#(and that's for this year i have no clue if those went up)

[wonderjanga]

The Flask

Literally any hero that knows Captain Marvel will tell you that the man is absolutely amazing, pure and above anything such as cheating, drinking, or even smoking. The JL knows this, the YJ knows this, Teen Titans know this, even the Fawcett heroes know this.

Billy didn’t know this. He honestly had no clue other heroes looked up to him that much but anyways, we have to talk about the prelude to this incident.

See, Billy was minding his own business walking through the trenches, because let’s be honest that’s where he lives, (or at least that’s where he lives in the Superman/Shazam movie). Anyways, on this walk home, he finds a flask just on the ground. He picked it up.

Billy: “Oh cool! A water bottle! It’s a little small though.”

Yeah… anyways, he went to a gas station and cleaned it out of any remaining funny smelling liquid. He even filled it with some tapwater when he was done. So… Kablam!

Strange Water Bottle: Acquired!

Let Billy tell you, he was so proud about finding this water bottle. It had a cool sunflower on it and everything. And sure maybe adults look at him weirdly whenever he drinks from it but whatever! He has a water bottle now!

In fact, he was so happy about this water bottle, he even took it to work, a.k.a. superheroing.

Marvel: *finishes beating up a villain and takes out his flash so he can drink some water*

Fawcitizen: “Wow… Guess the cheese is finally letting loose, huh?”

Elderly Fawcitizen: “It’s about damn time. That young man has been slaving around with the other heroes saving people for years. Let him let loose.”

Fawcitizen: *nods head* “Never heard a truer statement.”

The elderly Fawcitizen and the other Fawcitizen were a little concerned at how he was downing the flask without faltering in the slightest but whatever. It’s the Cheese. Just let him do that.

The Fawcett heroes didn’t think the same though. They wanted to bring up what could’ve happened to make him feel the need to do this, but they also didn’t know if Cap would answer honestly. Heck, he might even offended, and they don’t want that! So, they bit their tongues and kept quiet.

Of course, Billy didn’t just take his water bottle out whenever he was in Fawcett. He took it out just about anywhere. This has led to some interesting interactions with others, not that he minds.

Constantine: “I didn’t fancy you to own one of those, mate.” *points to Billy’s sunflower flask*

Marvel: “Why wouldn’t I?”

Constantine: “Touché.” *offers his own flask so they can clink them together*

Constantine and Marvel: *clinks them*

Billy was absolutely ecstatic that someone else had a water bottle like his. Now, of course, there have been negative interactions with his water bottle.

Marvel: *doing security for whatever reason at the UN and sipping from his “water bottle”*

Security Guard: *watching this* “Quite distasteful, no?”

Marvel: “What do you mean?”

Security Guard: “I mean, this is a gathering of world leaders.”

Marvel: “So…?”

Security Guard: “So I think you’d have the tact to not drink from that here, but apparently not.”

Billy was majorly bummed that some people didn’t like his water bottle but you know what? Whatever.

By the way, because of the fact none of the heroes know why he started “drinking” they just blame each other. More specifically the JL blames the Fawcett heroes while the Fawcett heroes blame the JL.

Again to remind you, anything in Billy’s flask is water.

Also, he eventually found out that his “water bottle” was a flask from Solomon and promptly started leaving the thing at home so he could only drink from there because he was absolutely not getting rid of it.

All the heroes were glad when the sunflower flask suddenly disappeared.

[hanaaishi]

PAIRING: Quinn Hughes x Fem! Reader

SUMMARY: The reader spends Hanukkah with Quinn after an ACL tear forces him to spend the holiday in Michigan.

WORDS: 6.4K

WARNINGS: None

I dedicate this story to @pucks-goals-penalties as part of @wyattjohnston's 2K25 Winter Fic Exchange. Thank you so much to both of you for the opportunity to write this. I had a lot of fun learning about Judaism and Hanukkah.

@kurlyteuvo @callsign-denmark @aqueersouthofthemasondixonline @ice-and-fields @avengedearth

"What is the name of the chocolate coin given at Hanukkah?" your best friend asked over the phone speaker.

You pulled your brush away from your hair and studied your reflection in the mirror, trying to name those blasted things. The word was maddeningly close, dancing at the forefront of your consciousness. Visions of digging your thumbnail under the reeding of the golden foil and lifting the metal leaf to reveal the milk chocolate inside flashed before your eyes. But the answer continued to elude you as you desperately tried to force it past your lips.

Suddenly, memory fragments began to come together to form a new picture, almost like a puzzle—perhaps a clue to solving this vexatious mystery.

It was the Mosher-Jordan study room; Mosher-Jordan—or Mojo, as the student called it—was Quinn's freshman door at the University of Michigan, you recalled. An entryway constructed from brown derby wainscoting gave way to an open room with unsightly barf yellow walls. In the center stood several rows of large wooden slab tables surrounded by matching musty wooden chairs and decorated with banker's lamps. The room was silent except for the howling Michigander winds outside, giving the area a chilling feeling.

Hanukkah had fallen on the last day of final exams that year. However, Quinn had a marketing and algebra final on the morning of the second night, meaning he would have to spend the first night in Ann Arbor. As a result, the two of you decided to meet for dinner and light a Havdalah candle as a symbolic shamash. Black plastic takeout containers from a local Kosher deli with remanents of Hannukah staples—latkes, brisket, knishes, kugel, and sufganiyot—sat neatly assembled at the end of the table.

The table had one of its banker's lamps turned on, illuminating a pile of those coins and a stunning robin's egg dreidel in the center. An artisan painted the Hebrew letters of nun, gimel, hey, and shin in navy blue, framed by white olive branches and marked with gold circles in the center. Gimel stared back at you from under its spotlight, meaning you had won the entire pot of coins. You remember scooping the pile towards you as Quinn wore an awkward smile on his face.

Quinn looked rather handsome that day. His attire was simple: a white button-up dress shirt and black slacks, almost as if he were preparing for the synagogue. He brushed back his fluffy deep chestnut hair under a white and blue yarmulke wove together by a talented craftsperson. According to Quinn, his grandmother made the caps for him and his brothers when they were born, and their mother asked them to wear them whenever they celebrated Jewish holidays. Even though he was 20 years old and away in the Midwest, he still put it on out of respect.

As you gently lifted the metal foil, Quinn explained that it's believed that they represented the coins printed by the Jewish priests to commemorate the rededication of the Temple at Jerusalem after the Israelites repelled the invading Greeks. But that kind of went out of style with the invention of modern machinery. Now, they're made from milk chocolate and used to teach children the importance of money and giving to charity—or making a young Division I hockey player happy.

You still ate the confection out of respect, but it wasn't that flavorful. The chocolate was relatively thin and only had a hint of sweetness, not nearly as succulent as the rush of dulcet caramel when you broke open a Lindor truffle. No offense to the Maccabees, but they still had a long way to go before they could compete with the Swiss chocolatiers. As your taste buds recalled the taste of the chlorate, you remembered his adorable pink lips moving.

You watched as his mouth pulled wide and his tongue hit his perfect teeth for a dental consonant, but what was he saying? Gold? Felt? Gelt?

That was it: gelt. The mysterious coins are called gelt.

"Are you alright?" your best friend asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think they're called gelt," you replied as you resumed brushing your hair. Your heart swelled with pride at remembering something about Quinn and not being a total failure tonight.

"That's right! See, I knew you could do it. I'm sure everything will be fine."

A soft sigh fell from your lips. as the butterflies in your stomach began to flutter around. Fine would be one way to put it. Then again, most people wouldn't agree to spend one of the winter holidays with their ex-boyfriend they haven't seen in five years. You had only dated for about a year, but Quinn was a bad boyfriend. He was one of the sweetest boys you've ever met. He would much rather spend a date picking out books for each other at the campus bookstore than partying with the rest of the Wolverines, the complete opposite of how you think a jock would behave.

He texted you good morning every day, taught you how to skate at the Yost Ice Arena, and took you on picnics at the Botanical Gardens. Hell, he ever shared a part of his religion with you. If there was any question whether you loved each other, you already answered it. And that's part of the reason you let him go, as people say. Quinn would have stayed in Michigan and completed his degree, forfeiting his chance to play with the Canucks. But you couldn't do that; you couldn't ask him to give up his possible one chance to play in one of the most prestigious hockey leagues in the world.

That's why you drove him to Detro Metro early one summer morning when the stars still twinkled brightly in the sky. The two of you stuffed his hockey gear in the back of your car next to your textbooks for the upcoming semester. Quinn had the charming bags under his eyes that he always got when he was stressed or tired, having woken up at 3:00 A.M. for a 12-hour flight to the Western seaboard. However, despite his exhaustion, he did his best to keep your spirits up. He told you jokes with his dry humor and listed all the wonderful things you two could do together when you visit him despite the sorrowful atmosphere in the car.

Even after all this time, your heart still stung at the image of giving him a final goodbye kiss and watching him work with the gate agent to check his equipment to British Columbia. He had promised you that your separation wouldn't change anything and that he would still text you good morning every day, even if he must get up at two. But a pit in your stomach told you that it was a lie. He was going off to become a big hockey star, making millions of dollars with the National Hockey League—and you were just some student at the University of Michigan.

As you predicted, he slowly stopped texting you in the morning. Quinn still tried to text or call during the day, but your little ritual had fallen apart. A storm of thoughts thundered in your head as you attempted to decipher what his subtle behavior change could mean, destroying a two-year ritual. Yes, there was a possibility that perhaps he was just tired from the amount of work Travis Green and the team put him through. However, you couldn't shake the feeling that he had met some pretty blonde girl in Vancouver, like all of the other girlfriends you see on a hockey player's Instagram account.

If she did exist, she was nowhere on Quinn's page. All he had was posts on hockey and his family, like the shy boy he always was, which somehow assuaged the worry in your heart. He still tried to check up on you in Michigan even though he couldn't text first thing in the morning. Fuck, he even left you two tickets for his first game against the Red Wings at Little Caesars' will call. There was no bombshell blonde in Vancouver, was there?

Why did navigating an adult relationship have to be so complicated?

After some more silence, realizing your thoughts had consumed you, your best friend finally said, "Alright, I should probably let you finish getting ready. Let me know how the date goes!" She disconnected the call with a click.

You placed your brush on the grey marble countertop of your apartment bathroom and tossed your hair, searching for the perfect style. It didn't need to be perfect—it never needed to be—but you still wanted to tell Quinn that you were interested. You settled on a simple outfit: a sweater, jeans, and boots to accomplish your mission. Once everything looked perfect, you set about cleaning up a little bit. Your hairbrush returned to a small mug that Quinn had sent from the team store, while several skin care bottles found their place in a small basket on a freestanding shelf in the corner.

A smile appeared as you looked over your cleaning and felt satisfied with your work. You unplugged your phone, turned off the light, and wandered into the hallway. Your apartment was a cozy one-bedroom, one-bathroom unit with a white and maple theme, about an eleven-minute walk from the University of Michigan. It was a little high at $2700, and you considered moving after graduation. But for right now, it worked for where you were in life.

You grabbed your keys and a few miscellaneous items and tossed them into your purse, sitting on a sectional sofa tucked away in the corner. On the kitchen's white marble island sat a jar of Vlasic pickles. The iconic pelican mascot and his plump, briny vegetable gave you a thumbs up, almost as if to say, "You got this."

You felt silly bringing Quinn something banal as a jar of pickles for Hanukkah dinner. Your imagination came to life with the the colors of a gorgeously decorated home with a joyous mirth from relatives sharing a cocktail and discussing their hopes for the new year as dinner was cooked in the kitchen, permeating a delectable aroma into the air. But you and Quinn had the good old pickle. Ironically, it was more sentimental in this way. You two could eat an entire jar together while watching bad films until you could hardly breathe on the common room television. Now, eating a whole jar of those little suckers may not be part of a professional hockey player's diet. But they still held a significance in Jewish culture, and you'd thought it would be a nice dinner gift.

You grabbed your belongings and slipped on your shoes, stepped into the hallway, and went to call the lift. One of the benefits of your $2700 rent was an elevator that headed straight down to the parking garage. However, you had hoped it would get stuck so you could call Quinn and tell him you couldn't make it. As the floor display continued to climb down to P level, you resigned yourself to the fact that fortune had not smiled upon you that day.

The elevator dinged and opened its doors, allowing you to step outside. As you took your first step onto the garage's asphalt, you bundled your coat as the abrasive Michigander wind dashed in from the open entryways and assaulted your cheeks. Perhaps if everything went well, you could spend next year's holidays in Orlando with Quinn, where you didn't have to wear half of your closet to make a 40-minute drive to the northern part of Detroit. You followed the faded yellow arrows deeper into the structure where your car awaited.

You hopped into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition, guiding the vehicle to the exit, where a line of cars from a nearby red light blocked your path. As you waited for the trying to move, your hands tightened around the steering wheel, trying to steel your resolve for what was about to come. This was your last and final chance to get out of this; if you entered the roadway, there was no going back. You had no one behind you, meaning you still had the opportunity to back up your vehicle and maneuver back into your designated parking space. Perhaps you could call Quinn and tell him that you had a sudden cold and didn't want to infect him. Surely, he would understand!

But your brain vetoed your anxious heart, screaming, "You can't do that to Quinn, you idiot!"

And it was right. Never mind that you were almost, not really, a little in love with him, but he specifically asked you to come and spend the first Hanukkah night with him. He had to return to Michigan to receive surgery on his leg for an ACL tear, but Ellen couldn't come and care for him for another few days, so he called you — not an old friend or teammate, but you. You were the first person he thought of when he needed healing, a home, and family, and you couldn't leave him to sing the Hanukkah prayer over the menorah.

"Let's do this!" you said to yourself, putting pressure on your gas pedal as traffic began to move. But a blaring car horn from a passing motorist caused you to jolt as if you had been struck by lightning and slam on the breaks. When you opened your eyes, you realized that two of you had nearly crashed your headlights into each other. Were they going too fast for a residential Ann Arbor street? Probably, who hasn't. But they still had the right-of-way, meaning that you would be liable for the damages no matter how paltry they were. "Sorry! Sorry!" you said, gesturing for the other driver to proceed. If they were glaring daggers at you, you couldn't see it.

A possible reconciliation with your ex-boyfriend and a near fender-bender — what a marvelous way to start the holidays!

The Hughes brothers had always been known for their humbleness and modesty, but you would have never known that based on the house they purchased on Orchard Lake. It wasn't like the sprawling 14-bedroom mansions in Los Angeles hills, made from limestone with those large circular stone driveways you could see on MTV's Cribs. But it was still impressive for its $2.79 million price tag.

Quinn had sent you some pictures of when the brothers first bought the home. It had an assuming exterior made from brown brick, accompanied by three spacious garages and a facade with three large triangle accents made from matching shiplap. The interior had five bedrooms—enough for the three brothers, their parents, and a guest—and seven bathrooms with grey-blue walls and white accents. Sitting on Cass Lake's southern banks, the property also boasted an expansive, verdant backyard with direct access to the calming blue waters and two boat lifts. Oh, yeah—and if that wasn't good enough, it had an indoor pool and a dry sauna to sweat out any residual hatred for the Flames.

You saw some of the serious injuries the Wolverines suffered while Quinn and Luke played at Michigan, and that was just NCAA Division I ice hockey. The last thing you could ever want is a league of 700 6-foot-tall, 200-pound men on literal knives chasing you up and down the ice like a pack of hungry wolves. Not to mention all the mental stress and fatigue from having to fly from coast to coast and speaking to the media every night. However, there was none of that here; there was no Devils or Canucks. There was just Quinn, Jack, Luke, Ellen, Jim, and their guests. Maybe one day, you would be occupying that extra bedroom you saw in the house listing, holding hands with Quinn, and having lakeside picnics just like you did all those years ago in the botanical gardens.

After 40 minutes, you pulled up to the Hughes' house, a bare star magnolia tree sitting on the front lawn. Only the family's Toyota minivan sat in front of one of the garages. A smirk appeared as you pulled in next to the grey vehicle, picturing the humorous image of three large professional athletes smushed in the back of the van as they took a family drive. You turned off the engine and took a deep breath. You were finally here; all you needed was for the night to go halfway decent, and you'd be back in Ann Arbor in your apartment. Grabbing your belongings and crisp pickles, you exited your car and followed the cobblestone path to the black double front doors.

A press of the doorbell caused its little chime to play, and the doors had an even pair of four small glass windows, giving you a glimpse into the house. From your limited field of view, your eyes caught glimpses of Quinn hobbling from the open kitchen on his crutches. You gave him a short wave, hoping he would see it as he approached the entrance. He had cut the mane of locks that you saw him sporting on SportsNet back into a neat quiff, and it was a sensible decision. Based on his tests and MRI, Dr. Regan diagnosed a partial ACL tear—a blessing because it meant Quinn wouldn't need surgery. He would, however, miss the rest of the season while he worked to regain strength in his knee.

If there was ever a good time to cut his hair, it might as well have been now.

Quinn took a bit to open the door, given that he had a pair of crutches. But after some time, he finally maneuvered the door open—and froze. His grey-blue eyes looked you up and down as Quinn formed a soft smile on his lips. You couldn't blame him because this was the first time he saw you in person in five years. Plus, you would be lying if you said you didn't do the same thing to him. If it weren't for his beard, it was almost as if Chronos had reached through time and plucked him out of that night in Mosher-Jordan. He didn't have his yarmulke but still wore a white button-up and black pants. Quinn never changed, yet he did in so many ways.

"Wow!" Quinn muttered after a few moments, causing you to giggle. It took a few seconds, but the soft expression of admiration contorted into wide-eyed embarrassment as his brain registered what it had just said. "I mean, I ... uh ... I'm sorry. Hello. Shalom. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," you replied. "Thank you for inviting me."

"It's not a problem. I was in the neighborhood and thought that maybe we could catch up. Come out out of the cold." He shambled away, granting you entrance to the home.

As you stepped over the threshold and into the foyer, you couldn't help but stare at the beauty of the place. The pictures that Quinn sent you didn't show the property justice. Underneath your shoes, you could feel the softness of a medium oval rug with a blue Paisley pattern. Its white negative space gave it an airy, delicate feel that contrasted nicely against the light blue foyer table. A small plant made from a collection of flowers and greenery sat in a beige ceramic planter in the center, and a more leafy plant rested adjacently on the floor. It was probably fake, so no one would have to water them while everyone was away. A misshapen cream bowl was between the two, proudly displaying its ugly, uneven edges and nonsensical paint splotches. According to Quinn, it was a pottery project that had gone wrong when he was in elementary school. He had begged Ellen to throw it away, but she held onto it and converted it to a catch-all tray as any proud mother would.

"There's a shoe rack in the closet if you want to use it," Quinn said, motioning to the white sliding doors on your left and breaking your reverie. "But you can just leave them anywhere. We're hockey players, not surgeons in an operating room." Doing his best, Quinn hopped down the hall into the kitchen, his crutches clicking with each impact.

Your eyes shifted away from the closet to Quinn's disappearing form, a slight frown on your face. Anyone who had spent enough time around Quinn knew there were two flavors of Quinn's sarcasm—playful and frustrated. It was sometimes hard to distinguish it based on his monotonous baritone voice, but his intonation suggested he was frustrated. However, you had the feeling that it wasn't against you. The source of his anger was more general and fleeting, like the bitterness one would have when losing a hard-fought game. There wasn't specifically anyone to blame; all you could do was accept that you lost sometimes and move on.

We're hockey players, not surgeons in an operating room.

Looking around, you acquired a sense of what Quinn hinted at. A lingering sense of linen in the air suggested that he had sprayed Febreeze or another air freshener to clean up the place. But despite his best efforts, the place remained in a still state of disarray. Hockey sticks and gloves were thrown haphazardly around in the living room beyond, along with discarded shoes, jackets, and video game controllers. A black trash bag with elastic stretched to the limit with what you imagined to be takeout containers and other garbage rested against the white square molding of the kitchen's archway. Quinn couldn't have taken that down to the bottom of the driveway with his busted knee. It was probably waiting for a friend to come and take it.

He was sour because, with his crutches, he couldn't thoroughly clean the place. But why would he need to make the home pristine? It wasn't like Quinn was inviting the President or anything. No, he was inviting someone far more important: you. He was frustrated because it wouldn't be perfect for you. Okay, there was another sign he was still in love with you.

Not wanting to contribute to his exasperation, you quickly found the white wooden shoe rack on the closet floor and placed your shoes in a free space on the top shelf. As you wandered deeper toward the living room and kitchen, the home didn't look too bad. Yes, it looked like a trio of 20-year-old bachelors lived there. However, it wasn't something that an hour or two could fix. In fact, you found the mess slightly endearing because it was candid; it was Quinn. A tiny scribe in your brain furiously wrote down a reminder to return here in the next few days to help Quinn clean—and any supplies he may need. Ellen would be here, but she probably wouldn't mind an extra pair of hands.

"Do you want water or soda or anything?" Quinn asked as you neared the marble island.

"Water would be lovely. Where are the cups?"

"They're in the left cabinet across from the sink - top shelf."

Quinn grimaced from his stool as you turned to open the cupboard door. The only glasses left hid in the back of the upper shelf, with most of them awaiting a wash in the sink. Thanks to your height, you could easily reach two—one for you and one for him. Still, it must have been distressing to be a host who couldn't care for his guest, let alone the girl you wanted to impress. "I'm sorry for the mess. I did my best to clean before you arrived, but I have my hands full," he finally said after a few seconds, solemnly gesturing to his crutches.

"It's not your fault," you replied as you filled the cups with ice and water from the fridge's dispenser and placed a glass before him. "Although you may want to have a word with your knee."

"My knee is quite popular nowadays," Quinn said as he sipped his water, your badinage causing him to smile.

"How is everything going so far?"

The two of you looked down at the ROM brace fastened around his left knee. With its many straps and hinge mechanism, it almost resembled a medieval torture device used to incapacitate someone by taking out their knee joint. Someone checked Quinn into the boards last month, causing him to land awkwardly on his knee. Thankfully, he was able to get up on his own accord. However, even through the television in your apartment, you could see the pain etched into as Boeser and Pettersen assisted him into the locker room.

"The pain and swelling have gone down, but it's still not stable enough to put weight on. I've been going to HealthQuest in town for PT, and they've been in touch with Dr. Regan back west—said I was a good student. He wants me to return for another MRI in two months to see how the injury is healing."

"Do you have anyone to take you to the appointment?"

"Mom should be here by then so she can take me." At that moment, Quinn paused, a spark of contemplation flashing on his face. If he had the same idea you had, which you hoped, this would be an excellent way for you to strengthen your friendship. After all, plenty of work was necessary to get Quinn back on his feet—pun not intended. If Ellen had the appointments covered, maybe you could help in other ways. "I do, however, have at-home stretches from my therapist. Perhaps you could help me do them; make sure I remember to do them daily."

"Like a drill sergeant?" you chuckled.

Quinn let out an audible laugh. It was different from the awkward little puff of breath that you would hear in post-game interviews whenever a reporter would ask Quinn a humorous question, and all Quinn wanted to do was go home. This laugh had more buoyancy and glee, a laugh you only heard with his family and friends. The last time you heard it was in his dorm during your movie nights. Your eyes would be fixated on the TV screen when you suddenly heard the laugh in your ear. He would be grinning from ear to ear as you turned to look him before he explained something demonstrably ridiculous he picked up in the film. Most of the time, you two would break into boisterous laughter as you tried to rationalize the director's artistic choice. It was good to hear that sound again; it made you smile.

"No, not like that," he responded. "I get enough of that in Vancouver. I meant kind of like a cheerleader or something."

"Alright, I will be your cheerleader. Go, Team Quinn!" you cheered, eliciting more of his laughter.

The two of you talked until the sun had set, transforming its idyllic masterpiece into a sea of shimmering stars. Nothing was off the table—ice hockey, work, hobbies, and off-season travel plans; you had five years of catching up. After you covered every topic you could think of, you helped Quinn set the table. You were comfortable eating on the island, but Quinn insisted that you put two places at the table for a proper holiday dinner—or a date. At Quinn's direction, you found two polished white china plates in an unassuming corner cabinet and some of the last silverware sets in their drawer.

On the other hand, Quinn struggled to remove the Tupperware from the fridge while also balancing on one leg. After teamwork, you two finally extracted the containers and placed them on the counter. Through the plastic, you could see the meal: Hanukkah staples—latkes, brisket, knishes, kugel, and sufganiyot—the same foods you ate all those years ago. However, his food was more vibrant, particularly for a meal stored in the fridge. It wasn't grab-and-place-in-a-to-go-container food from a deli, the best a college student could afford. Every layer and ingredient looked like someone assembled it carefully, similar to when da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa or Michangelo sculpted David. The culinarian made these dishes for Quinn, and your heart swelled with gratitude at the thought that a guardian angel was looking out for your stubborn invalid.

"Where did you get this food? Unless you're vying for a career change as a chef?" you asked him.

"Oh, please! If I started my restaurant, the health department would probably shut it down before it opened for being a fire hazard," riposted Quinn as he took off the top of what appeared to be the world's strangest lasagna, which you recalled as kugel. "No, my grandmother sent me this. She does this every year—a package to Newark and Vancouver. It holds up surprisingly well after all of the flying. But she discovered I would be in Michigan this year, so she sent some to our lake house."

"Well, compliments to your grandmother!"

Quinn let out a little chuckle as he pre-heated the oven. "It shouldn't take too long to warm everything up."

"I have something to hold us over while we wait," you stated as you strode out of the kitchen. Caught up in seeing Quinn again, you forgot you left your pickles next to his quirky elementary art project in the foyer.

"The humble pickle!" Quinn proclaimed as you returned and showed him the jar. "You know, a sandwich shop down the road from Rogers has the best pickles I've ever had—one with every sandwich. I'm going to bring you there when you visit the city."

You pursed your lips as you attempted to unscrew the jar top. There was always one in every batch that seemed to have its top stuck together with cement, and of course, you had to pick that one from the grocery store. It's okay—shake off the cramp and try again. Try again; you did, but the lid remained frozen like Bettman during a league scandal. Quinn slightly smiled during your embarrassing ordeal but respectfully didn't comment. Instead, he gave you a few tries before extending his hand, a silent plea to hand over the pickle jar. He twisted, and with a click, the lid came apart with a single try. It must have been those strong, muscular arms of his.

"All hail Quinn Hughes, the opener of pickle jars!" you deadpanned.

"I couldn't have done it without your contribution of loosening the jar. Here, have a pickle. You look like you could use one."

You smirked at him as you pulled a plump, juicy vegetable out of its brine. Quinn did the same, and with a raise of his pickle, he toasted, "Cheers!"

As Quinn predicted, it didn't take long for the food to heat the food back up. You two assembled a decent amount of food before sitting at the table. There seemed to be endless topics of conversation as you chattered together through not only seconds but thirds as well. You took a bite of sufganiyot, studying Quinn's features as the sweet strawberry jam and powdered sugar filled your mouth. You loved how his eyes always felt tired, even when he was smiling; you loved how he spaced out on the bench; you loved how his hair, when long, curled at the end like little angel wings.

You loved him.

Correction: You never stopped loving him. You had prepared your heart for him to move on when he first set foot in Vancouver, but it doesn't seem like he did. You definitely didn't. Memories of that fateful day at Denver Metro returned, as did that familiar heaviness in your heart. You wished you had stopped him and interrupted his conversation with the ticketing agent. The two of you did your best to stay in contact after that point, but you missed out on so much. Then again, there was no telling what could have happened if Quinn remained a Wolverine. The two of you could have broken up and gone your separate ways instead of the situatuionship you have going on.

You could be living in another state—maybe single or maybe dating another guy—with nothing but the memories of Quinn. They say that everything happens for a reason, right? So perhaps, it was a blessing in disguise that he had left Michigan in the middle of his sophomore year. The critical thing was that he was still here, and there was still a chance for you to fan the lingering embers of your love. As you placed the last of your sufganiyot in your mouth, Quinn put a menorah in front of you. It was rather plain, made from polished pewter, which gave it a faint gold color, but in a tastefully modern way. You imagined that the Hugheses must have a much more ornate one back home in Orlando, but the candelabrum would suffice for Quinn, his mom, and now you.

"Amazon?" you asked, shifting your gaze from the ornament to Quinn.

"Amazon," he replied with a grin.

He placed a pack of long, colorful candles and a black electric lighter adjacent to the menorah before reassuming his seat beside you. "Are you ready?"

You nodded as Quinn opened the pack and pulled out eight candles, inserting them right to the left like reading Hebrew. One candle stood on a peak above the rest: the shamash—an actual shamash, not the substitution you used all those years ago. Quinn lit the flame and then used it as a helper to light the leftmost candle of the first night. As the wick ignited, a prayer fell from Quinn's lips:

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.

Baruch atah, Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.

Baruch atah Adonai, elohenu melech ha’olam, shehecheyanu, v’kiyimanu, v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.

As you listened to his words, your eyes studied the flames, dancing and flickering in the air. You remembered Quinn's story when he invited you to Mosher-Jordan five years ago. Hanukkah celebrates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem after the Jews had defended against the invading Seleucid army. When the Maccabees—your chocolate minters, if you will—entered the Temple, they discovered only a tiny amount of oil to light their menorah. Somehow, the oil lasted eight nights, enough time to produce more. That is why there are eight candles, and they're lit yearly: to commemorate the miracle G-d gifted to the Israelites.

Some force, Aphrodite or G-d—take your pick, forced you to take Quinn's hand silently. He didn't flinch but welcomed the gesture by rubbing his thumb over your hand, almost as if a secret wish had come true. The two of you sat in silent reverence as you watched the lights, unmoving. Quinn would have to return to Vancouver at some point, and you would be alone in Michigan again. However, this time, the thought of losing him didn't sting. In fact, your heart felt more resilient than it had in years. Yes, it would take some time for you two to figure out how to make your long-distance relationship work. But if the Maccabees didn't give up, neither would you.

That was the greatest Hanukkah gift either of you could have received, even better than pickles.

"Don't tell anyone, but that's as far as my Hebrew goes," Quinn finally said, breaking the tender moment.

You stifled a laugh. "I can see the headlines now: 'Quinn Hughes, Jewish Conundrum: Half-Jewish superstar only knows enough Hebrew to bless the menorah!'"

"Ha, ha!" he deadpanned as his eyes shifted to your conjoined hands. He then let out a sigh, that sigh. You know, the one when someone is about to have a difficult conversation. It was time to break the ice, to defrost your relationship. "You know, I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad I came, too. I know I've probably said this before. But I miss having you in my life, like physically here in the Midwest. Are you sure you don't have any interest in transferring to the Red Wings?" you replied.

"With all due respect to you and the Red Wings, I have two more years on my contact with the Red Wings, and I don't think Rutherford or Allvin plan on letting me go anytime soon. But when 2027 is up, I will consider it. For now, let's take it a day at a time. I will be here for a few months with my talented trainer." Quinn gave your clasped hands a shake—a gesture to signify you—causing you to smile. "I will say that I'm looking forward to what the future holds for us."

"Me too!"

"Also, I have the goods."

"The goods?"

Quinn walked to a nearby junk drawer and pulled out a blue package. As he approached, you realized that the package he was holding was the gelt—the very same gelt. He tore open the pouch and handed you a piece.

"I don't have to win it this time?" you asked.

"No, you already won my affection. I don't think the dreidel is necessary."

You dug your thumbnail under the gold foil and lifted the metal leaf to reveal the succulent chocolate inside. Ordinarily, the idea of eating a piece of gelt again wouldn't be that thrilling due to its lack of taste. This piece was sweeter, however. It would definitely knock the Swiss chocolatiers at Lindt on their asses, like Foreman knocking out Frazier, because it was a gift from your boyfriend.

As you savored the confectionary, Quinn gently kissed your cheek. They rouged in embarrassment and shock as you turned your attention to him. Quinn had a soft smile and a similar tinge on his cheeks, almost as if to gauge your reaction. After a while, realizing you didn't object to the gesture, his smile grew as he said, "Hanukkah Sameach!"

"Hanukkah Sameach!" you tried to repeat as you swallowed.

"You're cute for a Gentile," Quinn laughed. "Try again. Hanukkah Sameach!" He enunciated each consonant, leading you through the pronunciation.

"Hanukkah Sameach!" you said. This time, you purposefully butchered the word to tease him.

"We'll get there ... eventually. Hanukkah—"

As Quinn led you through an impromptu Hebrew lesson, the flames from the menorah watched, still undulating. The fear of the Maccabees was reasonable, not because of the oil scarcity but also because of the unpredictability of fire. It's a fickle thing; prepared to go out with a simple gust of wind. There's no telling what Hanukkah would have been like if the flames of the first menorah had gone out. But they didn't. They remained firm, passing down their wisdom and resilience with each generation of Jews that lit their shamash.

If fire could do it, so could you and Quinn.

[martyrmarked]

biggest plot twist of my life was hearing the word apostate out in the wild when i thought it was solely a dragon age word

[verypurplepenguins]

Can wait to go into medical debt next month... fuck my life.

[designernishiki]

You asked for a fic rec so I’ll toss this one at ya: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46767358?view_full_work=true Stick through the formatting for the characterization, tone, and really the whole vibe of this fic. I haven’t been able to get the bathroom call between Daigo and Majima out of my head for weeks since I read it with how naturally it all flows. My own little Daigo characterization booklet to review when I feel like I need a refresher on him.

so I may have stayed up until 6am reading this (would’ve slept earlier but I couldn’t stop reading it) and hgggahaghhhhaggahshhhhhhhh that was one of the most well-characterized fics I’ve ever read what the fuck. like the differences in how each character speaks (both tone-wise and in differing levels of authenticity) and how they speak to specific others (the daigo and majima dyanmic specifically- how they actually take into account how long they’ve been working really closely- SO good), the mental anguish and chaos vs the overwhelming emptiness of being daigo dojima but no longer The 6th Chairman Daigo Dojima……….I could keep going but I think you get it.

tbh I’d been wanting to write something exploring a similar set of dynamics/situation (post-kiryu’s fake death, interactions with haruka, daigo, and/or majima specifically, reflecting on his shortcomings while acknowledging the heavy Grief left behind) but now I’m like. well I still could but this was so well written in regards to daigo and haruka that, as far as something between those two goes, I don’t feel the need to.

thanks for the recommendation! my brain is broken now (affectionate)

[millenari]

I know nothing about ballet so Misto’s little lesson to the kittens made absolutely no sense to me lmao

BUT Misto teaching a few kittens, which turns into more kittens, which turns into older cats too… very very good to imagine

Anyway gold rush is just *chefs kiss*

I'm glad you don't know anything about ballet! I hope everyone who read that chapter knows nothing about ballet, bc if I was hideously wrong about everything I said then no one has to know about it, lmao.

The long and the short of that scene is just (supposed to be) Misto teaching the kittens to do his conjuring turns (aka 'a la seconde' turns). Honestly it probably would've had the same effect if I'd just typed out 'and then Misto spent his afternoon teaching the kittens to do conjuring turns' instead of that entire sequence, but alas. my hubris.

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

Em Farrow (tentative last name for dhsab si…..) makes a point of attending a book club at a college they don’t attend, for at least the first part of the storyline. It’s how they established and maintain a small civ friendgroup while living in the city and working under the ELE.

It’s just generally assumed by the other members that Em is a student, but when asked directly (hey, what year are you, anyway? you’re not graduating, are you?) they’ll admit to being a dropout. (nah, I failed out, haha. But Samantha said it would be alright if I kept showing up to our meetings, everybody say thank you Sam) (pan, over a chorus of thaaank you Saaaams, to the quiet club treasurer everybody loves who is a little embarrassed by being singled out and certainly isn’t going to make a fuss and REVOKE an invitation even if she’s pretty sure she never offered one because that would be RUDE and make everything worse)

[knaveofmogadore]

Hang..

[st7rnioioss]

۶ৎ BUNNY!READER x SHY!MATT

when shy!matt got bunny!reader a pair of panties as a joke.. except it's not really anymore (p!link)

˚𝜗𝜚 warnings... dry jumping, groping, kissing, titty sucking, grinding, pet names (bunny, bun, baby)

it was only meant as a joke.. matt had this adorable habit of calling you ‘bunny’ rather than the usual nicknames couples came up with—babe, sweetheart, love, baby, you name it.

so when he saw those white panties with a bunny tail on the back when he was out shopping with you for halloween? he had to get them.. maybe order them online.

but today was far from halloween, it wasn’t even gonna be halloween for months, and he’d forgotten completely about them while sitting by his desk..

well, you certainly hadn’t. a couple weeks ago you stumbled across them, lying in the very back of matt’s closet when looking for a shirt. for a second, you were confused, flustered even. why would he have those? what were they for? did you forget about them?

“matt, what are these?” you’d quietly asked when you returned to him sitting by the counter in the kitchen, shyly holding the pair up in front of him while looking up at him with almost wide eyes.

oh my god. he wanted to bury himself, forgotten all about the almost naughty piece of clothing—naughty if taken in the wrong context of the silly pet name.

“o-oh i just.. those were meant for halloween last year, i-it wasn’t anything serious.. yeah, forget about it..” he mumbled awkwardly, immediately flushing a deep red at the sight of you standing there, the fabric pinched between your fingers, showing off the fluffy tail.

after that awkward interaction, you thought why not just keep them? it was a little, funny inside joke, nothing more than that.. right?

well, they were supposed to just be kept as a joke and left in the back of your drawer, kept closed and hidden away, but honestly? you thought it was a little too funny not to be used, even to be tried on.

hence why you strutted your way into your room where matt was, wearing only the pretty panties with a fluffy pom-pom looking tail on your lower back, and a white lace tank top to go along with the theme.

“ta-daaa,” you smiled, spreading your arms to show off, spinning in a circle for him to show the whole little thing off.

matt was struck when he looked up from his computer. his eyes went wide, his cheeks growing hot and warm, all blood rushing straight from his face to his dick. honestly, he was suppressing a whimper at the sight alone, his eyes tracing over your body while he felt his cock harden under his palm.

“o-oh my god,” he whispered, going completely bashful at the sight of your pretty little self, strutting and showing off for him.

your own face went a little pink. sure, you and matt were intimate, but it never really included stuff like this. it wasn’t anything that came to mind since you both were way too timid to suggest it.

“do you like it?” you asked with a soft smile, giving him another twirl, your hair bouncing while sitting perfectly and neat atop of your shoulders.

to say he liked it was an understatement. of course he liked it, his cock was obviously tenting in his pants, having to suppress a groan from your adorable little costume-like outfit.. if you could even call it that.

he swallowed his nerves, giving you an awkward but firm nod, “y-yeah.. it’s cute bunny,” his voice was small and soft, his eyes drifting back to yours, his skin prickling.

quickly, you bounced closer to him, carefully but confidently making your way into his lap, throwing a leg over his hips. he had no clue what to do, not in this situation. not when you looked that cute, his hands awkwardly flailing over your waist.

“touch me- please baby,” you whispered, slowly wrapping your arms around the back of his neck while settling in his lap, his erection poking against your inner thighs.

your words made a shiver run down his spine, brushing his fingers over the soft skin under your top, running his hands down your sides and hips. he looked up at you, watching as you took your bottom lip between your teeth, a smile still evident on your lips.

matt’s lips were halfway parted, allowing him to let out a little gasp when you unintentionally brushed your thigh over his cock, your hands reaching to cup his jaw in your hands.

he leaned in, brushing his lips over yours until he more firmly pressed against you, his hands getting a good grip on your hips. you cradled his face in your hands to pull him closer, both your eyes fluttered shut and noses occasionally brushing against the others, while he slowly started to guide your hips over his crotch.

you gasped into the kiss, the sudden control matt took making your stomach erupt wildly with butterflies. the gasp you let out allowed matt to drag his tongue across your lower lip, seeking entrance—which he was granted immediately.

he ran his tongue across yours, careful as if to savor the moment, his wet muscle entangling with yours.

matt shuddered beneath you, his head still spinning from the sight of you in those panties he’s bought as a silly joke. he’d honestly never really expect to see you in them, let alone have you in his lap like this, looking so cute.

carefully, he guided you back and forth, his slightly trembling hands slipping from your hips down the sides of your thighs, before reaching your ass.

you continued to roll your hips, your already wet pussy dragging perfectly across his the hard bulge beneath you, making you whine into the kiss. your skin was hot, your face pink and red from his fingers gripping the plush skin of your ass, kneading the skin under his hands.

“m-matt..” you whined when you pulled back from his glistening lips, looking down at him to meet his eyes, guiding you almost erratically but precisely on top of him.

he hummed in response, before attaching his lips to your jaw, pressing a soft peck that left a wet mark on your skin, before continuing down your neck, “so.. so cute,”

you let out a sigh of pleasure, your hands going to twirl his hair between your digits, pushing him closer to you.

he couldn’t stop himself from leaving a small mark on your skin, admiring the sight for just a second, before moving on to leave a couple more.. or just a few. he couldn’t wait for those red spots to turn a deeper purple tomorrow, how he would trace them in the soft morning light.

“y’look.. so pretty bun,” his words were muffled against your skin, his fingertips digging into your lush skin, leaving a red mark behind from his harsh squeezing and groping.

his lips continued sucking on your flesh, eventually reaching your collarbone, letting a breathy moan slip here and there. matt’s touching and kissing causing you to turn completely nervous and baffled almost. he was usually too shy to even touch you when making out.

“f-fuck, matt-“ you whimpered, his hands kneading your bottom repeatedly causing your needy clit to rub deliciously against the fabric of the panties, on top of his rock-hard erection.

the consistent rubbing and grinding of your wet pussy left a wet patch on his sweatpants, but neither of you cared too much about that right now to notice, too busy enveloped in each other.

it wasn’t long before his lips met the fabric of your top, letting one of his hands sneak to the strap.

“c-can i? it’s in the way,” he husked, his voice soft like lace.

you could only nod in response before his fingers dragged the strap of your top down your shoulder, the other one following. deliberately, he tugged the fabric down your front, exposing your chest to him. all while doing this, you gazed down at him, too lost in the bliss to say or do anything.

slowly, he pressed a few kisses to the side of your breast, making your breath hitch for a moment, your teeth nibbling on your lip. he then attached his lips to your hardening nipple, kissing and swirling his tongue around the bud, emitting a moan from you.

“o-oh god,” you whined, your core only aching even more from the pleasure sent straight through your body, a pool of heat forming in your lower back.

matt then slowly resumed your movements on top of him, both his hands returning to your ass to get a firm grasp, all while he tried to distribute equal kisses and lick to both of your exposed tits.

you could already feel the tension in your lower tummy increase, your clit aching and swollen, grinding almost pathetically on top of him to relieve the ache. matt was on the same page, his cock throbbing from the restraint of his boxers and sweatpants—but yet that wasn’t enough to eliminate any pleasure he was receiving.

matt was nibbling and sucking carefully but precisely on your tits, his lips leaving behind a trail of small, red marks across your sensitive skin, occasionally swirling his tongue around your nipple. your back was arched, fingers tangled in his hair to press him closer, and eyebrows knitted up in pleasure.

“i-i think i’m gonna.. gonna come,” your voice was high pitched and whiny, letting matt’s guiding take over your movements completely, allowing him to take control, while he pulled back from your chest to look up at you.

with his head out of the way, you could have a look at the marks scattered across your tits and the valley of them, your face flushing and skin heating up with need. the sight alone was enough to make you whimper.

“m-me too.. i-“ he nodded weakly in response with a whimper, his eyes squeezing shut in pleasure.

his muscles tightened when he felt himself inch closer and closer to his release, already feeling his cock twitch in his pants, yet he wanted you to be pushed over the edge first.

and to his luck, it wasn’t long before your fingers tightened their grip on his hair, an almost desperate moan of his name emitted from your parted lips, until you let go completely, the tension in your tummy snapping.

matt’s continuous guiding of your body caused your already drooling pussy to swipe across his pants, leaving a wet spot on the fabric, soaking through the thin lace of the panties.

matt groaned at the sight, accidentally jerking his hips up to meet yours, almost choking on a moan of your name. a second later, the tip of his already leaking cock spurted hot ropes of his seed into his boxers, leaving a wet mark right next to the one you left.

eventually you both looked at each other, your faces flushed and hot, eyes wide, and heart racing. matt was the first one to break a smile, chuckling lightly at the sight of your eyes, which you returned, giggling softly.

“i- well..” he mumbled shyly, almost nervous while the icky feeling of his cum smearing against the fabric of his boxers, making him grimace.

you did the same, the feeling of your slick panties making you wince, giggling along with the look of matt’s face.

his fingers then reached for the fabric of your tank top, helping you get the straps back up to sit on your shoulders like before, but not without giving your bruised and marked tits a final glance.

“we should- we should probably clean up..” matt muttered, back to running his flat palms over the skin of your ass, now red and bruised, his touch much more gentle than it was a moment ago.

you blinked, staring at him with a gaze full of love, nodding along with his quiet words. “do.. do you wanna shower with me?” you suggested, taking his fingers between yours.

matt nodded slowly before he got to think, watching as you went to stand up with an almost proud smile, the little tail of your panties wiggling when you turned around to head for the bathroom.

“you don’t.. think we should keep those?” he smiled while following right behind you, hand in hand, all while giving the tail a gentle tug, causing you to yelp when the elastic band snapped back onto your skin.

more shy!matt x bunny!reader here

𝜗𝜚˚࿔notes: imagine they FUCKED in the shower🔥

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @sturnvxz @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

© 𝐒𝐓𝟕𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐈𝐎𝐒𝐒 𝐞𝐬𝐭. 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

[sunniepoo]

I NEED more of the obx/reader love islane PLEEK 😭😭😭 jj next pls pls pls

love island!jj

jj is an og boy through and through, i have no clue why but something about him screams being in the original line up. the public love him from the moment he comes on, from his looks to his personality he already becomes a bit of a fan favourite

i feel like you would also be in the original line up however you wouldn’t be coupled together, i think it’d be a situation where the public chooses who should go together and honestly he’s gutted. his eyeballs nearly popped out when he saw you and in his head he’s praying that the public chose you to be with him but to his dismay it was not the case

but that doesn’t stop either of you, it was easy to fall for him with his jokey, playful manor but still that masculine presence that follows him - i think the moment where the two of you’d click is when your playing a game around the fire pit and you mention something about the ocean or surfing and it just clicks for him that he needs to get you in his bed as soon as possible

i think it’s only a matter of time before he’s pulling you for chats and slowly flirting his way into your heart, during one of the first recouplings he picks you and honestly that’s only the beginning for the two of you, it’s really sweet and romantic from there on and you become a public favourite quite quickly (sort of like lana and ron s9)

the main major stump between the two of you is when bombshells come in and neither of you have communicated well about that situation so when you see him cracking on with another girl that’s not you, it genuinely shatters your heart into a million

i feel like we see this in obx and i can see it translate into this very well is jj’s fear of intimacy and closeness, for him he could care less about the bombshell but it’s the idea that you and him have been getting so close it’s causing him to freak out and that’s how he finds himself flirting with someone’s name he can barely remember

and before he can even explain himself or even talk to you, everyone’s gathering around the fire pit and he’s being chosen leaving you single - he couldn’t hate himself more in that moment because the idea of you going home genuinely makes him want to leave with you but production comes through and you’re being sent on a date ( really pulling a mimii on this one s11)

following that it’s just a bit of back and forth of arguing and getting back at each other before he sits you down and just breaks, he starts pouring his heart out and you start to realise that whatever anger you have is not worth it

not to say it doesn’t cause a stump in your relationship but your connection with him is stronger than the anger you have. truly once you guys get over that it’s so so sweet and heartwarming

you’d 100% be the very loud, active couple like everyone else is complaining at how your going at it and he genuinely has no shame and doesn’t care - he’s eating you out under those covers with no shame

you guys going to the hideaway would go so viral just cause of how fucked out you look after (lowk like in love island usa when kenny and jaNa came out) hair is a mess and everyone is making memes about how he gives it good

casa amour is such a realisation for him at how much he needs you to keep his mood up because for the first time he is just so out of it and it’s solely because he misses you - the casa recoupling is so cute because you literally run to him and he’s looking at you so in love

like i said casa is such a realisation for him that it doesn’t take long for him to make you his girlfriend and drop the l bomb and if people though you were loud before, god were they not prepared

people have been rooting for you since like day one, when they saw his face when you’d strutted in so it was a very clear and obvious win, and all hell breaks loose when you announce your first kid a couple years later and all you can think is how this started from a silly show you went on for fun

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐱 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ your task was to keep an eye on the enigmatic salesman while gi-hun attempted to join the games again, but it turned out to be harder than expected as you end up falling in love with him

warnings_ age gap (not specified but legal) reader is implied to be American but not specified, sexual tension, reader is constantly bullying the salesman, ooc salesman, fluff?, angst?, violence, manipulation, stockholm syndrome???, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls

notes_ i can’t stop associating so bad from Jesse Jo Stark and IT girl from JADE with this man sorry. RECOMMEND SPECIFIC DRAMAS OR MOVIES WITH GONG YOO TO WRITE MORE FICS, I ALREADY PLACED HIM IN MY PHONECASE, MAKE THIS CRUSH WORTHY

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Lies can’t be considered to be completely bad. Sometimes you must avoid the truth to be safe, to protect… to seek. You left home with the excuse of a research project for your thesis. Truth is, you wanted to know what happened to your brother.

He graduated with a business degree and left for Chicago but after hearing nothing from him two months later, your parents went to the police.

None could be done. He was simply gone.

But you didn’t believe that. There was more, there had to…

With luck, you discovered your brother left Chicago two days after his arrival, and then boarded a plane with a route to Seoul. With almost zero comprehension of why he would leave the country, hell, the damn continent! It resulted astonishing to you.

It was so great you needed to get answers that you ventured into the unknown. You didn’t know how to speak Korean, you didn’t know much about the country you landed eight months ago.

And you didn’t believe a hundred percent about faith or destiny. But your first clues to your missing brother lead to a man who looked at a card in his hands while he flipped it continuously.

That was Seong Gi-hun. A man who had lost everything and then won but didn’t feel like that afterward.

For some weeks, you couldn’t process the fact that your brother was dead. He had joined some games deathly games that were worth it for many since you could leave as a wealthy winner.

Even more senseless because perhaps your family wasn’t rich, but your brother couldn’t have anything else than student debts and that was something that most adults could deal with.

It all led to drowning in sorrows and thinking your efforts to find him were in vain. The year your brother played the games was 2022 and the winner wasn’t him.

Gi-hun didn’t give up on you. He took care of you when he didn’t have to. Later told you about his plans and suggested you join him.

For your brother.

It was for his memory that you agreed to learn how to wield and use a gun. For his memory, you decided to stay and overcome the people behind those hideous games.

Leading you to become a ghost. Working as a teacher’s assistant until the plan was coming closer and you had to quit. Living in a rented apartment until you had to move out to a little house Gi-hun bought under a pseudonym for you to use while he was inside the games. He assured you could take all you needed from the money he had. Although you didn’t like to do so, you had to because you no longer had a job.

And for a long time, you had to be at the subway station looking for an apparent handsome, tall businessman who offered to play Ddakji and slapped people when they lost. Nobody had seen the salesman yet.

You avoided judging beauty but you hadn’t seen anyone who you considered to be handsome, and no man was slapping people.

Between lifting weights, practicing core strength, having no job and searching for a businessman who bullied random people, you had found a routine.

A lonely routine. You held some camaraderie with the men who also looked for the salesman, but you hadn’t found a real friend other than Gi-hun.

It was late when you were told they had found the salesman. Rain poured and you were at a restaurant having dinner. With hurried feet you took a cab that left you at the door of the solitary pink motel, never noticing certain cops looking from the other side of the street.

When you opened the door, you heard voices and secluded cries. You pulled out your gun and carefully walked towards the pleading sounds.

In a room, there lays a tied man, pleading for freedom. You know him; it’s Choi Woo-Seok.

His eyes are teary, he’s beaten and shakes desperately. You only let him know with his hands to quiet down and to calm down.

Both of your hands are on the trigger. You slowly walk back towards the entrance, where the voices can still be heard. You identify Gi-hun as there. So you try to be more careful, even when the music playing disturbs you.

The darkness of the room makes it easier for you to disguise. That’s when you can see the men sitting in the middle of the room.

They’re playing the Russian roulette and it makes you frown from cringe and panic.

It wasn’t hard to understand that the man facing Gi-hun was none other than the salesman.

He was indeed handsome. He looked like a clean and neat businessman, and the way he arrogantly spoke and held his gun said a lot about him. He was insane.

The only thing you can care about is to prevent death. Your hand doesn’t shake, fingers confidently on the trigger, waiting for the right moment while your free hand sneaks inside the pocket of your coat, pulling another loaded gun.

When the salesman raises the gun, pointing at the ceiling and he is busy talking, you pull the trigger.

Both men turned to look at you in surprise.

Gi-hun suddenly looks relieved, while the salesman stares at you so deeply that it makes you nervous for a second.

But your reflexes were fast enough to see that he was about to move, so you pointed at him with the other gun, shooting at him with a potent sedative right in his shoulder.

“Where did you get that?” Gi-hun asked you. “A month ago, in the kitchen of the Chinese lady’s restaurant around the block”

“Thank you” You nod at him, seeing how he went straight untie the man in the other room.

You look back at the salesman, who is unconscious on the couch. Slowly, you walk towards him. Almost nervous that he would move, jump out and kill you, but it’s impossible.

Your hands start wandering around his neck, taunting his skin and fabric covering it to see if he possesses a microphone or camera that would put everyone in danger.

At the same time, a cop arrives, accusing you and Gi-hun of killing the salesman.

Everything changed in the span of a night.

…

He woke up to the smell of alcohol. His eyes could barely focus but he knew his head was in the lap of a woman. He knew he was in handcuffs and his feet were tied up.

Between faded memories, he remembered your face and hands pointing a gun at him.

When he tried to focus his view again, he realized you had stood up, he saw your blurred silhouette glancing around the room until he felt more oriented. He could hear you talking in English, often mixing words in Korean with bad pronunciation. Something about a doctor and ordering Mexican food for takeout.

Pretty woman, he thought. From your sophisticated and unusual pick of heels, your dress and coat, your earrings, hair, and shade of lipstick. You truly were a sight.

Once you hang up, you turnto see him seemingly awake.

“Gi-hun! The freak is awake!” you yell, making him frown.

Freak? He has been an honest gentleman with you.

“Your Korean is not good” his voice sounds raspy and he can barely sit straight with his extremities tied up.

“Neither is your English” he chuckles briefly.

Choi Woo-Seok appears at the door and looks scared at the salesman, who barely eyes him, still focused on you.

“Gi-hun left with Jun-ho to speak properly” You roll your eyes, nodding.

“Alright. I ordered food for everyone, the dentist is coming to check Gi-hun and this man over here. Keep an eye on that, please” he nods, closing the door and leaving you alone with the salesman again.

“I guess I’ll have to do it myself” you basically whisper to yourself.

“A doctor?” Ignoring the man, you step almost between his legs and you sense he got taken aback by the proximity.

“Take off your clothes” his eyes opened a little more and you almost laughed.

“Excuse me?” one of his brows looked slightly arched, half playfully and half taken aback.

“Take off your clothes, sir” you repeated, trying to sound calm.

“I’m afraid I’m handcuffed and tied from my ankles, miss” he shows you his hands and oddly moves his free fingers.

“Hmm, too bad. I will then…”

You only made him look like a mess. But you found a tiny camera and microphone well hidden in his blazer.

Your hands never trembled over his skin. And unbeknownst to you, he was on fire. You even cleaned the blood on his face and he discovered how soft your hands were.

Once you crushed the camera and microphone, you took a seat in the same place Gi-hun was an hour ago, facing the salesman.

“Two years ago you handed a card to a man. He was non-native, had green eyes, ebony hair, tall like you, and was very friendly” you start, feeling a pang in your chest while describing your brother.

Meanwhile, the man thought back on the hundreds of people he had tricked. It was easier since less than 8% of the players were non-Koreans.

“Ah, yes, I remember him. Very expressive and handsome. You people from the occidental are very extroverted” he said with a cheeky smile and you almost rolled your eyes. “That was your brother, I’m assuming”

“He was, and yes; While you only made an offer and he accepted, you didn’t tell him his life was at stake” The way he looked at you with arrogance made your blood boil.

“Ma’am, the games are made for the mere reason of helping people. It is just one lucky individual who takes the prize”

“Bullshit. It is entertainment for the rich and a purge of innocent people you and your shitty folks believe are useless. I come from the epitome of capitalism, don’t fool me” he stares too much at you. In his head, he wondered why you got so invested in the whole situation. You seemed young, smart, pretty even. Why were you wasting your mundane life trying to be a hero?

“You and Gi-hun are not saviors, miss. Him trying to contact my boss is useless. You keeping me here, is pointless. The games will go on and my superiors will succeed, while you will watch and hate that your attempts to stop it were worthless” he says.

You huff tired, walking back and forth in the little motel room.

“Good lord, Why are you so obsessed with protecting an organization that will likely replace you the moment your heart stops beating?” He tilts his head, with his hands in cold handcuffs under the table and a little smirk. He almost looks adorable.

“I know where you come from. I know you have never experienced the extreme lack of money. I was doing my research when my superior; The Frontman, found a foreign woman working with Mister Gi-hun” In his words, you try to hide the fear. Of these people hurting your family. Of them knowing more than they should about your plans with Gi-hun and Jun-ho. “Don’t be fearful, ma’am. We have no business with people outside of Korea. But you shouldn’t be digging along those filthy scums. Now you’re also part of this”

The silence makes him feel like he won. His smile is pretty, but he was a fucking asshole.

“And for what miss y/n? For your brother? Who proved to be desperate and needy like everybody else. A man who died and nobody came for him…” he leaned, showing you his cuffed hands and mocking you with every bashful word he spitted out.

Your eyes get teary. You sigh, nodding and looking away. The salesman stared at you with ease, believing he had won once again.

But you take him by surprise when the heel of your boot kicks his ribs and sends him to the floor.

You quickly grab your gun and kneel beside him. The barrel of the gun traces his temple and cheekbone slowly as you lean to his ear.

“You are a man and I’m a woman who are simple mortals. Quit with the arrogance and start speaking the truth” you spit out with feigned sweetness. Your knee brushes his lips and he only looks at you defenseless, but soon goes back to smile. “Why don’t you try to be a good boy for me, sir…”

“You waste your time, dolly,” he says in Korean and makes you frown.

“Fuck you” you spit at him, literally. You couldn’t care less if you weren’t acting decent. The salesman could go to hell. You just grew more eager for Gi-hun and Jun-ho to accomplish the mission.

…

The door was softly closed even when your ears were ringing in anger. Gi-hun and Jun-ho were standing, expecting you.

“Did he say anything?” you sighed, shaking your head. “He’s a fucking asshole”

“We can’t give up. The plan must keep going but now that we have him, he could give us details” You nod at the young ex-cop. Gi-hun only huffed but ended up agreeing as well.

“The only way to keep him steady is if you stay with him” Your heart almost stops as you look at Jun-ho feeling mortified.

“Me?” He nods, crossing his arms.

“Either way is dangerous for y/n. She’s definitely not coming with me to the games, she shouldn’t go searching the island, and staying alone with that sociopath will not calm me while I’m gone” The worry in Gi-hun made you smile a little, he really cared about you and it made you feel like everything was worth it.

For him, your brother and anyone who had joined or planned to join the games.

“I will stay with him. We would be pretty much isolated and if we stay together 24/7, I shall be fine”

“You will be protected, you have my word,” Jun-ho says softly.

“I won’t be able to see you tomorrow. Take care of yourself, use any of the money, and do not give up on making the salesman speak” The tone the older man uses makes you feel a little teary, it’s a goodbye. “Jun-ho and Woo-Seok will keep you safe. And if anything happens to me, take all the money and go back home”

You frown, continuously shaking your head.

“Gi-hun, I wouldn’t be able to leave if something happened to you. I would stay until I knew what happened” he smiled, giving you a quick hug before he got his jacket.

“Keep your eyes open, kid” you nod, wishing him farewell.

The room fell into silence. And it was only you and the salesman in the other room.

…

If anyone walked into the house in one of the most humble districts, they would believe it was a social experiment. A man tied up from the hands and toes has to follow a woman like a lost puppy each day.

From having breakfast, lunch, and dinner together, him being blindfolded while you took a shower and you playing games on your iPad while he took one too.

The silence was the excruciating part. He barely talked and when you tried to pry about him, it likely ended up with you furiously pulling his hair and leaving the room made a mess.

“I could be useful, ma’am,” he said, sitting straight at the table. “The least I can do in lockdown is to help you with banalities”

Out of his suit-tailored suit, he almost made you think about the word ‘domestic’. He was wearing a grey hoodie, black sweatpants, and white socks.

“The only thing I’m asking you to help me with, you cannot provide” you reply, serving him a cup of coffee.

“I don’t drink coffee” he politely declines de cup, and you roll your eyes.

“Really? You look like someone who needs a lot of caffeine” The playful tone came out of nowhere and it made you bite your tongue.

“And I wouldn’t take you as an addict for it” It’s the first time both of you actually speak and it’s odd. “Who would’ve thought?”

“Yeah, I like it very toasted with just a smidge of almond creamer” You hear him chuckle and it makes you smile. But you remember the reason why you are there.

You aren’t there to talk about coffee.

“So… How long had you been doing… your job” one of his hands was cuffed to the chair beside him, and with the free one, he was able to eat.

“Some years, five, maybe seven. But I’ve been in the organization for longer” You almost dropped your fork, surprised to hear he was actually answering.

You wouldn’t push it too far.

“Are the games really that terrible like Gi-hun said?” The man tilts his head.

Perhaps he was getting dementia and he was forgetting you had him captive in a random house. But he was willing to answer.

“They are. But that’s what they sign up for…”

“No. That’s how you and your peers have shaped the games” he makes a feigned pot, cleaning the corners of his mouth with a napkin. “We’ve already talked about this…”

“Listen asshole, I just need you to tell me where the fuck is that damn island” It’s obvious you were getting exasperated and he was enjoying it.

Wearing a sundress and sandals, messy hair, and barely traces of makeup, you looked lovely to his eyes. Almost impossible to imagine you could get angry so easily.

“If your friends were smarter, perhaps they would have already figured it out”

“You really rather die than accept you’re just their dog. Just a messenger who will be replaced once they notice you have mysteriously disappeared…”

Now was his turn to get angry. You could see the way he was tense.

“Not very different than you, ma’am. You were left behind to keep an eye on me. Just a little ragdoll to use”

You slap him so hard that even some birds peeking in the window fly away at the sound. The red tonality starts spreading across his pale cheek.

“Do it again” he blurts out and it boils your blood. He must’ve felt hard by your harsh action but you were enraged.

So you did again, harder this time.

His expression was indescribable. He seemed pleased and you hated it.

“Fuck you!” You yell exasperated by him.

“I told you once, this is pointless” You harshly grab his jaw and make him look up at your eyes. He has a playful smile and some of his hair falls scattered across his forehead.

“I will make you spit out every dirty little secret of yours. Even if it takes longer than needed”

He leans even closer and you literally feel his dry lips against yours but it doesn’t make you flicker.

No matter how wet the whole situation is making you feel.

“Why so quiet, doll?” he asks, grabbing your hip and moving his hand dangerously back and forward towards your ass.

“What a shame you are not complying. If you did, you’d had me begging for you to fuck me hard”

He gulped shocked, you won.

Your free hair, the view of your cleavage, the proximity to your lips, and the words that spilled out of your mouth were driving him crazy.

“You’d love it, right? I can tell no one has fucked you good enough. That’s the real shame, sweetheart” You want to ignore the way you feel you are throbbing, as well as the sight of his tightening pants. “No need, I can get wild by myself”

“Really? You like to get messy in the sheets?” You nod, feeling bold and sassy, gently touching his inner thighs and abandoning the touch once you’re inches away from feeling his hard cock.

“Yes, sir. I love watching my own reflection, gasping and moaning while my fingers slip in and out of my cunt and I feel so close to squirting”

“Fuck…” he curses in Korean a trail of words, which makes you smile as you leave.

…

The salesman was once very poor, he was a guard in the games, became head of them, and then jumped to be the recruiter.

He killed his father and became the most isolated man to protect his and the organization’s identity.

At least that’s what he revealed when you forced him to get drunk. You also got drunk to set it equal but both of you remembered everything. The salesman even earned the right to be out of the handcuffs. Which resulted odd to you, because he hadn’t tried anything to kill you or escape.

It also made you wonder if he was feeling weird things like you.

Sat on the balcony at midnight during a sudden heat wave, watching the skyline of Seoul at a fair distance, it almost felt like a simulation. Where he wasn’t your captive, he was a good man and both of you were having a date. As ridiculous as it sounded.

“Okay. I get you’ve had enough in life, but don’t you want to actually live? To wander and experience tranquility. You’re getting old and time will pass” you unexpectedly said, even taking yourself aback.

“I chose this life some time ago. It’s what I get…” you wanted to take his hands and tell him he had a chance.

But he was just the salesman.

“I would like to beg you to think twice. To question yourself if you want to die as their… dog, or start living. But you won’t listen, you are missing the warmth of life… and love”

You didn’t mean to say all that. But you were also drunk. And that’s what you honestly thought about him.

And that was two days ago.

The most important phone in the house rang. And you literally jumped out of the bathtub to pick up the call.

In a drenched dress that was supposed to be your outfit of the day and hair tangled up in a towel, you get towards the phone, ignoring the salesman seated steps away.

“Hello?…” you are greeted by a distorted voice but soon you know it’s Jun-ho.

“…y/n!… Hope you’re alright, Have you found out anything?” You sigh, already answering the man.

“No. Tiny details of the man but nothing that would actually lead to the island” you almost whisper, hoping the salesman won’t hear you.

“Not much luck here either. A storm will impact tonight. And we lost contact with Gi-hun”

“WHAT?” You nearly scream, the salesman looks up at you with curiosity and you continued the call, opting to whisper if needed. “Yes, the microphone is gone”

“For fuck’s sake…”

“If nothing can be done. We will return tonight, but I have high hopes” he says.

“I’m hopeful too. I will try again with the salesman, Jun-ho” The call was getting harder to understand, you could barely hear the man on the other side. You only hear one thing.

“If needed, kill him, y/n” he hangs up and it leaves you made a mess.

You look back, finding him charming while trying to flip the page of a crossword book.

You couldn’t kill the salesman.

Developing feelings for the man who tricked your brother into joining the games, was almost insane.

You sobbed without care sitting on the couch facing the bed, feeling like you were dancing on your brother’s grave. Like you were failing Gi-hun, Jun-ho, and all the crew. Your friends…

But your salesman was interesting, every conversation with him made you forget about everything as simple as it could be. You liked his big hands and his silly smile whenever you tried to outsmart him.

You are so screwed.

He stared at you sobbing with your hands covering your face. And something made him feel sorry. He hadn’t realized that spending a week with you made him remember a lot of things about humanity.

He knew you were stressed out and scared of losing your friends. He never had friends or girlfriends to rely on, because he thought he didn’t need them. He was better off alone, feeling powerful and condescending for finally being on the other side of the coin.

But what was life without love?

“Let’s play a game,” he says.

“Not in the mood for your bullshit” when you turn to look at him, he is pointing at the open balcony and the view of the city.

“We’ll play mimic. I will tell you the location of the island and you only have three guesses” You roll your eyes. “You can say random shit to confuse us”

“You have my word. This is your only chance…”

“And if you win?” He shrugs. “We can talk about that later”

He would make sure you won.

“Three guesses…” You nod at him, noticing he wasn’t being playful and cocky as usual. He was calm and almost looked innocent.

Slowly, he points at the painting above his head; it’s the sea.

“In the sea, yes, we know the island is on the sea, genius” he smiles, then points at the painting again. This time, his fingers trail downwards, trying to reach one of the edges; to your left.

His hair hadn’t grown in the slightest, but out of his suit, with ordinary clothes and no way to tame his hair, your salesman looked divine. With an adorable expression, hoping to make you understand.

You loved him.

“You are not paying attention” you huff in annoyance.

He trails his fingers down the painting and then points at the decoration of candles at the little table between you two.

His fingers touch each candle, making you follow the pattern of a simulated bridge.

“Dammit, Couldn’t you be less specific? I don’t understand shit…” he sighs, shifting on his seat.

“One more guess…” you’re not sure if you believe him. He could either keep making lies to shift your attention somewhere else. And you didn’t have the heart to call Jun-ho with uncertain hopes.

The salesman points at the painting one last time and you pay real attention. He had big hands and long fingers, fitting a pianist. They move downwards above the sea of dried oil paint. Then, he points at the skyline of the city and finally trails the candles forming a bridge.

Inthe sea, left, south, bridge and the city.

Your eyes snap open.

In the sea, towards left and south, with a bridge that connects to the city.

“THE ISLAND IS LOCATED SOUTHWEST, ALIGNED WITH THE PIER OF THE CITY!” you scream in happiness and the salesman nods in silence, you cheer, typing the message and sending it to Jun-ho “OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU”

You were about to hug him, but you stopped. Quickly, you stand up but you feel his hand pull you down again.

“Say it again…” his voice sounded deep and it made you feel even more embarrassed after all.

“I’m sorry. I hate to admit it, but I’m human. We’ve spent so much time together that…” Feeling completely helpless and embarrassed you look away. But his touch is there again, caressing your thigh. This time his touch is delicate, unlike the first days where he would seek control and indulge pain even in the slightest.

“I feel things too” he admits, shocking you.

“You feel things?”

“By telling you where the island is, your friends can succeed and with luck, everything will be over. You’ll have avenged your brother and helped future people who could’ve died in the games. The government would step in and I would be charged, you’ll likely get deported or fined even when you did the right thing” You let him speak and trace random patterns in the skin of your thigh because it felt right. “I am no good and I shouldn’t say anything else, but if you’d have me… I would gladly run away with you”

Your heart makes your cheeks bloom a beautiful color of blush. It was wrong, not part of the plan, out of your mind. But it felt right, an inevitable consequence.

You literally jump to kiss him. And in an amazing turn of events, the salesman transformed into the most submissive man.

His hands were almost trembling while they held you.

He couldn’t believe it. All the efforts he put into being loyal to the island that gave him the chance to become someone, were over the floors. All he knows is that when he looked at your bright eyes, he wanted it to be his sight forever. Your company matches him perfectly, you are the type of woman he didn’t know he craved.

“We might need to go to therapy and this is a terrible idea but I’ll pretend you’re worth it,” you say in his lips, biting his lower lip gently.

He smiles. Unsure if he’s making the right decision but confident that he’s choosing the right partner. The salesman believes he doesn’t deserve a second option. He hated himself for a variety of reasons. But he couldn’t comprehend the way you made him feel. It was his obsessive nature what had been completely shattered by your arrival. Transforming into something else, unknown and prone to make him addicted.

He hated vulnerability, but he was welcoming it with open arms for you.

“I don’t want to ever let you go”

“Don’t you dare, darling” you say, moving to straddle him and kiss him a little more.

___________

SALESMAN X READER X FRONTMAN FIC NEXT AND IT’S WEIRD AND MESSY AND A DISAPPOINTMENT, STAY TUNED

[reidrum]

the prophecy part 1:

cards on the table, mine played out like fools in a fable | s.r.

A/N: trying something new…..this one’s been on my mind for too long and the angst hurt too good. sorry in advance ! perhaps a part 2 who’s to say ..,,,..,. ?

cw: bau!fem!reader, spoilers for prison arc, implied talks of SA (referring to when lindsey doses spencer in mexico), maeve donovan, just angst bro this doesn’t end well

summary: you and jj accompany spencer to cat’s correctional facility to play her games, except there’s more than one loser

wc: 2.1k

part 2

——————————————————————————

Cat Adams’ taunts and demands have led Spencer, JJ, and you to visit her in her correctional facility to play whatever game she has for him. Emily had you and JJ go with him given his erratic state from just being released, in hopes that you both could regulate and monitor the whole meeting.

You and JJ watch Spencer walk in stoically, sitting down across from Cat as she smiles at him. He angrily demands for his mother’s location, but she gets upset and tells him that he doesn’t get to treat her like a criminal. She only agrees to tell him the location if he plays her game, and figures out the secret she knows about Spencer.

Spencer’s brain works overtime to figure out what he’s missing, what Cat could possibly be holding against him that would make him deny the truth of it. He runs through all the scenarios; Spencer being able to now understand how it feels to have a parent used as a pawn, Cat wanting him to admit his love for her. But she shakes her head and reveals that a clue was left in a scrapbook in Spencer’s apartment.

You remember you took a picture of it when you went with Spencer to scope it out, and pulled it out to show JJ.

“Is that an X and a Y?” She ponders, “What could that mean?”

“I think it’s…” You stop halfway, realizing what it means. Your face drops and you look back in the room to watch Spencer come to the same conclusion.

“We’re pregnant!” Cat sings.

You and JJ look at each other in shock, the blonde’s voice slowly drowning out as you sink further into the Cat shaped hole. You vaguely hear her mention going to the guard to find her medical records, but all you can think about is how she could be bearing Spencer’s child.

Spencer and you had been together for a little over two years now. While still in the relative early stages, a lot about your relationship had been figured out and solidified. It was the most secure you’d ever felt with anyone, and despite the road bumps with Mexico you felt that you both came through it as well as any couple would in that situation.

You loved Spencer, and Spencer loved you. Right now was just another one of those road bumps, just like Mexico. That’s what you needed to tell yourself.

JJ bursts through the door with the medical documents, “I got them.” breaking you out of your spiral. You both anxiously look at the paper to find a little (+) sign ticked next to the pregnant box.

Cat Adams really was pregnant. You think you could be sick, you feel JJ’s hand grip your arm in an attempt to tether you back down, but it’s a futile effort. Your brain has already taken the information and ran a billion different directions with it, each coming up with a more crazy conclusion.

You stare blankly into the interrogation room as Spencer vehemently denies the child being his, denying any such way that it could even be his. The disbelief is ruling his words as he shuts down any theory that gives it truth, until Cat reminds him of the heavy dose he was given in Mexico. It hit him then, if he could barely remember the third person in that room, he had no bearing on whatever else transpired.

Spencer tries not to let the anxiety and shock show on his face as he sits down to face Cat in the eyes, “How did you do it?”

“I gave Lindsey very specific instructions to get you in the mood.”

“She pretend to be you?”

“Why, would that have worked?”

“No.” he says sternly.

She pauses, ego clearly bruised, “Yeah, I know. I know. Believe me, I know exactly where I stand on the Spencer Reid "Hot or Not" list. I told her to pretend to be Maeve. Maeve Donovan, who had her brains blown out right in front of you before you two could even kiss.”

Spencer’s face falls. No, he thinks, no no no. He looks back at the one way window behind him, knowing very well he can’t see you but you’re watching everything unfold disastrously.

Your heart drops so fast it could have very well been seismic. To your horror, Cat continues.

“I thought about telling her to pretend to be your little BAU girlfriend,” she chuckles, “But then I realized, you only had one love of your life. and you won’t let anyone else measure up.” She leans in closer, “By the way, I know that you still think about Maeve when you’re, you know, with your little crime fighter over there. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” She gives an over exaggerated wink to the window.

Spencer feels like he’s seeing white, anger coursing through his body as the reality of his situation comes to a head. He’s definitely not thinking when he pushes the table aside harshly, grabbing Cat by the collar and pushing her against the wall. He’s only able to stop when JJ is beside him suddenly attempting to pull him back, reminding him that she’s pregnant.

His fists are clenched and without a second thought he storms out of the room, his tunnel vision taking him right past you and JJ.

JJ doesn’t know what to do, she looks back into the room to see Cat smirking to herself, and god if she didn’t have morals she’d finish what Spencer started. She thinks it’s wise to go after Spencer and check on him, knowing that Cat’s timer is still ticking and the faster he gets back in there the sooner they can find his mother.

But then she looks at you and suddenly her feet are rooted next to yours.

She lays her hand on your shoulder and gently speaks, “Hey, I’m right here okay?”

You nod mindlessly, hoping you can keep the ocean of tears at bay with whatever resolve you can muster. She squeezes her hand at your acknowledgment and doesn’t move.

How is she supposed to even comfort you? How are you supposed to process this?

You knew how important Maeve Donovan was to Spencer. The whole thing had happened a year before you joined the team, only having heard the story through your teammates. It was tragic, there was no other way to put it, and your heart clenched for Spencer for having to go through that by himself. When you both first started dating, he disclosed the more intimate details to you, wanting nothing to be left unspoken about his past to affect his future with you.

What a cruel twist of fate.

“I—I think,” you stutter, “I have to go, JJ, I can’t be here right now.”

“But—“ She starts.

You cut her off, “No, JJ you have to go talk to Spencer and get him back in there. The longer his mom is with Lindsey…” you trail off.

She nods, understanding that you’re thinking about the priorities right now, “Okay, okay I’ll go find him. Where are you going to go?”

You could go home, the one you share with Spencer. Or you could go back to the office, the one you also share with Spencer.

Every realization adds another needle to your stack, and you’re about to crumble under the weight. “I—I don’t know.” You whimper.

JJ closes her eyes to think quickly and grips your shoulders, “Go back to the BAU okay? I’m going to call Emily and tell her to expect you back, you go straight there, do you understand me?” she emphasizes. JJ is smart enough to know that you cannot be alone right now, and that Spencer wouldn’t be able to scrounge up whatever focus he could into getting answers from Cat if he knew you had left by yourself to god knows where.

All you could do was nod, and hope and pray that your feet would carry you to the car and back to the bureau. JJ was nervous having you drive back, but she really didn’t have a choice. All she could do was notify Emily, as well as Penelope for tracking purposes, that you were headed back, and to not ask you too many questions.

After you left, JJ stood in the waiting room for a brief moment before going to find where Spencer went. She finds him sitting on the floor of an unused interrogation room with his head tucked into his knees.

She speaks quietly to not startle him, “Hey.”

He looks up at the voice, JJ noticing his eyes flit around and behind her as if looking for something, or someone. His eyes sulk back when he’s unable to find it.

Spencer opens his mouth to speak, “Is she—“

“She’s going back to the BAU, Emily knows she’s on the way,” she cuts him off already anticipating his question, “Listen, whatever you’re feeling about what just happened right now has to be paused. You need to focus and finish this stupid game with Cat so we can find your mother and be done with her.” She grits out.

He sighs shakily, he doesn’t even want to think about what must be going through your head. As much as it pained him to experience her vitriol first hand, you were on the other side of that window listening to every word Cat spewed out. And somehow, knowing you watched all of that hurt worse than Mexico, worse than Tobias Hankel, and even worse than Maeve Donovan.

Cat was playing a deeply fucked psychological game with him, and she had now called you in as a pawn. You, his darling girl. The one who made him see the light of the sun after it was constantly being put out, the one who loved him through his mother’s illness and wrongful imprisonment, the one who is, with all and every bit of certainty, the love of his life.

If the velvet black box in his sock drawer was any testament to the power that love held, he hoped it would take mercy on him in this moment.

He stands up and paces the room for a moment before kicking the chair to the other side of the room. JJ startles, her eyes widening but attempting to remain neutral faced as Spencer sorts out his emotions.

“Spence, we need to focus,” she reminds him, “Time is running out.”

“I know,” he mumbles and paces the room hoping to have a stroke of insight, “I have an idea.”

———

You must be no better than a zombie in the final apocalypse when you walk into the bullpen, stumbling around with glassy eyes, no regard for what’s in your way. The apathetic coping mechanism you’ve deployed almost makes you seem as mindless as those monsters, if it weren’t for Penelope to show up and steady you.

“I gotcha, honey,” She makes eye contact with Emily, acknowledging that she’s got you, before turning back to you again, “Come here, let’s sit down.” Penelope sits you down in the nearest chair and drags another one for her to sit right next to you.

You don’t speak for an hour after sitting. Penelope doesn’t ask, only checking in every ten minutes to see if you want a snack or some water, to which you shake your head no every time. She’s too busy typing away on her laptop getting information that could help the team find Spencer’s mother, the last thing you want to be is a bump in the road for them.

Another hour passes before the team exits the conference room, alerting you and Penelope that they think they’ve found the cabin where Diana and Lindsey are. Emily gathers everything they need before approaching you in the bullpen.

“Do I have to be here when you guys come back?” You ask quietly.

Emily sighs, understanding the gravity of your circumstance, “No, you don’t. Will you let Garcia drop you home though? Give us all a peace of mind.” She chuckles humorlessly, unknowingly squeezing the other shoulder JJ didn’t.

You know the ‘all’ she’s referring to really just means one person. It doesn’t make you feel any better, but you don’t think it’s meant to. She brings you in for a tight hug, “I’ll check on you after, okay?”

You nod and release from her embrace. Penelope gathers her things next to you and you both walk to the elevator.

“Honey,” It pained Garcia to see you like this, and she didn’t know how she could help, “What can I do?”

You sniffle and shrug, there isn’t much she can do. There isn’t even much that you could do. Not that anything you could do would be enough, it was never enough. Not for you, not for the team, and not for Spencer.

With a bitter chuckle you answer Penelope’s question,

“Bring back Maeve.”

[kakashibestie]

random thought but like i still can't believe chabelo died like ????

[dakotalun]

"Oops" | Eddie Munson

pairing: Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

summary: Part 1--Eddie "accidentally" sends a tasteful pic to his best friend.

warnings: mutual pining, pet names (sweetheart), strong language, description of naked Eddie

word count: 3.4k

Part 2

a/n: went a little crazy at 3am the other night and wrote this. Part two will be up later this week!! Luv y'all <3

*******NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS*******

Eddie is your best friend of many years, the two of you being inseparable from the moment you met. So when you got a text from him tonight you don’t think much of it, figuring it was just a dumb meme he saw or a random thing from today.

What you didn’t expect to see was a picture of Eddie standing in his bathroom, towel slung over his shoulders with a prominent boner happening.

His hair is wet as if he just got out of the shower and hadn’t bothered to dry it yet. The long dark brown locks stick to his neck and chest in a way that can only be described as godly. The tattoos on his skin are glistening but covered by the towel around his neck and as you move your eyes downward the path of hair that leads to his dick is delicious.

And talking about his dick it is, mag-fucking-nificent! The way that it hangs there, the tip swollen and red, leaking the smallest bit of precum. It has your mouth watering.

You nearly choked on your own spit when you saw it. Never in a million years did you think that Eddie would be sending you of all people nudes. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wonder what he was packing but you never really indulged in those thoughts, until now. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the screen, memorizing every little detail in the photo.

Eddie sends another text but you’re too distracted to see what it is. Then a stream of texts start flooding in from him.

‘SHIT!’

‘I DID NOT NMEAN TO SNED YIU THAT!’

‘IGNORE THE PICTUREA’

‘HOW THE HELL DO I DELETE THE PIC?!?!?!’

‘GOD I AM SOSOSOSOSOSOSSOO SOORRY!!’

You giggle at his frantic typing, noting all the typos. Curiosity gets the better of you and you scroll up a little to see what he had said after he sent the picture. You’re eyes go wide at the words displayed on your screen.

‘Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you. Jerked off twice while in the shower and I’m still hard. Wish you were here with me right now ;)’

You had no clue who this was really meant for but if it was meant for you you would 100 percent be on your way to him right now. The bottom half of the picture stares back at you as your eyes acan over the text again and again. You can’t deny the small hint of wetness that you feel on your underwear while looking at the two.

Twice? He came twice and is still hard. Whoever he thought about must be really hot if he can go 3 rounds without breaking a sweat. Could he go more?

Your thoughts were interrupted by your phone receiving a call, from none other than Eddie himself. You sit up in bed and pull your knees towards you as you answer his call.

“Sweetheart I am so so so sorry I sent you that. It was clearly meant for someone else. If I had known it was your contact that I was on I would have never sent that at all. I want you to know that I don’t go around sending nudes to everyone or anything, I’m not a slut I was just-”

“Eddie it’s fine. No need to apologize. I figured it wasn’t meant for me anyways.” It pains you a little at the thought that someone else was supposed to receive that message from your best friend.

“I’m still sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” His voice sounds smooth like spreading butter onto fresh pancakes.

“Hmm,” You fake thinking about what you want even though you know exactly what it is you want, “You’ve gotta tell me who that text was really meant for.” Silence. For a whole minute there is just silence on Eddie’s end, you’d think he was dead if it weren’t for the fast pace of his breathing.

“Sweetheart,” The nickname is not helping the situation you have going on right now, “You don’t mean that. Can’t I just take you to breakfast or buy you a new outfit?”

“Nope.” You respond popping the ‘p’ as you say it. “Either tell me who it was meant for or I send it to the groupchat.” You were bluffing. You couldn’t let the others see him like that, that was for your eyes only. Not that anyone needed to know that.

“You wouldn’t dare,” His voice turned deep and threatening.

“Try. Me.” You challenge back.

Eddie groans, “Fine. You win,” A smile spreads across your face, “It was meant for Callie. This girl in my chem class, we’ve been talking for a little bit.”

You’re a mix of emotions right now; happy that Eddie found someone he’s interested in and took his shot, confused because he never told you about it, sad because you thought he trusted you with things like that, and slightly jealous because you want to be the one Eddie sent nudes to, purposefully.

“Sweetheart? You still there?” You completely forget that you’re still on the phone with Eddie until he says something.

“Uh yeah yeah I’m here. I’m um happy for you Ed. Glad you found someone. Look I gotta go to sleep, big test tomorrow, talk later. Bye.” You hang up before he can say anything else. 

Why did you feel this way about all this? You shouldn’t be thinking of Eddie in this way, he was your best friend. Best friends don’t think about going down on each other, or the way it would feel to have his cock inside you, or the moans he would release when he finally cums in you.

You shake it off and lay back down, setting your phone on your nightstand to charge. You try for half an hour to fall asleep but your mind can’t stop thinking about that damn picture. So you unlock your phone and go back to your messages with Eddie, looking to see if he deleted the picture or not. And to your luck it was the latter, the picture and text below still there for your viewing pleasure.

You’re still horny from the initial thought of him so it doesn’t take long for your hand to wander under your shorts and underwear to your clit. The thought that your fingers were his and the way he would whisper in your ear egging you on to finish.

The images of him jerking himself off in the shower flood you, his hand on the cold tiles, water hitting his back as he fists his cock, rubbing it slowly at first but becoming impatient and going faster until he cums all over the wall and his hand.

The image of his face when he does and the moans that would leave his mouth is what throws you over the edge yourself. Wishing it were him between your legs pulling it from you not your own fingers. Finally your body is tired enough to let you go to sleep, dreaming of Eddie once more.

---

You’re sitting with Eddie and the rest of Hellfire at lunch a week later. Neither of you have talked about what happened that night, both too embarrassed to say anything.

Things were normal though, Eddie would pick you up and drop you off to and from school. You’d talk on the phone every night about whatever happened that day that the other wasn’t there for. You liked the thought that the text didn’t hinder your friendship but you can’t help but be a little jealous about Eddie fucking someone else. It’s not like you were expecting him to confess his hidden undying love for you the next day but the realization that Eddie really did send you that accidentally; hurt.

The freshman are talking about some video game coming out when Eddie lean over to you.

“Whatcha’ thinking about?” There’s a smile on his face, one that you always loved seeing.

“Nothing,” You go back to eating your fruit.

“Alrighty then. Hey I was wondering what time you wanted to come over tonight?”

Your eyes grow wide, mind going back to the text, “Why?”

“Um it’s Wednesday. Horror movie marathon night, remember?” His head cocks to the side a little, his hair falling into his face. It reminds you of a dog questioning what it’s owner has in their hand.

“Oh right yeah. Um I don’t know if I can make it tonight.” That was a lie, you had nothing going on. But being in the trailer alone with Eddie after knowing what he looks like naked is not what you need right now.

“Awe come on! I rented Scream, Saw, and Halloween for tonight. You can’t make me watch them all alone,” He lowers his voice and leans closer, “What if I need protection from the bad guys?” His big doe eyes large and pleading with you.

You roll your eyes and push his face away from you, “Ugh fine. I’ll be there, how’s 8?”

“Perfect! I’ll order the pizzas, do you think you could make those amazing cookies for us?”

“You mean for you?”

“No. I mean for us, I would never eat all the cookies myself.”

“You did like 3 weeks ago! There were 30 cookies there and I had none of them.” You stare at him as he thinks back to then.

“Nope don’t remember which means it didn’t happen. So will you?” There are those puppy dog eyes again.

“Whatever but I swear if you eat all of them again I’ll castrate you.”

Eddie’s hands fly to his groin, protecting it from your threat. “Ouch, sweetheart. Didn’t know you hated my dick that much.”

I don’t. Just hate that it’s not mine. You thought, but you just rolled your eyes and continued on eating lunch until the bell rang.

---

Eddie rushed around his room looking for his favorite shirt when you showed up for movie night. You let yourself in, per usual and set the cookies down on the coffee table before heading to Eddie’s room. He was squating in front of his closet when you come in, you don’t announce yourself just stand there staring at his back.

He got a few new tattoos since last summer, two of which on his back. A skull and crossbones along with a knife wrapped in barbed wire. You haven’t seen them in person yet, it still being too cold to sit out in the sun. But looking at them now was a pleasure, the detail popping out as his muscles flex.

Eddie huffs and stands, defeated about not finding the shirt he wanted. He turns around and finds you standing in his doorway.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you say you were here?” His hand is over his heart as he catches his breath from the unintentional jump scare.

“I texted you like 20 minutes ago that I was on my way. Figured you knew I’d be here soon,” You say as you enter his room fully to sit on his bed.

“I did not see the text, I was in the shower,” The mention of this brought back memories of the photo, and what you did whilst looking at it, “Anyways pizza should be here soon and I’ve got beers and soda in the fridge.”

Eddie walks around you to his dresser, grabbing a random shirt and throwing it on. You’re sad at the loss of his bare skin but quickly shake the thought away. You get up from his bed and head to his living room, Eddie following in toe.

“So what are we watching first? I’ve seen Scream a few times but the other two I haven’t seen,” Eddie remarks as he grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them before handing you one.

You mumble a thanks before taking a sip, the bitter liquid coating your tastebuds. “I’ve seen Scream and Saw but not Halloween. Heard good things about it though, at least that’s what Robin said, Steve had other opinions.”

“Lemme guess pretty boy hated it and wished he never saw it?” Eddie laughs as he sets up Halloween on the tv.

“Yeah pretty much,” You laugh along. The thought of your friend sitting there watching the movie curled up in a blanket next to Robin bringing a smile to your face.

Eddie finishes setting up the movie and walks back the kitchen. He grabs a bag of chips and some dip before returning to your side on the couch. He opens the chips and pops one in his mouth, crunching it loudly.

You smile at the normalcy of everything right now, it’s as if nothing ever happened between the two of you. Which if we’re being honest nothing really did happen, Eddie just sent you a nude on accident. It’s not like you kissed or anything. Not that you’d hate it if you did.

You snack on the chips and dip with him while waiting for the pizza to show up, never starting the movie without it. The two of you talk about nothing in particular while you sit there. Eddie tells you about the upcoming DnD campaign he’s been working on.

His eyes lighting up and hands flying around erratically as he explains what he planned, the animation in his character brings an even bigger smile to your face.

Just as Eddie concludes his explanation, inviting you to come sit in and watch it at the end, the doorbell rings notifying the both of you that the pizza was here and it was now time for movie night to begin.

Eddie pays the guy and happily walks over to the couch and sets the food on the table in front of the two of you, he can’t even wait til the movie starts playing to begin eating. You laugh at him as he opens and closes his mouth quickly trying to cool the hot pizza in his mouth, you just hit play and start watching the movie.

The pizza is gone, same with half the bag of chips and the cookies. Eddie actually let you eat  a few of them before he scarfed down the others. You’re nearing the end of Scream, the third and final movie of the night when you look at your phone for the time. 12:25 stares back at you, you groan knowing that your parents are going to kill you for coming home so late on a school night.

Eddie hears you and turns to see why you made that noise. You just wave him off and go back to watching the movie, watching as Skeet Ulrich gets shot for the final time in the head. A few minutes later the credits roll and Eddie turns off the tv, letting the trailer fade into silence.

“Wanna tell me what that groaning was about?” Eddie asks turning to face you completely.

“Nothing, just didn’t realize that it had gotten so late. Parents are gonna kill me if I go home at this hour.”

“So just stay here,” He says with no hesitation, “You still have a few clothes here after last movie night. They’re just siting in my drawer.”

You think about it for a minute. You and Eddie have had sleepovers in the past, nothing special about them, just two people sharing a bed, occasionally cuddling because of the small size of it. But now the thought of it made you nervous, having him so close to you, so near yet not being able to touch him. It killed you, but it’s better than going back home right now and having your mom and dad rip you a new one.

“Alright, I’m gonna need to shower though. Coach had us run the mile today at practice and I still feel disgusting.”

“Yeah no problem, you go ahead and shower, I’ll clean up here.” He stands and starts clearing the trash from the table. You get up too and head into his bathroom, but no matter how hot the water is or how long you stand under it you can't get the thought of the picture and the words under it out of your mind.

He was right here, jerking off to the thought of someone. You scold yourself for thinking about him like that, again. But you couldn’t help it.

Recently you’ve thought about him more and more; his smile, the dimples that show when he’s really happy, how animatedly he talks, the way his hair is always unkempt but still looks so damn soft. You thought about him in ways you never did before seeing that picture; his arms, his muscles, his hands, his rings. Everything about him turned you on and you needed it to go away.

Eddie finished up cleaning and sat down on his bed, beer in hand while he took out his metal lunchbox for a joint. You walk into his room, towel wrapped around yourself, hair dripping wet from the shower. He stops his actions to just stare at you, the same way you did earlier that night.

“Uh could I borrow some clothes? I don’t have anything to sleep in,” You say wrapping your arms under your boobs, pushing them up ever so slightly.

Eddie clears his throat, “Yeah, sure.” He gets up and walks over to his dresser, rummaging through it to look for something you can wear tonight. He pulls out a pair on your underwear that you “left” there a while back and one of his Hellfire shirts. You denied his offer of some pants, saying they would be way to big on you and you’d rather just sleep in the shirt.

Eddie’s mind went straight to the gutter at that thought, you sleeping next to him, in just his Hellfire shirt and a pair of underwear he stole from you. His dick was growing hard just thinking about it. He quickly got back to looking for his joint and lighting it upon it’s appearance. He took a few hits while you changed in the bathroom, his mind slowly fogging over.

You return, hair still slightly wet with the towel in your hand. You toss it into his hamper before laying on his bed, grabbing his beer and taking a sip. You lay back and close your eyes, letting the serenity of this moment wash over you. Eddie offers you a hit but you decline, being that you don’t ever mix weed and booze together.

He finishes the joint while you finish his beer. The two of you just sitting there with the light sound of whatever record Eddie has playing. Your thoughts are quiet for the most part, just soaking in the time with your best friend, until you think of something. A question you’ve been meaning to ask for a little bit.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He responds head leaning back onto the wall where a headboard should be.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, hit me.” You reach your hand out and hit him in the thigh.

“Ouch! Not literally, I meant with the question, sweetheart.”

“I know,” You giggle.

“Brat,” He mumbles back.

“Anyways, I was gonna ask -and you don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to it’s just something I’ve been thinking about- but did you really not know it was me you were sending that picture to?” The words lay heavy on your tongue as you say them aloud. You’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s hard not to.

How did he not know it was you he was texting, your name was right there at the top of the screen. And if he was sending it to someone else how could he not double-check to make sure he wasn’t sending it to someone like Wayne or Robin.

He’s quiet for a moment, thinking about the best way to tell you that, yes he did know it was you he was sending it to. And yes he knew it was stupid but he wanted to try something to see if you felt the same way about him that he does you. Eddie’s loved you for about a year and a half now, never saying anything to anyone in fear of running your friendship.

But that night he was watching a show and one of the characters did this thing where they pretended to send a text to someone “they didn’t mean to”, to see how they’d respond. He thought that maybe this was an easy way of figuring out how you felt about him. But when you didn’t respond to his photo or texts he got scared and called you. Needing to clarify what he sent, and why.

Eddie Taglist: @ali-r3n @dixontardis

[andhumanslovedstories]

I am not closely following the election results tonight, but I am occasionally seeing flashes of them out of the corner of my eye. The most obvious sign that things aren’t going well right now is the complete lack of celebrating on my dash. I know what tumblr looks like when it’s happy. Maybe I’ll go to bed tonight and see something different in the morning. I hope to god that is the case. But I’m thinking about the way I’m thinking right now, and I want to get some stuff down before the future kicks in.

In 2016 I was in a period of my life I affectionately refer to as as my fuckup era. I wasn’t even fucking up really. More just chilling out and falling short of the vague expectations I’d had about what I was supposed to be doing after I graduated college. While my friends from college rented apartments in the city and got jobs that didn’t supply you with a uniform shirt, I lived at home and worked as a barista at a fancy movie theater. That’s a real job you can do for almost five years. I didn’t have a clue what the back half of my twenties should look like. The only long term plan I had in my life was moving out west with my best friend, and my plan for finding a job once I was out there was basically to cross my fingers and hope.

Those days weren’t bad on the whole, but it felt like I was not actually living a life so much as I was goofing off in the waiting room. Sometimes that felt embarrassing, sometimes it felt fun, and sometimes it felt like I was completely pointless to the world.

On 2016’s Election Day, I went to bed early. After watching the votes come in, I needed the night to be over. I woke in a world that felt different than it had been the night before—not just in the actuality of who would be president but down to its foundations. I realized for the first time how much hope I’d had in human nature because now I didn’t feel it anymore. It’s almost silly when I think about it—so many horrible things had already happened that year, people had done horrible things as long as there have been people, and I didn’t think I was naive to that—but something clicked into place that morning.

It felt the same way my world had changed a year earlier, in 2015 during my last semester of college. My college victory lap felt like a prolonged downward spiral. Very early in the morning on a Monday, after pulling an all-nighter and overwhelmed by self-loathing that I could not just motivate myself to work on a paper that had been my only thought all weekend, I self-harmed for the first time in a way that was impossible to pretend it was anything else. Earlier that weekend, I’d tried staving off the urges drawing or writing on my arm, something that did (and does) usually work. I’d written this quote in silver sharpie on my forearm: “Good is not a thing you are. It's a thing you do.”

I picked that quote from the Ms. Marvel comics and liked the words so much, I thought that I wouldn’t be willing to purposefully mess it up by hurting myself there. Didn’t work. They just made me feel more ashamed of myself as I did it.

That was the worst I had ever felt. Then, on the Friday of that week, a friend of mine was senselessly, brutally murdered.

It doesn’t feel now like there was ever a time before her death. My memoir class is now where I wrote about her. My favorite professor is now the one who held me as I cried. My final thesis, the culmination of my history degree, never got finished and certainly never got polished. I turned it what I had and got an A minus. Sometimes I think of rereading that paper to see if that’s the grade it actually deserved. We hadn’t been the closest friends, but my name was still on the email admin sent to professors, listing students who might be emotionally affected by this tragic event. Grace’s murder hangs over every memory I have with her and everything she ever touched. It feels like its own type of obliteration to leave her reduced to her death.

Grace wanted to be a lawyer because she believed in justice and also liked arguing. She could be rude when she wasn’t interested in what you were saying. When you caught her attention, you felt like the most fascinating person in the room. She was so proud of being Jewish. I watched her become proud of being gay. She was so universally friendly that it took me a year to realize that she actually liked specifically me. She had a somewhat silly laugh and an astonishingly luminous smile.

I thought less of the world and the people in it because of how she died. Trump’s election in 2016 felt like that.

After he won, I left stasis. From November through December, I thought harder about my future than I ever had before. Who did I want to be? What did I most value? What did I think was worth protecting? What work wouldn’t kill me to do? At one point, in presumably a fit of madness, I thought, “what if I got into politics.” Epiphany eventually hit me. By the time of Trump’s inauguration, I was already enrolled at community college, getting my pre-reqs for nursing school.

Now it’s election night again, eight years later. I live on the west coast with my best friend, in a house that we bought together. I work as a nurse in a hospital in a city where there are homeless encampments off every highway and someone begging for change on every corner. Meanwhile, there’s Palestine. Meanwhile there’s Sudan. Meanwhile refugees drown in the sea and border patrol shoots jugs of water. Even hurricanes have human cruelty now.

I don’t think people are inherently good or the universe inherently kind. But I am very good at tricking myself into thinking it for a little while, and when I do, I can remember the a specific feeling from Friday of my senior year, from that morning in November— how fucking hard the disappointment hit me because I had expected people to be better than this. It makes me want to be better than that.

I believe, and hope that I always will, that we can make a better world. I don’t know what it looks like, but I think I will see it in my lifetime. Those of us who can believe such things owe a bit of that naïveté to the world—not to excuse atrocities or think them impossible but to believe that we can stop them at all. You have to have a couple people sprinkled around who are genuinely shocked when people do bad things. It’s not that the pessimists are wrong, but you need the occasional counterbalance. I want to be a reasonable cynic’s pleasant surprise.

Every shift, I interact with people at their lowest and worst. I see the direct pipeline from pain to anger to violence, and how fragile that pipeline can be. So many situations can be changed by things as small as a warm blanket or a kind word. Violence can be quite easy to avert. Crises can be quite simply to resolve. Even when I know that whatever I do that shift will not change the circumstances of a person’s life, I think that what I do that shift still matters.

I’m lying in bed, writing this post instead of looking at the news. I wonder how tonight will change me. Been thinking about what I’ll do if Trump wins. Been thinking about how whatever I think I need to do under Trump will still need to be done if Harris clutches out a victory. I guess this is a pessimist’s optimism: to a degree the election doesn’t matter. Good is not a thing you are. It is a thing you do. Our better world will always take a lot of work.

But please god please, why can’t it be just a little easier to do it?

[alotofpockets]

Practice makes perfect | Leah Williamson x Reader

Where you and Leah practised kissing each other to prepare for kissing boys, but you quickly realise that after that you don't want to kiss anyone but her

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.5k

-----

As the only two girls on the boys' team growing up, you and Leah clicked right away. Football brought you together, but it was everything else about her that kept you close. Not many people had stuck around in your life the way Leah had. From meeting at six years old to now, a decade later, she was still your best friend.

The football dream was becoming reality for the both of you. The young Lionesses and Arsenal Academy were where you spend most of your time besides school or each other’s houses. The two of you were inseparable and everyone knew it. Where you went Leah went, and visa versa.

“Remember when we were like twelve and we practised kissing?” Leah asks you out of nowhere while you’re sitting in her bed and playing video games. You think back to the moment.

It was a similar situation to this one, you were having a sleepover and had just finished watching a romcom. “How do you know if you’re gonna be a good kisser if you’ve never kissed someone before?” Leah asked with a voice filled with curiosity. 

“I have no clue. Why don’t they show those parts in the movies?” You turned off the tv and pulled the covers further over your body. “Exactly! Like when I kiss a guy for the first time, I want to make sure that like I can kiss him properly, you know?” 

You nodded, understanding her concerns. “What if we practised kissing together? Then we can tell each other if we’re any good.” Leah loved your idea and instantly sat up in bed again. “You are brilliant!” 

She made you sit up as well and once you did she double checked if it was okay. When you nodded in confirmation, she leaned in and pecked your lips. “How did I do?” She instantly asked. “Good I think, what about me?” She smiled proudly, “Nice, you as well.” 

You had practised a couple more times that night, and when you both liked boys, you had practised some more so that the first kisses you would have with them would be perfect.

“Yeah, I remember.” In the meantime Leah had paused the game to fully focus on the conversation she wanted to have. “I was wondering if maybe we could practise something again.”

“What do you want to practise?” You asked to urge her to go on. “Well, I heard from some girls in our class that they’ve been making out with their boyfriends, and they talked about how it goes and everything, but even with that information I don’t feel even remotely ready to just make out with a guy. So, I thought that maybe, if you’re up for it of course, we could practise like we did before?”

Even with the introduction Leah gave, her question still caught you off guard. Leah’s hopeful eyes were hard to ignore while you thought about her question. “Just so we don’t totally embarrass ourselves when the time comes.”

"Yeah, exactly! I don’t want to make things weird between us though, you can totally say no.” She quickly added.  “It’s not weird.” you said shifting to sitting cross-legged, facing Leah, on her bed. “We’re just practising.”

Leah’s face lit up with relief, “Exactly, Just practising.” She turned to sit cross-legged as well. She told you how your classmates had described making out, so you were both on the same page. 

“So, eh,” you cleared your throat, “do we just go for it?” Leah let out a nervous laugh, “I guess so?” You nodded, which Leah took as her sign to start leaning in. She inched closer slowly, until her lips brushed yours. 

At first she just pecked your lips like you had practised before. Your heart started beating faster, but you didn’t understand why. Her soft, warm lips on yours felt familiar, yet somehow different. “Still okay?” She asked to make sure you wanted to do this as well. “Yeah.”

You leaned in this time and let your lips move in sync with hers. Your heart thudded loudly in your chest as Leah reached out her hand and cupped your cheek to pull you a little closer. 

When she pulled back after a few moments, her eyes searched yours. “How was that?” 

Your brain felt like it was running a million miles an hour, and you were scrambling to find words. “Good.” You managed finally. “What about me?” Leah’s lips quirked into that proud smile she had done last time, “Good too.” 

A feeling came over you that you had never felt before, you couldn’t quite place it, but before you could overthink it, Leah was leaning in again. “Practice makes perfect, right?” she said softly, and when you didn’t move away, her lips were on yours again.

That night while Leah slept soundly besides you, your mind wouldn’t stop racing. Trying to make sense of what you were feeling. 

It wasn’t until a few weeks later when you saw Leah kiss a boy in your class, that you realised what was happening. The moment you saw the two of them together, you felt a pang of jealousy. All you knew in that moment was that you weren’t jealous of Leah in that moment, but you were jealous of him. 

You turned on your heels and got away from the situation as quickly as possible. Of course, you headed straight over to the football field. The one place where everything felt right. You must’ve spent hours kicking a ball around until your parent’s called asking when you’d be home. “No Leah tonight?” Your mom had asked when you walked in, seemingly without the blonde by your side. You hadn’t even thought about it, but usually Leah would join you on Fridays. “Eh, no not tonight.” You say quickly. “Do I have time for a quick shower?” Your mom nodded and you rushed to your room. 

You checked your phone and sure enough you had a bunch of messages from Leah. The last one read I hope everything is alright. Couldn’t find you at school so I headed home. Please text me back!

You didn’t text Leah back that night, or the next morning. It wasn’t that you were mad at her, of course you weren’t, you didn’t think you ever could be, but you just didn’t know what to say. Every time you thought about her, you saw that boy’s lips on hers. Every time you saw it play back in your mind, it made your chest ache.

But Leah was Leah. Persistent, stubborn, and your best friend. So, it didn’t take her long to just show up at your house unannounced. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” She stated from your doorframe, after your dad had let her in. She found you laying on the floor with one of your textbooks in front of you, trying to bury yourself into your homework. “What’s going on?” 

You glanced at her and then quickly focused back on your textbook. “Nothing.” Leah shook her head and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Liar.” She sighed, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” You said a little too quickly and defensive for Leah to believe it. She crossed her arms and leaned against your door, studying you like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “I just need some space.” You said softly, unable to meet her eye.

“Since when do we do space?” Her voice softened. She walked further into your room and sat down on the edge of your bed. “Come on, talk to me.”

You wanted to. You wanted to tell her everything. You always told Leah everything, but how could you tell her about your feelings? How could you tell her that you were jealous of a guy she kissed? Talk about the way your heart raced when you made eye contact with her? 

“I’m fine, Lee.” You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes and Leah could tell. You saw that she was fighting her inner monologue to press further, her lips parting like she was about to. Before she could say anything, your mother yelled upstairs, “Leah, honey, are you staying for dinner?”

Leah turned to you, “Do you want me to go?” You shake your head, “No, it’s okay. You can stay.” She opened the door and told your mom she would love to before turning back to you. “I’m gonna help her with dinner, you know, so you can have some more space.” This time you noticed her smile not fully reaching her eyes, but before you could say anything, she had already closed the door behind herself.

You stopped ignoring Leah, because you knew she would just find a way in, but that didn’t mean that your interactions were any less awkward, well at least for you. From Leah’s side it seemed like nothing had happened, while you questioned every interaction you had with her.

When she laughed at your jokes, or let her hand linger on your arm or leg, everything made your skin feel like it was on fire.

A few weeks later Leah was picking out her prom outfit with her mom. She had tried on a bunch of dresses, but none of them seemed to be what she was looking for. Today was the last chance of finding something, since prom was literally tonight. So, Amanda was determined to spend the whole morning driving from store to store until they found something.

It was the third store of the morning where Leah’s eyes fell on a baby blue suit, and she knew instantly that that was going to be the one. Her mom encouraged her to put it on, and the smile on her daughter’s face was exactly the reason why she had.

“This is going to be the one!” Leah said as she admired the suit in the mirror. “It’s lovely Leah Cathrine.” Leah smiled big, “Thank you.” After paying for the clothes, the pair headed back to the car.

“Oh mom, I wanted to ask if you could drive y/n and me tonight.” Her mom’s brow furrowed. “Darling of course I would, but I thought y/n wasn’t going?” Leah looks at her mom as if she was crazy. “What makes you think that?”

“Oh well, because that’s what she said yesterday. She said she wasn’t really feeling up to going.” Leah didn’t understand, you hadn’t told her anything. “But she was so excited about it and had her outfit picked out like months ago already. Do you know why she isn’t going?”

Amanda shakes her head, “I don’t know.” Leah was quick to respond. “You didn’t push further?” Amanda chuckles lightly, “No, that’s more your thing, darling.”

Leah sat back in the seat and crossed her arm, going over what she could do. “Can you drive me to her place tonight?” She nodded, “Sure, darling.”

You were watching a movie in your sweats when you heard a knock on the door. When you opened the door, Leah stood in front of you with a small bouquet of flowers. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at prom?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Leah shoots back instantly. “I’m not going Lee, you should still go though. I’m sure your boyfriend would like you to be there.”

“Boyfriend?” Leah steps inside and closes the door behind her. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend.” You shrug your shoulders, “I saw you and Steve kiss, figured you two were together.”

“Oh no definitely not.” Leah said defensively, “He kissed me, and I told him that I wasn’t interested.” You searched her eyes for anything to prove what she was saying wrong, but she seemed sincere. “Oh.”

“So, come to prom with me?” Leah said, holding out the bouquet to you. “Sorry, Lee, I can’t.” She retracted the flowers reluctantly. “Why not?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, and there is nothing you can fix.” You sighed in frustration, wishing she would just drop it. “Did someone else do something? Please just tell me what’s going on.”

Her question hung in the air. Again you wanted to tell her, but you just couldn’t. “I just can’t, please drop it.” But Leah was Leah and there wasn’t any scenario in which she would drop this.

“I won’t drop it. You’ve been excited about your outfit, the music, the pictures. You’ve been talking about prom non-stop for months and now you’re here in sweats not going. Please just tell me what’s going on. If I did something, let me in and let me fix it.” Her plea sounded desperate.

“Fine, okay, I’ll tell you.” Leah focussed on you instantly, not having expected you to break so soon. “I can’t go to prom with you because ever since we practised making out, all I can think about is wanting to kiss you again.” 

Your eyes were looking anywhere but Leah, not ready to see the way she would react to that confession. “Please look at me.” She slowly reached up her hand to your cheek to turn your head to face her. You expected anger, disgust, or even hurt in her eyes, but instead you were met with softness. 

“You know the reason I told Steve I wasn’t interested?” You shook your head. “It’s because after he kissed me, I felt nothing. Which was a stark opposite to how I felt when we kissed. I swear it was just practise when I asked you, but I think that was exactly what I needed to realise my feelings for you.” Leah confessed. 

You stare at her for a moment, taking in the confession. She liked you the same way that you liked her? The corners of your lips slowly rose as it was all coming together in your head. And then without hesitation, you lean in and kiss her for real this time. She kissed you back instantly, and pulled you closer like she had done last time. It felt even better than your time practising, now knowing your feelings for each other.

When Leah pulled away, she leaned her forehead against yours. “So, prom?” Your smile grew. “Yes, just let me get changed.” 

You rushed to your room and quickly got ready. “Wow, you look amazing!” Leah said as you walked back downstairs. “So do you!” You pecked her lips appreciatively. She took your hand and pulled you out the door where her mom was still waiting in the driveway. “Ready to go to prom, girls?” She knew by your happy faces that whatever was going on between the two of you these past weeks, was resolved. “Yeah, more than ready.” You said and Leah squeezed your hand. “Yeah, let’s go.”

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