what she did.
Their eyes met when they both heard it. A thump against wood, coming from a side table far too small for an adult man to fit in. They approached it slowly, cautiously.
Spencer's hand hovered over his gun as Elle opened the small door. Their hearts sank in their chests at the scene in front of them.
You, curled in on yourself, head buried into your knees so firmly it stung. A drop of still-bright blood had stained your fuzzy socks. Your breathing was so ragged they wondered how they didn't hear it sooner.
Spencer's throat choked up and his hand dropped instantly. For fear of only increasing your fear, he ignored his instinct to help and stepped back.
Elle hunched over, keeping a moderate distance between you. She made her voice as soft as it could go. "Hi. I'm Elle."
You pulled your legs even closer to your chest. The cold from outside overtook your hiding place's warmth. It was cramped and uncomfortable, but at least it was cozy.
The fabric of Elle's jeans stretched against her knees as she sat down. She removed her gloves and crammed them into the pocket of her coat. "You're safe now, I'm not going to hurt you."
Spencer looked over every corner of your room for any indication of the UnSub's disturbance. He found none and instead began to work up a profile in his head.
Elle let time pass quietly, only moving to blink or breathe. Her hands lay intertwined in her lap. Light hit the gold of her rings and made them look twice as yellow. She had a scarf wound around her neck, handmade by the man lurking a couple feet away, a necklace dangling underneath.
She looked warm in every definition of the word. Her cheeks were starting to ache from the attempted-reassuring look that she wouldn't let slip.
Several more minutes passed before your body started to unfurl. Your breathing was still loud, and shaky. But calmer. Elle opened her arms wider and kept them there. Your feet crept out first, drilling into the carpet.
Even through gray clouds, your eyes weren't used to the sunlight. It forced you to shut your eyes and be surrounded by darkness that only brought back every ounce of fear. Before you could process how your body trembled, Elle pulled you to her.
Her coat fell around your shaking shoulders, blocking out the light and the cold. Tears soaked into her shirt and the skin of her chest but she paid no mind to it.
She rocked back and forth in her place, shushing you quietly and exaggerating her steadier breathing. Hiccups eventually replaced sobs and she took that as her cue to stand up, keeping you right where you were. "You're okay. We just need to get you some place safe."
She passed by Spencer on her way out. His feet stayed glued to the floor until you wouldn't hear him walk.
The voices of crime scene investigators and police officers made you dig your nails into Elle's back. She bit her tongue to keep herself from groaning.
"It's okay. Nobody's going to hurt you, all the voices you're hearing are just people doing their jobs. You're okay," she said through clenched teeth.
She rushed outside to the porch where there were only birds high up in trees and a couple cars speeding down the road, quiet enough to blend into the background. Your nails relaxed until you were relying more on her arms than yours to hold you up.
Spencer found his place by Elle's side. His eyes trailed down to you and back to her, brows furrowed in worry. She only gave him a blank look and walked to their car.
He sped up to open the car door for her. Everything in you refused to let go when Elle tried to peel you away from her. Your shrieking was loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. She brought you back to her torso, cupping your head.
"I'm going to have to keep her with me," she said to Spencer.
He wanted to remind her that that was not only dangerous, but also illegal. But he didn't. He made no further comment and go into the driver's seat. Lack of mentioning didn't mean lack of worrying. He drove as if Elle was holding a full glass of water — one wrong move and it would spill. That was the quietest car ride they'd had in years.
The bullpen was too congested for her to sit by her desk, instead she found her place in an office used for storage. Spencer went to trace down a blanket, he came back to find you asleep, exhausted by fear and sobbing, holding onto Elle like she was your lifeline.
He unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders, you unconsciously nuzzled into it. He took a seat next to Elle, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.
"I'm gonna ask Garcia to find out if she has any relatives nearby. Just call me if you need anything." Their fingers lingered until he was too far for her to reach.
He found the rest of the team in the bullpen among piles of files and a bare evidence board. Penelope had stolen his desk chair so he leaned over her shoulder to see her screen.
"I did as much digging as my digital shovels can dig, and I found… no one."
Spencer frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean, she has no grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins twice removed. The closest relative I found lives somewhere in the French Riviera." She flinched when she turned to him, unaware of how close he was to her face.
"What about any close friends?" Spencer asked.
"Most of their contacts seemed to just be colleagues. If they had any, you know, take-custody-of-my-child friends, they had to have communicated through snail mail."
He watched her draw up records of every digital footprint she could find, following them until she reached a dead end.
The team's profiling chatter grew quieter while he walked to the BAU's kitchen. He refilled his and Elle's coffee mugs and snagged a few snacks.
He couldn't knock with his hands full, a slow opening of the door had to be warning enough that he was entering the office.
"Hey," he greeted Elle with a voice no louder than a whisper.
He sat down farther from her than he wanted to, handing her her mug. She took a look sip of coffee while he unwrapped a chocolate bar. He held it up to her mouth for her to bite.
"So, did Garcia find anyone?"
He couldn't look her in the eye, eyes trained on the ripped foil he folded around his finger.
"A social worker's on her way," he started. "She'll probably be going into a group home for the time being."
The logical course of action. Protocol. Objectively, Elle understood that. But why did swallowing feel so much harder than it did a minute before? Why did the numbness in her hands start to feel like something she would miss when it left?
Your eyes blinked open before she could say anything. Spencer and Elle braced themselves for more tears that didn't come. You did nothing but look at her, your thoughts scattered, memories showing up in pieces. Flashes of a man in a black ski mask mixed with Elle sitting in front of you. You hadn't spotted the anxious man less than two feet away from you.
"There's someone that I want you to meet, is that okay? He's very nice, and he's not gonna hurt you, I promise."
You peeked over the rim of the blanket, finding Spencer's hazel eyes on the other side.
"Hi." He had that tone he subconsciously reserved for children — soft, delicate, rich with the illusion of the world being a safe place.
"Hi." The first time they heard your voice, barely there and choked with pain.
"I'm Spencer."
You mumbled out your name and got a timid smile in return.
He looked away from you like your eye contact hurt. "Do you remember what happened?"
Most of your head disappeared behind the blanket as you shrunk into it.
"Can you tell us what you do remember?" Elle asked softly.
"Blood."
Spencer gave Elle a wary look. He licked his lips before sinking his teeth into his lower one. "Did you see the person who hurt your mom and dad?"
Tears built up and made Spencer blurry in front of you. When they got too heavy, they fell and made the red of Elle's shirt darker. Your reaction was answer enough.
"Do you know if he saw you?"
"He told me to hide."
They shared a surprised look, gears turning in their heads and weaving information into their profile.
Your head went back to Elle's chest, her heartbeat filling your ears. Any further questions of Spencer's would fall of deaf ears. Your legs were starting to cramp from how you sat but getting up was too daunting.
"Why don't we walk around for a little bit?" Elle suggested to you.
You shook your head vehemently. Walking required letting go of her, of safety, and walking into fear's arms.
"What if I hold your hand while we walk, will that help?"
You blinked up at her through your eyelashes and wondered why there was no head gesture for "I don't know."
She stood up and slowly lowered you onto the ground. Her knees thanked her for the change in position. The floor was cold but it was stable, it didn't crumble under you the way you thought it would.
True to her word, Elle kept your hand clasped tightly in hers. She took you around the room and after the second lap, she let go. You stumbled over Spencer's shoe, he caught you before you truly fell and adjusted your stance. Without thinking, you backed away from him, your brain struggled to know whether or not he was safe.
Elle guided you over to a window where you could see rain fall. The glass fogged up from your breath. On any other day, you would've taken advantage of the moisture and traced shapes in it. This time you simply watched it evaporate.
—
A woman from Child Protective Services had showed up while Elle took you to the bathroom. You held onto Elle's leg like a crutch when you saw her but your feet remained on the floor. She chose to count that as progress.
The woman introduced herself to Elle and bent down to look at you, introducing herself with a nickname instead.
"I'd like to talk to her alone, if possible."
"Of course," Spencer said, already halfway out the door.
Elle managed to convince you to sit down without her, showing you where she'd be outside, still in view.
She closed the door behind her and went to Spencer, her arms crossed over her chest.
"We're thinking the same thing, aren't we?" Spencer asked, slowly rocking back and forth on his feet.
"Maybe."
"Elle—"
"It would be better than putting her in a group home where she'll only get a slither of attention and no mental support."
"It raises red flags about emotional objectivity."
Her mind was made up, it settled on a decision and rejected opposition she had no will to give anyway. "I know."
The idea simmered in silence. They weighed unfair options, how being shoved into the foster system would affect you, how Hotch would scorn the idea. They had a spare room no one ever used, Spencer's books had started to live in it. Its emptiness started to feel heavier as time passed, neither of them ever got around to mentioning it.
Your head turned to look at Elle every so often. She sent you back a soft smile, trying to pretend she and Spencer weren't mulling over the trajectory of your life.
"The adoption process takes several months. We'd have to be granted emergency guardianship first and then start the legal process of adoption. Even so that could take weeks."
He listed off his thoughts, allowing him to better sift through them and letting Elle see what was running through his head.
They barely registered that the office door opened before you crashed into Elle, clutching at her knees, repeatedly whispering something she couldn't make out until she bent down.
"Please don't leave me."
Elle's composure cracked, enough for Spencer's turmoil to resolve, his thoughts straightened out neatly.
The social worker reached the small group, a sympathetic pout on her face.
Spencer shoved his hands into his pockets and cleared his throat. "There's actually something that we would like to discuss, with you."
—
It took a week for them to be granted guardianship. As gross as it felt to exploit, their badges carried weight in court. In the years Spencer had known Elle, he'd never seen her as restless as in the days they spent waiting.
Their spare bedroom went from being a dreaded place to enter to something they'd stop and stare at when they passed by.
Still, it felt too empty until you came home. Until you stepped your first hesitant steps inside and ended up spending the night spent in their bed, rather than the one they spent hours perfecting.
It was not the home you were used to, but one you would learn to love.
caught in the rain with his jacket and your laughter
bf!levi x reader / established relationship / modern au / sfw / 358 w.
⟡ — @flufftober (alt 13)
the rain starts as a drizzle, barely noticeable, but by the time you and levi finish loading groceries into the cart, it’s coming down in sheets. bags are soggy, lettuce wilting, and the wind whips sharply around you.
levi glances at you, expression unreadable. without a word, he unzips his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, the fabric heavy and warm against your soaked shirt. you blink at him, caught off guard.
“levi…” you murmur, but he just nods toward the parking lot, a silent command.
grinning despite the weather, you grab the last bag, and he takes the cart. “run?” you ask.
he doesn’t answer. instead, he grabs your hand, and the two of you bolt across the slippery asphalt, puddles splashing around your feet. the jacket shifts slightly with every step, keeping you warm as the rain soaks through everything else.
you stumble over a particularly deep puddle, and levi’s free hand shoots out to steady you, his grip firm but gentle. “careful,” he mutters, eyes scanning the lot, though the faintest twitch of a smile tugs at his lips.
“i- thanks… you’re ridiculous,” you gasp, laughing, drenched but grateful.
“i’m keeping you dry,” he says simply, voice flat but undeniably tender.
by the time you reach the car, both of you soaked through, levi drags the cart into the trunk and adjusts the jacket snugly around your shoulders. you glance at him, water dripping from his hair, and can’t help but grin.
“here,” you say, grabbing a small towel from the back seat. you reach over and gently dab at his hair, shaking it out and wiping rain from his collar. levi leans slightly into your touch, eyes softening, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
sliding into the driver’s seat, jacket still wrapped around you, you glance at him with a teasing smirk. “next time… maybe an umbrella?”
levi shakes his head, smirking faintly. “rain won’t kill you.”
and yet, under the warmth of his jacket and the quiet steadiness of his presence, with your hands brushing against him as you dry him off, it doesn’t feel so bad to get soaked after all.
“Come on, sleepyhead, we’ve got big plans for today,” John chimed, slowly pulling the blanket from Sherlock’s body. Sherlock grumbled and turned onto his belly, curling in on himself.
“I’d rather you’d come back to bed. ‘s cold without you.”
“Another reason to get up. I’ll keep you warm.” John sat down on the mattress as Sherlock buried his face in the pillow, shaking his head unwillingly.
“What big plans could require me to get out of bed at this ungodly hour?” he all but whined.
John laughed, running his fingers through Sherlock’s flattened hair. “You’re one to talk. Remember when you dragged me out of bed when it was still dark outside?”
“That was to avoid people,” Sherlock muttered, repositioning his head on John’s lap, his face now pressed into John’s belly.
“Well then,” John argued, secretly enjoying the sleepy and clingy detective curled around him. “Want to look at some more flowers while avoiding the mass of people?”
At that Sherlock lifted his head and looked up at John through narrowed eyes. “Where do you plan to see flowers? I had the ultimate flower day!”
“Yes, yes you had,” John conceded, lifting a hand as if in defence. “Just some flowers. And maybe the odd bird or… I don’t know.”
The crease on Sherlock’s forehead deepened. “You actually want to take me on a walk in the park, don’t you?”
John smiled a little sheepishly. “Full marks. So, what do you say?”
“Didn’t the forecast predict rain?”
“Since when do you care about the weather forecast?” John teased good-naturedly.
“Since I have to know whether outdoor activities are an option for certain days. Tomorrow will be indoors, as an example. Although I’d rather it wouldn’t happen at all. Apparently I’m getting a little mad, listening to peoples’ suggestions.”
John chuckled, shaking his head. “Alright then, looking forward to tomorrow it seems. Also, the forecast said that it won’t rain for another three hours. So, up you get, or we won’t manage to avoid rain or people.”
Sherlock sighed deeply, but after quick kiss – for strength – he finally rolled himself out of bed.
---
“See?” John asked approximately an hour later, “Isn’t half bad, is it?” He squeezed Sherlock’s hand and nodded in the general direction of some yellow and red-coloured trees.
Sherlock hummed, bumping into him contentedly.
They were strolling along the paths at an adequate pace, watching the few people around them.
“I’m still looking for those flowers you promised, though,” Sherlock smirked, and John scowled. “Look at the grass, you greedy man. It has recovered again after that arid summer. Isn’t it enough that it’s actually green again?”
“Nope,” Sherlock said. “Besides, it’s still rather brown, with all these leaves covering it.”
John elbowed him. “Not satisfied with anything.”
Sherlock shook his head, grinning. “Don’t worry. I do have some suggestions how you can satisfy me.”
John’s stomach plummeted, in a good way, this time.
“Oh?” he enquired. “Do tell.”
Sherlock was just about to elaborate, mouth already open, when they were both hit by the first, thick drops of rain.
“Umm,” John said, looking up and around them, hearing and feeling the upcoming disaster more than seeing it, the raindrops hitting the dead leaves around them and soaking his hair rather quickly.
“Oh shit,” he murmured, and Sherlock gave him a look. “Shit?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.
“This, er… looks like a proper downpour.”
“Does it?” Sherlock asked, feigning surprise.
“Git. Oh Christ,” he then cursed.
John ducked his head instinctively as the rain grew more intense by the second, as if the sky was opening its gates with the intention of flooding London, if not the whole of England.
People around them were opening their umbrellas and pulling up hoods, then deciding that none of it would actually help them, and starting to run.
“That, looks like a good idea,” John said, pointing at a couple in front of them that had broken into a sprint. His jacket was already soaked, the rain all but crashing down on them, throwing up little bits of dirt from the paths and even the lawn.
He took Sherlock’s hand, pulling him along to get him jogging, at least. The movement lead to small streams of water running over their joined hands. John looked down at their hands, at the soaked sleeve of Sherlock’s coat, and cursed again, laughing.
“Christ,” he panted, still pulling at Sherlock, now actually moving towards the exit. “I don’t think I want to know how much your coat weighs with all this water.”
He erupted into breathless laughter all over again at the look Sherlock gave him at that, his hair plastered to his forehead, his curls flattened out almost completely.
“Oh, you think?” Sherlock grumbled, but John could see the tiny uplift of the corners of his mouth.
“Yep,” John panted, leading the way through the park. “I don’t think cabs will take us in this state – or the state of your coat, for that matter – so I suggest we hurry.”
"I don’t suppose we can get any wetter at this point,” Sherlock complained, the rain battering down on them. But despite his complaint, he let go of John’s hand and broke into a full sprint.
“Oi!” John called after him, trying to catch up. The look Sherlock gave him over his shoulder was one of mirth, of pure, exhilarated joy, his face all crinkled up with his broad smile.
John’s steps faltered a bit at that expression, the full amount of love for this madman hitting him full force once again, but then he caught himself and levelled up his pace.
Their shoes were splashing on the pavement, kicking up the water that was gathering on the streets, too much for the drains in this short time.
They were running down streets now, turning corners and trying to avoid collisions with other people hurrying to seek shelter without slipping.
“Hurry,” John pressed when they were finally standing in front of 221, Sherlock rummaging for his keys and trying to get them out of his soaked pockets. A thick stream of water was running down from the roof and splashing to the ground right behind John, and he shuffled a bit closer to Sherlock, pressing their bodies closer together and squeezing a bit of water from their clothes in the process.
“Finally,” he panted when Sherlock managed to open the door and they toppled into the foyer, leaving a wet path behind. They slumped down on the first steps, panting and dripping water as if they were still standing under a shower.
“This,” John stated, “was ridiculous.”
“Quite,” Sherlock agreed, the grin still on his face, wrinkling the area around his eyes. “Might I remind you that it was your idea?”
“The forecast–” John began to protest, but Sherlock interrupted him.
“Since when do you trust the forecast?”
John scowled and crossed his arms in front of his chest with a wet squelch. They looked at each other, looked at the puddle beneath them, then broke into breathless laughter all over again.
“In a way,” Sherlock panted as his laughter slowly died down, “In a way, this is almost romantic.”
“Glad you think so,” John chuckled, then frowned at the shiver that ran through Sherlock’s body.
“Come on,” he nudged Sherlock. “We better get rid of our clothes down here, before we draw the rage of our dear landlady upon us. And then off to the loo, a hot bath or shower.”
“More water?” Sherlock frowned, already fighting his way out of the sodden coat.
“Only to warm us up a bit. We can cuddle up in lots of warm and dry blankets afterwards. Maybe light the fire, just to be sure.”
“Sounds lovely,” Sherlock agreed.
---
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