Author's Note: Some OC/ reader insert x Bartholomew Oobleck! There is a huge debate on whether or not Barty went to school with team STRQ (putting him at over 40 years old) or if he is actually quite young. This fanfic takes the younger Oobleck view, that he is in around his late twenties (and quite an eligible bachelor!) Currently SFW, but tags/ warnings will update as needed. Cross posted on AO3, using 3rd person. Enjoy!

~Y/N- your name, you are in your early twenties~

The OC's nickname is Mauve Magnolia but I will be using Y/N for the dialogue.

(Chapters 1-4 will be mostly character development/ fluff. You may skip to Ch. 5 for romance, if desired.)

Your POV

"Ugh… Bartholomew I don't think I can make it back." You stutter out, pain obscuring your ability to form your thoughts into sentences. Your panic was building as you drew in shaky breaths.

The green haired man knelt down next to your shaking form, worry and guilt painted across his handsome features. "This is all my fault. I-I shouldn't have brought you out here with just the two of us… even though I swear nothing like this was supposed to happen. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," you responded honestly. If anything, it's mine. I should've just let him fight and offered support like the plan but the sight of him surrounded… I couldn't just stand there.

Just one little slip and look where you are now.

Upon seeing you go down, Bartholomew had screamed your name in fear for your safety, and defeated the rest of the Grimm in a fit of rage and passion. But it came at a cost to his own aura and body. And you knew there were more coming quickly.

He placed a gentle, comforting hand on your back- careful to avoid your injuries- and brought you back to reality. "Look at me Y/N."

You use a precious amount of your remaining energy to meet his deep sapphire eyes with your E/C ones. "It's going to be okay, we're going to get out of here and back to Vale… together. Okay?"

"But… the Grimm…" As if on cue, the roar of an alpha Ursa shook through the air, with echoes following. You only had a couple minutes max before they arrived.

Oh god how many of them are there? A whole pack or more… no… NO…

You and the Doctor both groaned slightly at their proximity. But he regained his composure quickly, tenderly bringing his free hand up to touch your cheek, fingers barely gracing your skin. The intimacy of the action paradoxically both shocked and calmed you. Between the fear of soon death and the heated blush rising to your face from the touch, you swear the overwork you're putting on your rapidly beating heart was going to take some time off of your life (if you did survive this ordeal).

He continued to speak, trying to appear unphased, for your sake. "I'm going to use my semblance and carry you. It's probably going to be pretty jarring and uncomfortable for you… moving at that speed, and unfortunately…", he swallowed, "it might even make your injuries worse."

He paused to let you digest the implications of his plan- your only option. You took a breath- relieved that there at least was an option, and nodded for him to continue.

"Especially due to, well… um… due to your hist-circumstances… that I am aware of. I… I know you don't like being touched" he said the last part awkwardly, removing the hand that had been on your face as if ashamed that he had touched you in the first place.

So… either Ozpin told him or he put the pieces together himself. I guess I haven't actually been very subtle about it.

His words were true, and they reminded you again of how he was cautiously comforting you; not like you could forget! Your cheeks were probably as pink as your magnolia insignia right now. And it was actually working. You hated when people pitied you, but you could hear the understanding in Bartholomew's tone and you were a bit grateful for his honesty and respect.

He began again, "You're just going to have to trust me; we're going to outrun the Grimm and get you the medical attention you desperately need." He searched your face, pleading for a sign that you were still conscious enough to listen and an answer.

"You know I trust you", you whispered out, your words sincere, "let's do this… what do I have to do?" You tried to straighten up a bit, wincing against the pain. Well that wasn't a good idea… I'll just let him handle this, he knows what he's doing… hopefully.

The professor's expression had relaxed upon hearing your positive response. "I'm going to pick you up, and then you're going to have to hold onto me tight. Thankfully your arms aren't in bad shape-I'm sorry in advance for this-can you lay down for me that might be easier" He proceeded to try to coax you from your position on your knees to the ground but the short scream you let out before you found the willpower to muffle it made you both stop.

The huntsman gave you an empathetic, worried look. "I-"

GAAWRRROOOHHHH!

Close, way too close! SHIT- we probably have… less than a minute. "It's alright don't worry about me, I can handle it. We need to get out of here!" You pressed, voice wavering with fear and exhaustion.

"I know," the Doctor solemnly acknowledged, turning from the source of the sound back to you.

Now moving at a much more hurried pace, he opted to pull you to his chest and turning you slightly with one arm. He moved the other one low between your bodies, pulling your knees out from underneath you so that he was clutching you to his chest, bridal style. He carefully stood up.

A bell well off in your head reminding you that he had said earlier that you should hold onto him. Reaching up slowly, you laced your hands together around the back of his neck.

Although slightly surprised that he had chosen this position instead of throwing you over his shoulder (wasn't that an easier way to carry someone long distances?) you weren't going to complain. He had barely moved your body but you still couldn't help but let out a few soft whimpers during the process, courtesy of your currently half-wrecked body.

Great, that's not embarrassing at all. You were self-conscious about appearing weak in front of others, especially a professional huntsman.

"Are you ready Y/N?" he asks and tightens his grip on you, pulling you closer to him.

The man in your thoughts looks down into your half-lidded eyes with a seriousness you know well, and a… hint of a blush? God you're becoming delirious, you reprimand yourself

Turning your head to lean into the crook above his collarbone and squeezing your eyes shut, you respond, "Yes."

*The last thing you remember is passively enjoying the smell of the mix of the attractive professor's cologne, laundry detergent, and sweat, and hearing the scream of an Ursa only a few dozen feet away…. before you get the bizarre feeling of falling… and everything goes dark.*