#I watched them so young I have no memory of seeing them for the first time so idk if they altered my brain chemistry or not

[hederasgarden]

Memorias

Summary: Late at night you and Lucius share memories of the lives you once lived.  Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 1.1K Rating: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of spousal death, some humor and grief.  A/N: This story is part of Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife series. It takes place between Ab Initio and Post tenebras lux. Thank you to my dearest B and @ryebecca for looking this over. Inspired by this ask. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Gladiator Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

It's late, and the cool autumn evening seeps into the small cell you share with Lucius, bringing with it a chill that settles in your bones. From your place on the narrow cot, you watch him cup the flickering candle flame and extinguish it with his breath, plunging the room into a hazy, blue-tinged darkness. The bed dips and creaks as he sits, removing his sandals. You turn onto your other side, facing the wall to make room for him to slide in behind you. It’s a tight fit in a bed meant for one person. 

His bulk shifts the bed as he settles and his arm drapes across your side and stomach. You sigh, grateful for his warmth. The first time you’d shared a bed like this had been awkward and tense, your sleep restless and uneasy. The only person you’d ever been so close to in this way was your husband, and it had felt wrong to have Lucius so near. But the past few months had altered so much, and though you'd never admit it aloud, you find comfort in his closeness, in his touch. It’s a silent reminder that you’re not alone anymore.

You both adjust yourselves a few more times before finding a position that offers some comfort, even as the straw of the bed jabs into your skin and the thin, threadbare blanket provides little warmth. As you begin to drift off, Lucius's breath stirs the back of your head, soft and uneven. Then, a groan escapes him, a low sound of pain from the brutal toll the arena has taken on his body. You reach back instinctively, your fingers grazing his hip in a silent question.

"I am well," he reassures you, his voice rough but steady.

You fall silent again, blinking sleepily at the wall, but after a moment, his voice breaks the stillness. "You have been quiet today," he observes.

You don’t answer him at first, weighing whether to share your thoughts. You know that if you brush him off, he won’t push. He’ll leave you alone, but tonight, you find, you don’t want that.

"The memories are...close today," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

Lucius shifts behind you, moving to wrap his thick fingers around your forearm where it rests against the bed. The gentle pressure of his touch brings tears to your eyes, and you quickly blink them away,

"Tell me about them," he says, his tone gentle. “If you wish.”

“I do not know where to start,” you admit. 

"Something happy, perhaps?"

You exhale slowly, his suggestion tugging an unexpected memory to the surface.

"I was not always a fisherman’s wife," you begin, your gaze fixed on the uneven stone wall. "I was a merchant's daughter, destined for a different life. But then...I met him."

The thought of your husband is both painful and beautiful. He seems so young in your memories, even though you only lost him a short time ago. 

“I was never supposed to marry someone like him,” you continue. “But I loved him. Gods…” You let out a soft, watery laugh, a mix of sorrow and affection. “And his family took me in like I was theirs all along.”

Lucius’s fingers trace the soft skin of your wrist in a comforting, quiet gesture that urges you to continue.

"I knew nothing about mending nets, or preparing and cooking fish, but they taught me everything. One night..." You pause, a lump forming in your throat as the memory comes back in sharp detail, the simple joy of it nearly too much to bear. "I wanted to make dinner for everyone. To show my thanks. I spent hours preparing the fish, the sides, everything. But..." You hesitate, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at your lips. "I was not exactly the best at deboning the fish, you see..."

"You left a few bones in?" Lucius’s voice is soft, a teasing edge to it. 

“More than a few,” you admit with a laugh. "Not that anyone said anything at the time. They just quietly spat them out. I did not find out until later when he told me. I was mortified."

Lucius chuckles, a masculine, rich sound. “Perhaps I should humble myself with a story of my own,” he suggests, his tone light. “If only to make you feel better.”

“Oh, yes. That would certainly help,” you reply, turning over to face him. 

You’re close enough that your nose brushes against his, and you both breathe the same air. Your hands curl instinctively against your chest while his rests firmly on your hip. Your legs have tangled together and yet neither of you pulls away. There’s no discomfort in this closeness, it’s nothing compared to the intimacy you’re compelled to share during the day to sell your lie.

“It was when I was courting Arishat,” Lucius begins, his voice dipping into a more serious tone, though there’s still a glint of humor in it. “I was young, hardly yet a man. But I wanted to prove to her, and her family, that I was worthy. The problem was, I knew nothing of farming.” He pauses. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Oh?” You question, waiting for him to continue. 

“I rose early, before anyone else so I could complete all the chores by myself. I fed the chickens, collected the eggs, and saw to it that the pigs were well cared for. I even thought to milk the goat. But there was one problem. I did not know the difference between a male goat and a female one.”

To your surprise, a laugh bubbles up from your chest, one you quickly stifle with a hand over your mouth. Your shoulders shake and a rush of something light and airy courses through you, a feeling that’s both foreign and welcome after all this time.

“Arishat got a good laugh out of it too,” Lucius says, sounding aggrieved though you know he’s likely just as amused. It’s too dark to see his expression clearly, but you catch the flash of his teeth and know he’s smiling at the memory.

The two of you lapse into silence after his story, and without thinking, you shift closer. Lucius responds instinctively, pulling you in, his palm settling gently between your shoulder blades as he rolls on to his back. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Sharing the memories of your husband feels oddly comforting; each time you do, he seems a bit less distant, his presence warmer, more alive. It’s as painful as it is reassuring. You blink away the emotion that stirs in your chest and exhale, the heaviness easing just a little. No matter the horrors the daylight hours might bring, you know that you and Lucius will always have these moments to hold onto.

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife

[niobiumao3]

Anyways, here are some random tidbits I swear I'm not actually writing this except maybe I am who knows anyways...

At the time she convinced herself it couldn't be him. They'd killed any clones whose chips hadn't activated. So it was just her imagination, a desperate attempt to find any excuse to cling to the hope he'd survived, as she had, probably for similar reasons: pure, stubborn refusal to let the Empire win.

***

Later she would accept that she'd known it was him from the moment she saw him standing in the line up. Not because she could see his face--they were all helmeted and wearing identical, dusky black armor--but because she'd have known him anywhere by stance and posture alone. They'd not fought side by side in the war for over three years for her to forget him, any of them really but especially not him.

But won they had. Memories of her life before the Inquisitorious were fragments, seemed more like dreams described by a different person. A wild young Jedi and her squadron of variant clones. It sounded like a children's story, in some ways was less painful to tell herself that's all it was. Otherwise--

"Your assigned operative will be CX-2."

The Grand Inquisitor's voice drew Fifth Sister back to the present. Though the armor the clones wore was all identical, not all of them were the same size. The one they'd stopped in front of was taller than average, shoulders broader. This was important somehow. (Another way she knew it was him.)

Fifth Sister looked the operative up and down. His hands were clasped behind his back like the others, and he stood perfectly still. This wasn't the stillness of rest: he was poised, ready, waiting. A knocked arrow.

"CX-2," she said, and the operative nodded an acknowledgement. She looked askance at the Grand Inquisitor. He and his own operative--CX-1, a shorter clone with a broad chest--were watching the two of them intently.

"How do I refer to him?"

"Operative should be sufficient," the Grand Inquisitor said. Fifth Sister made a face.

"Won't that be confusing if multiple of us are assigned to the same mission?"

The Grand Inquisitor shrugged. "You can use the designation in such cases."

She fought down a sigh, considered the operative in front of her. He gave the distinct impression he wasn't looking at her, which annoyed her for some unfathomable reason. Why should she care if he paid attention to her, as long as he followed orders?

The Grand Inquisitor held out a hand to his operative, who gave him a datarod. "Your first mission is to intercept a shipment of cargo bound for []." He offered her the datarod. Fifth Sister took it, eyes narrowed.

"Cargo," she echoed. The Grand Inquisitor arched an eyebrow at her.

She considered his expression. There was only one kind of 'cargo' with which the Inquisitorious concerned itself. "Force-users."

"Very good," he said. But he was still waiting. Which meant...

"Potentials."

The operative in front of her said, "Younglings."

It almost startled her to hear him speak. His voice was modulated, rendering it garbled and rough. And he'd just corrected her.

"Potentials are by necessity young," she said, voice sharp.

Either be didn't notice, or didn't care, because he said, "Not always. You were not."

Probably sensing the fury swirling into being within her, the Grand Inquisitor said, "Quite right, CX-2. However, that was only to found the Inquisitorious. From this point forward our potentials will be younglings."

The operative's head tilted for a moment, then he nodded. Fifth Sister took the time given by this interruption to reign in her anger. Killing her operative for the high crime of being precise wouldn't go over well with her superior.

The Grand Inquisitor continued, "You have three standard rotations. Report in if you require assistance or if the mission exceeds these parameters."

Fifth Sister nodded, jerked her head at the operative and strode towards the hangar deck. He was tall enough she had no hope of outpacing him without use of the Force, another minor irritation.

After a minute or so she realized he was careful to keep his distance behind her precise, even if she slowed down. He never allowed himself to be in front of her. In her way.

"It's going to be hard to address you if you're always behind me."

"I can hear you perfectly fine from this position."

"But you can't see my face. My expression."

"I am unclear on how that is useful."

"Depending on the situation I'm not always going to be able to say what I mean."

"I am more than intelligent enough to intuit such instances."

"*Really* . So this isn't just an excuse to get a good look?"

Confusion rippled around him in the Force. "At what?"

She sighed, shook her head. "Nevermind."

***

"It would be best if we--"

She tied off the bandage with a sharp yank, causing him to fall silence with a grunt. Between cleanup around the other gash, she said, "If you're about to suggest something *idiotic* like I should leave you here so I can return the [] and then come back for you? You can keep that shit to yourself."

Her voice was sharp and even, the way it was when she was well and truly angry. Yet unlike in those moments, when he sometimes thought he could feel the Force rising around her, aiming to strike down her enemy, there was something else hovering around her. Tenuous, wavering. Brittle.

"I was not going to recommend you return for me."

She made a frustrated sound, looked away. "You really think I should leave you hear for the sake of some--some fucking *missives*. We don't even know if they'll be useful."

"They are vital to the mission."

She started to say something, stopped. A sensation ripplied through him almost like fear. Almost. He didn't know what she'd been about to say, except some part of him *did* know, knew it was something they couldn't come back from. Best to not give voice to it, make it real.

She licked her lips. "I'm not likely to get out of here without you anyways."

"That is untrue." He took up his datapad, winced as the bandage on his side pulled. He took a moment to catch his breath, brought up the schematics. "There is a route here which will be possible for you to use. Together we would likely be seen or caught, but on your own it--"

"Not an option."

He held in a sigh. No one could move her when she dug in her heels like this, save the Grand Inquisitor, sometimes Fourth Sister. "If you are not back in one rotation they will depart without you. Those were the mission parameters."

"Then we find our way back on our own."

"My injuries are such that leaving this planet without the asistance of Imperial resources will be extremely difficult, if not simply--"

The medkit next to him rattled, the lantern jostled. He fell silent, waited and watched as she struggled her eyes shut, one hand formed into a fist so tight her nails would have drawn blood from her palm if not for her gloves.

The tremor abated. "I am not. Leaving you here. And that is *final*."

He sighed, considered his datapad again. In the corner of his eye he noted a hairline fracture in the lantern's shroud. "In that case."

[scruffylookingpiratecaptain]

Movies That Altered My Brain Chemistry

Aka, formative movies of my childhood, in no particular order.

[gu6chan]

ouaaaaaghhh i've been on a bit of a pokemon binge lately......... i should crack open my old pokemon games and take a peek at my teams :,) i wish i still had my old copy of conquest and black 2 though............ :(

[xqueen-of-disasterx]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 (𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟓) - 𝐏𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, NON- CON, dark!Wanda, kidnapped, drugging, mind control, mommy kink, enchanted strap, breeding kink, dumbification, praise kink, manhandling

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: With Vision gone Wanda found a new way to have her perfect family. But for that she has to take drastic message

𝐀/𝐍: let’s pretend it’s yesterday

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 | 𝐏𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞

Wanda longed for one thing, a family, something picture perfect like you’d see in the sit coms she used to watch. But with Vision gone, she thought she could never reach her goal until she had found you. Pretty and young the perfect wife for her causes.

There was only one problem you already had a man. Which made her more angry with each day passing. How could a man claim over something which was clearly made for her. The only solution was to steal you away from your life, make you forget so you wouldn’t linger after the things which were bad for you.

Around her cabin in the Canadian woods she had build a small hex. A hex you couldn’t cross but was still big enough to make you feel like you could prow through the forest. But first she needed to catch you on your way home as she had mapped your daily schedule perfectly.

Wanda walked three steps behind you her hoodie hiding her face. Until you crossed in the dark valley leading into your Appartement. Hastily she had caught up to you her fingers casting a spell before you fell in her arms unconsciously.

When you regained your consciousness, waking up in clean white sheets with sun streaming through the window. Something was off, but you couldn’t remember what. You had memories of a life with a woman who seemed familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.

When you stood up and found the kitchen the same unfamiliar woman was cooking breakfast, Wanda, had you just forgotten the name of your own wife? “Oh baby you’re awake already” She pulled you against her chest “Do you still have the headache from yesterday baby?” She asked her hand petting over your hair. “W- What? I can’t remember” Her perfect smile distorted a bit, became creepy even. “That’s because you haven’t had your pills yet baby” She spoke in a soothing voice as if it was the most normal thing for her.

She kept preparing for breakfast, cutting some strawberries because she knew she liked them. While she was focused on you her accidentally cut her finger, and the hex flickered for a split second and all the memories can crashing down on you. With from shock widened pupils you stared at her and she knew she had to act fast. “W-here am I?” Tears were building in building in your eyes. “Let me go I- I have a boyfriend, f- family”

She lounged at you manhandling your body on the couch “you don’t need them! All you need is me, I can tell what’s good for you and what not” She pressed you down hard the tears were already wetting the couching of the couch. “You’re just a dumb little girl who needs mommy to tell her what to do”

“Please don’t” You begged but her magic was already making you forget again. You’re brain soon felt like mush. You barely registered her pushing up your shirt and pulling your panties down “that’s a good girl all dumbed down and obedient” She played with your sloppy cunt. “You’re so wet baby? Do you like mommy playing with your little pussy?”

“Yes mommy” you mewl pushing your hips into her hands “Mhm that’s thats right… let mommy do all the thinking” She unzipped her own pants pulling them down to her thighs to reveal her enchanted strap. She alined herself with your sloppy cunt. Roughly she pushed into your tight hole splitting you open.

You mewl pressing your hips against her, like the desperate whore you were. She was harsh with her thrusts not caring about your desperate cries for release as they were only backround ambiance to the slapping of skin.

“You’re so tight for mommy” She cursed under her breath feeling every inch of you as she fucked you raw. “F- feels so good” You cried your throat raw from the screaming. “I’m gonna fuck you so full your gonna carry my babies”

“Yes” you chanted feeling your stomach tighten as you were just about to cum. “I’ll get you a full that’s what you want?! My dumb little housewife always ready for my dick?” She mocked her hand slapping your butt.

“M- Mommy, I- I’m close” You mewled biting down into the pillow you were clinging on. “Cum with me baby make me proud and cream over my cock” She fastened her hips again and you squirted all over her abs. She released her seed shortly after pulling out to finger her cum back into you. You were too far gone in the trance as you feel asleep on the couch. In a few hours you would be perfect for her that she was sure of.

@jolyssereed

[timmydraker]

Tim accidently referring to the Joker as Dad but those who know about Joker Jr aren’t present and so everyone is left with the ‘realisation’ that Tim is the son of the biggest nightmare to their family.

It’s probably Jason and Steph, her there to bother Tim but Jason went to the manor for food and the two naturally started arguing. Maybe Jason tells Tim to stop costing on his case and prove a point be made against blonde, but Tim just offhandedly goes, “Later, I think my dad broke out of Arkham again but the guards aren’t doing anything. Maybe they’re in on it…”

The two present naturally look at each other with confusion and for the first time stop bickering to peak over his shoulder and see what his case is because, holy shit Tim had a villain for a dad and didn’t tell us? Only to see numerous photos of the Joker in his cell and many reports over the last week of how he’s been behaving and Jason…

Steph pushes the man out of the room when she sees his face go from frozen fear to anger, thinking it’s towards Tim and his secrecy and, while she totally gets that, now isn’t the time.

Though when they get into the Jason starts a rant about how Bruce and Dick should have told him that the monster had a child, even if that child wasn’t Tim! Jason protects kids! Did they think he’d hurt him just because of who his father is?

No!

If anything, he’d become the kids full time body guard to stop that mad man from making Tim into another version of himself!

The two naturally go to tell the others, pulling Damian, Cass and Duke into a mostly unused room and telling them what they discovered, all while Tim stays in the library working on his case.

Cass is beyond worried but also confused because he doesn’t seem to have any physical characteristics of the Joker or Harley, but maybe the mother is different? Perhaps it’s still Janet and either she had a fling with the Joker or something far worse, which makes the young girl enraged on the woman’s behalf.

Damian makes a comment about him killing Tim, not in a serious manner but more as an option, but Duke shuts it down, saying that having a villain for a parent doesn’t mean anything about who you will be. He points out those in the family of that nature and other heroes like Superboy.

When asked why they didn’t get Dick or Babs involved, Jason says they defiantly know and lied about it.

It’s only after another three hours of working that Tim catches himself referring to the Joker as dad and shuts his laptop, making his way to Bruce’s room to hide under the older man’s bed like he usually does when that happens, only to overhear what his siblings are saying.

Tim presses his ear against the door to hear better.

“If that maniac had a kid, surely he’d have told everyone he had an heir or something.” That’s Steph’s voice, filled with worry that only he and Cass could detect as she hides it under a whiney tone.

Jason is next to respond, “maybe he doesn’t know? I mean, did Tim ever even interacted with him before he became Robin?”

It doesn’t take much more than that for Tim to realise that he must have been talking aloud again or absently answered someone earlier and misspoke in front of them.

Panic fills him as he avoids telling Bruce when he gets bad, even if it’s just a small thing, because the older man will start of being a concerned parent then go into Batman mode and only just stop himself from putting Tim in the confinement cell. Sure Tim came up with the idea of the cell so he wouldn’t hurt anyone if his conditioning got too bad, but he’s learnt the signs. He’s not a mindless drone, he still knows who he is and doesn’t hear someone talking to him or anything like that.

He just… sometimes forgets the Joker hurt him.

It’s not Tim’s fault that memories of watching TV with him and Harley, tucked between them with a big bowl of ice cream felt better than most memories of his real parents.

But he knows it’s wrong, always comes back to calling the Joker his enemy.

Bruce just doesn’t get that.

Tim hears them talk a bit more, theories about who his mother might be, if Tim is safe at the manor, if Joker knows he has a son…

Opening the door, Tim stands there and stares at them as all eyes snap to him in alarm.

He doesn’t let anybody speak, cutting them all off quickly, “He’s not my dad. Go the cave and search for file number 26557933301-JJ and put in the code AGELAST, all caps.”

With that he turns and leaves, walking at first before running to Bruce’s room to hide.

He goes to family dinner and pretends not to notice the quietness or how Jason is still there, eating his food quietly and waiting for the ball to drop.

Naturally, Damian is the one to say what he wants first, “So why is okay that Tim shot the joker but I got in trouble for stabbing Bane?”

Everyone groans.

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[totalswag]

hey i love your work so much and if it’s not to much go ask i was wondering if you could do a fic where fem!reader is part of the cast on obx and she is really close friends with drew where they are flirting and what not and everyone ships them and they are at an interview with the rest of the cast and that gets brought up? sorry if that doesn’t make sense! if you don’t have time it’s completely

behind the scenes ⎯ RAFE CAMERON

authors note thank you so much lovie!! i'm open to take requests and write them. i've thought of this concept before and all i gotta say is thank you for requesting this because I NEED THIS!! super sorry for not posting for a small while, there were stuff i needed to take care of first.

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summary having a close relationship with drew that send hints to fans they like each other based on the way they flirt with each other.

warning(s) flirting, shipping, co-stars secretly like each other?

Being apart of the Outer Banks cast has been such a blessing. You've created relationships with people you consider family now and who you can count on no matter what the circumstances are. Being on set for weeks on end filming scenes and making memories is what you look forward to most.

You grew closer with Drew Starkey because your characters are dating in the show and always next together on set too. Drew has become someone that you consider very important in your life.

You joined the Outer Banks cast during the second season. Drew appeared in a couple appearances near the end of the season, implying that he is interested in someone— love interest. You recall fans going nuts trying to figure out if this will continue. Fast forward two seasons, and your characters are together.

After a long day of filming, the cast decided to gather for dinner at a local beachside restaurant. The atmosphere was vibrant, with laughter and the sound of waves breaking on the shore. You and Drew were seated next to each other, much to the joy of your cast members, who were closely watching your interaction with Drew.

"Drew, look at the camera," you softly sang, your phone in your hand on the table, Drew in the frame of the video— he was speaking to Rudy across the table. He gives you a look that shows he knows you are heard before looking down at your phone and waving.

"Oh! "Hello there," he smiles even more when he sees himself on the screen—you giggle at the end of the video before sharing it to your Instagram story. 

"You posted it on your story?" he inquires, his body language focused solely on you. "I obviously had to; it was cute," you said as you placed your phone on the table next to your wallet. You suddenly felt nervous in front of Drew.

He raises his eyebrows in satisfaction. "Cute, huh?" He smirks and smiles, patting your thigh.

Fans began to ship you and Drew together as your relationship grew. The chemistry between you two is clearly obvious on and off screen, which is why you perform scenarios so well. Fans go berserk every time you post something on social media about Drew.

You two flirt without even realizing it at times. You will compliment each other as if you were a relationship, but this is nothing out of the norm for you two. Even your cast members have boarded the train and made a few comments about when you'll finish up together. 

You can't lie, he's an attractive young man. There's no doubt about that.

Few hours after you posted on your story, fans have been discussing the video you shared in which Drew looks at you as if you are the most beautiful person on the planet and no one else is present.

Today, you and the cast will be doing interviews all day to promote Season four. For the first portion, everyone will sit in the same room as the interviewer, but thereafter everyone will be separated.

"Alright, everyone," said the interviewer, "we've got some fun questions from fans today, and they're dying to know more about the dynamic between some of our favorite cast members."

Everyone said "Oooo," anxious to see what else the interviewer would say.

"Let's start with a fan favorite," the interviewer added, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "There's been a lot of talk about the chemistry between you two." She pointed to Drew and you. "Care to share any insights on that?"

Your stomach dropped.

The question hung in the air, drawing a chorus of “Oohs” and playful nudges from the cast. You felt your cheeks heat up as you exchanged a glance with Drew. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, a smirk playing on his lips

"Well," Drew said, leaning in slightly. "Y/N and I have always been close. We simply clicked, you know?"

"Really?" the interviewer asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Because the way you two flirt on and off set is pretty convincing."

You laughed and shook your head. "We simply have fun with it. Drew is a terrific person, and we like joking around. "It keeps things moving on set."

"From our first reading together, I knew she was going to be a great co star of mine and we've formed an amazing bond throughout the years" Drew says with his hands. In gratitude, you give him a pat on the back.

Your cast mates' eyes are constantly drawn to you and Drew since they can tell you have mutual feelings for each other. Granted, you two have scenes together all the time and have developed a strong bond. However, you consider being more than friends with him.

The interview continued on with more questions popping up that were exciting to answer. In the back of your mind you were thinking about the question about Drew and you— do you want more?

Later that evening, you and Drew returned to your apartment and relaxed in your living room. The city lights outside your window gave a soft glow across the room, and the steady hum of the air conditioner broke the silence. You'd both changed into more comfortable clothes, eager to relax after a long day.

"Today was something, huh?" Drew murmured, breaking the silence as he sprawled down on your couch, seemingly at peace.

"Yeah, it was," you said, sitting next to him. "They really went all in on the whole shipping thing."

Drew chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your heart race. "Yes, they did. "Makes you think, doesn't it?"

He sat up, his face instantly serious. "About Us. I mean, everybody sees it. Hell, we see it, don't we?

Your breath became locked in your throat. The playful flirtation, the lingering touches, the way your heart raced whenever he was close—it all hinted at something more than friendship. However, hearing him say it aloud was another. It made it real.

"I suppose we do," you confessed gently.

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[softspiderling]

and i burn for you (and you don’t even know my name) | j.v

summary:

“Something like that, “ you sighed, eyeing him briefly. Jacaerys tried not to flinch at the clear rejection and pressed his lips together.

“I should leave-”

“No, please, don’t leave on my behalf…. My prince.”

OR; Jacaerys is usually a lot more suave when it comes to ladies. That was before he met you.

pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader

warnings: SMUT! 18+, MDNI, p in v, oral sex (fem receiving), doesn't follow canon, Jace has been aged up to 20!

word count: 7,5k words (oh)

author's note: this is very much is an indulgent story bc i miss Luke and Jace🥲 also inspired by close to you by gracie abrams ! pls let me know ALLL YOUR THOUGHTS!!! happy reading🫶🏼🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Do you think my hair will get just as luscious as yours did after you got back from Winterfell?”

Jacaerys’ rolled his eyes at his brother. They were on their second day of journey from King’s Landing to Winterfell. It was to be Cregan Stark’s name day and he had cordially invited Jacaerys and his family to the celebrations. His mother could not just leave her throne at King’s Landing, and Daemon wouldn’t go without her. Joffrey, Viserys and Aegon where still too young to go, so only Jacaerys and Luke rode to Winterfell on dragonback. They could’ve made it in one day if they had wanted to, but they were in no hurry. Well, Jacaerys wasn’t. He knew what temperatures were expecting him. Luke didn’t, which was why he was so antsy to get there and almost didn’t pack the fur lined gloves their mother had laid out for them. Jacaerys couldn’t wait until the biting, cold winds hit Luke’s face for the first time. He would treasure the memory forever.

“Har har, good one,” Jacaerys said dryly. “The court jester should watch out or you will be going for his position in no time.”

Luke grinned at his older brother wickedly, opening his mouth once more to say another jest, Jacaerys had no doubt about it, but the words died on Luke’s tongue when the winds suddenly turned cold, whipping his hair around like icicles.

“Seven hells!” he cursed and Arrax let out a soft whine, not used to the coldness, just like his rider.

“Nyke ivestretan zirȳla, paktot Vermax?” Jacaerys whispered to his dragon, stroking Vermax’ neck with his gloved hand and the creature let out a puff of smoke. I warned him, didn’t I Vermax?

It wasn’t much longer until the two brothers reached Winterfell, their dragons landing just in front of the gates of town. Jacaerys could already see Cregan’s imposing figure standing by the gate as he climbed off of Vermax, carefully patting his snout. He took the bags off his saddle, Lucerys doing the same before leaning his forehead against Vermax’.

“Sȳz valonqar. Umbagon va, ao rȳbagon issa? Se jurnegon hen syt Arrax” Good boy. Stay near, you hear me? And take care of Arrax.

Vermax let out a soft rumble, pressing his snout against Jacaerys’ hand, before he and Arrax leapt back in the air, disappearing across the woods with few wing flaps. Jacaerys wasn’t sure where exactly they went, but he assumed it was some warm cave. Winterfell didn’t exactly have a dragon pit.

“Woah,” Luke gasped, astounded by the amount of white surrounding them.

“I told you,” Jacaerys said, shouldering his bags as Cregan approached them, several pages in tow.

“Prince Jacaerys!” Cregan’s voice boomed across the snowy field, before he stopped in front of the two princes. “What an honor to have you.”

The two men sized each other up, before breaking out in laughter as Cregan pulled Jacaerys into a hug.

“It is good to see you, my friend.”

“And you, Cregan,” Jacaerys replied, patting Cregan’s back that was cloaked in a warm fur. He really ought to ask him what animal pelt it was, he never seemed to be cold. Luke was shifting on his feet next to him and Jacaerys took a step back to introduce his brother.

“Lord Cregan, this is my brother.”

“Ah, the infamous Prince Lucerys,” Cregan said with a smile, shaking Luke’s hand. Based on his face, Jacaerys could tell his brother was struggling to keep a straight face; Cregan’s handshakes were nothing but firm.

“Lord Cregan, it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance.”

“I have heard much about you.”

“Ah,” Luke sighed, hand still enclasped in Cregan’s. “I’m sure all lies.”

“Only good things, your brother has shared high praises of you.”

Luke glanced over to his brother in surprise and Jacaerys only raised his eyebrows at him. Cregan finally let go of Luke’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder, sending the younger man nearly flying.

“How old are you, Lucerys?”

“Ten and eight, my lord. And please, call me Luke.”

“Very well,” Cregan said with a grin. “You’re the prime age of a young prince, Luke. Are you courting anyone?”

“No,” Luke replied, his cheeks reddening. Jacaerys only snickered, ignoring the deathly glare his younger brother sent him.

“No worry. There are a few of very beautiful ladies that will be attending, maybe one or two will catch your royal eyes.”

Cregan gave Jacaerys a knowing look, but he only rolled his eyes, stretching his hands, the coldness starting to seep into his gloves.

“I am about to lose feeling in my limbs, can we continue this dreadful conversation inside?”

“Of course. I apologize, I forget that you are not accustomed to our weather,” Cregan said, motioning for the pages to help the them with their bags. “Let’s get you into the warm, shall we?”

Cregan lead the two brothers towards the Great Keeps, giving Luke a very brief rundown of the grounds as he did. Jacaerys could already feel his fingers warming up; he even dared to take off his gloves.

“We are currently having tea, I would love for you to join but if you wish to get some rest, we can meet again after,” Cregan said, stopping in front of the dining halls.

Jacaerys glanced over to Luke, who only gave him a shrug. “I could do with some food.”

“As do I.”

“Very well.”

Cregan pushed open the door to reveal a lively dining hall, one that Jacaerys was familiar with. He spotted faces he recognized, when his eyes stopped in the middle of the table, surprised to see Lady Alysanne Blackwood sitting next to you, someone he didn’t recognize. Immediately, you turned your head to look at him, as if you had felt his eyes on you. Jacaerys tried not to falter under your gaze.

“Who’s that?” Luke whispered and Jacaerys fought the urge to elbow him.

“The Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon!” Cregan announced, causing a ruckus as everyone pushed their chair back to stand. You only followed after Alysanne gently nudged you, folding your hands in front.

“Thank you for having us,” Jacaerys said, him and Lucerys both bowing. “Please, sit.”

As everyone took their seats again, Cregan led him and Luke to the middle of the table, where three seats were empty next to Alysanne and you.

“My princes, may I introduce Lady Alysanne of House Blackwood and Lady-”

Jacaerys almost tuned out Cregan’s voice as he introduced you, but it was like your name was ringing in his ears. He was sure he had never been quite taken with any lady as with you right from the first meeting. Jacaerys cleared his throat, hoping his voice would come out even.

“Lady Alysanne, it’s nice to see you again,” Jacaerys said, bowing to her as Luke followed suit.

“The pleasure is mine, your graces. I hope your journey was swift,” Alysanne replied. “I hear you travelled on dragonback.”

That seemed to pique your interest as you straightened your back, eying Jacaerys with a new found interest. Jacaerys tried to ignore the heat unfurling in his lower stomach. He had seemed to take beat too long to reply, because Luke cut in, throwing a look at his older brother.

“Yes, my lady. It only took us a day and half’s journey.”

“Ah, I envy you. To travel on dragonback and have a short journey. It took me a moon’s turn to get from Raventree Hall to Winterfell,” Alysanne said with a small sigh, turning to you. “Nearly took you two moon’s turns, didn’t it?”

Jacaerys had kept his eyes steadfastly on Alysanne as she spoke, but when she turned to you, he took the chance to do the same. You nodded, fingers between the stem of the chalice you had been drinking from. His eyes lingered on your slender fingers for longer than they should have.

“Two moon’s turns is quite a long journey,” Jacaerys finally pressed out, hoping his voice didn’t sound odd. “Where in the Seven Kingdoms does your house lay?”

Your eyes met his for the first time and Jacaerys felt like he was looking in the eyes of a predator, as if he hadn’t been riding a dragon for nearly all of his life.

“I am from a land beyond Essos,” you finally spoke, voice as smooth as honey. Before you could continue, Alysanne whispered something under her breath and you let out a small laugh, shaking your pretty head, speaking again. “I’m afraid we’re not part of the Seven Kingdoms, your grace.”

The way you accentuated the honorific had Jacaerys sweat, something he never thought he’d do in Winterfell. He managed to give you a wry smile; luckily, Cregan finally gestured towards the empty seats and as Jacaerys sat down - two seats away from you - he let out a breath of relief, desperate for a quick respite. His behavior was mortifying and unbefitting for a crown prince.

“Are you alright?” Luke whispered from his left as he reached for a particularly large meat pie. “It is unlike you to let me do the talking.”

Jacaerys waited as the butler poured him some mulled wine, only stopping him when it was nearly full to the brim. He lifted the chalice, taking a big drink from it, feeling Luke’s eyes on him the whole time.

“It appears the journey has tired me more than I had expected.”

Luke narrowed his eyes at him, but as soon as he bit into the meat pie, the suspicions slid of his face.

“Seven hells, what kind of meat do they put in these?” he almost moaned, already reaching for another. Slob, Jacaerys thought, reaching for some bread himself, leaving his brother to his own world as he discovered the cuisine of the North. Jacaerys glanced over to his friend, but Cregan was in the middle of a conversation with Alysanne; they were speaking in hushed tones, Jacaerys could barely make out a word even though he was sitting right next to them.

The way Cregan was whispering to Alysanne suggested a certain familiarity; a familiarity that Jacaerys was surprised by; he hadn’t known that Cregan had taken on a lover, and Alysanne no less, though he could see what had drawn his friend to her.

Jacaerys didn’t pay attention for half a second before his eyes impulsively laid on you. He didn’t want to be caught staring, but you seemed preoccupied listening to Alysanne as she talked, so he allowed himself a few moments to take you in. Your hair fell over your shoulder in soft waves, the bodice of your dress was snug around your chest. The more he looked, the dryer his throat became, suddenly the bread in his mouth tasted days old. Letting out a soft cough, Jacaerys reached for his wine, nearly finishing all of it in one to, desperate to quench his thirst.

He wondered if all women from your land looked like you or if it was just you that had him so enthralled. Jacaerys was lost in thoughts so deeply, he didn’t even realize that Cregan had turned his attention to him.

“Did someone catch your eye?”

“What?”

Jacaerys teared his eyes from you to look at his friend, who was sipping on his wine, eyebrows raised. Despite trying to seem nonchalant, the crown prince knew a pink flush creeped on his cheeks; he’d blame it on the wine if Cregan would ask.

“I was enjoying the festivities.”

“You’re surely enjoying something.”

“I’m positively not enjoying this conversation,” Jacaerys sniffed. Cregan laughed, placing his heavy hand on his shoulder. Jacaerys tried not to falter under it.

“I like her. She’s a good friend of Lady Alysanne’s. Though if her behavior grates you: her land does not have a king or queen, so she might not be familiar with our customs. She is also especially forward; I fear that was a given, considering the company she seeks.”

Jacaerys knew immediately what Cregan was alluding to. Alysanne had a reputation for not holding her tongue when something displeased her, there were a good handful of people who quite dislike her for it.

“I’m sure you will get along with her fine, my prince.”

Jacaerys hummed, glancing over to you for a split second before looking away for fear of being caught again, but in doing so, he missed you looking back at him with raised brows. After the table was cleared, you and Alysanne excused yourselves to your chambers. Jacaerys stared after you until you disappeared from sight, his hands clasped.

“Let me show you to your chambers for some rest,” Cregan offered. “Jacaerys, I had the same chambers prepared as last time.”

The three men walked through the hallways of Winterfell once more, stopping in front of Jacaerys’ chambers.

“Someone will fetch you for supper, please get some rest in the meantime,” Cregan said, clasping Jacaerys on the back. Jacaerys glanced over at Luke, who waved him off, so he entered his chambers as Cregan walked Luke to his, with the latter chattering excitedly.

As the door shut behind Jacaerys, the chambers were engulfed in silence and he was finally able to breathe. The room was comfortably decorated, of course in no way as lavish as his chambers in King’s Landing, but everything he would need was there. Taking off his cloak and his doublet, Jacaerys hung them over the small bench that sat near the fire, before he laid down on the bed, staring up the canopy with a sigh.

Gods, he really needed to get it together. He would not allow himself to act like such a fool in front of you again. He couldn’t even understand what it was about you that had him so shaken to the core. Jacaerys had never been the kind of man who stuttered around when it came to women. He knew what he had to offer, he knew a lot of women found his status appealing. But something about you was just…. Infuriating. It made him lose his footing.

Jacaerys was still questioning his life choices that led to this moment, when the door suddenly flung open, and he knew immediately who it was without having to move; there was only one person in whole Winterfell who would barge into his chambers like this.

“Your chambers are so much nicer than mine!” Luke crowed, throwing his hands up in the air before he dropped onto the bed next to Jacaerys. “I do have to say, even though it is freezing outside, the Northeners know how to keep it comfy in their chambers.”

Jacaerys let out a small sigh.

“What are you doing here, Luke?”

“Gods, why are you such in a sour mood?”

“Maybe because I am tired from the journey and you’re sitting here talking about meaningless things,” Jacaerys lamented with a pointed look in his younger brother’s direction, who only pursed his lips, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Let me move onto meaningful topics then,” he agreed. “You didn’t tell me Lord Cregan is betrothed to Lady Alysanne.”

“He’s not, as far as I know,” Jacaerys replied, resigning himself to the fact that Luke wasn’t going to leave anytime soon. “I was taken by surprise just as you were.”

Luke didn’t answer; for a brief second Jacaerys wondered if he had fallen asleep, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be happy about or not.

“What did you think of her friend?” Luke finally asked and Jacaerys rolled his eyes. There it was. “She’s pretty, right? I think she might be interested in me.”

“What makes you think she would be interested in you?” Jacaerys pressed out, annoyed. He knew Luke was baiting him, but what if he wasn’t? His younger brother turned over to look at him, the corners of his mouth tugging up.

“I knew it. You’re absolutely smitten with her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I barely exchanged two words with her,” Jacaerys said defensively.

“Exactly. She makes you shiver in your boots like a child and swallow your words like Vermax does goats.”

“Blasphemous,” Jacaerys snapped, his cheeks growing hot. “I’m the Crown Prince of the Seven Realms, I do not get flustered around a lady.”

“I cannot wait until you talk to her again,” Luke remarked gleefully.

Jacaerys reached over to grab one of the fluffy pillows that was resting against the headboard to whack Luke in the face with it.

The next day, Jacaerys found himself with some time by himself. Cregan was greeting some more of the guests that were arriving for his celebration that evening, and Luke had wanted to see the training grounds of Winterfell, so Jacaerys ventured out by himself, walking the walls. He passed a few guards, who bowed respectfully as they marched past him. They asked if he got lost, if they should walk him back inside where it was warm, but he declined.

Despite the cold snow that was falling from the sky, Jacaerys enjoyed leaving the castle for a few moments. Winterfell was peaceful, the white that covered the grounds allowed him to breathe, a stark contrast to the grounds of King’s Landing. As the cold winds started to pick up, Jacaerys turned to head back, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by yourself at the wall, staring out at the distance. Jacaerys hesitated.

His interaction with you last night at supper was… Passable. He had managed to keep the conversation going, he still wasn't happy with himself. But this was unfamiliar territory, he hadn’t ever been alone with you. What if he made a fool of himself?

Before Jacaerys could decide what to do, his feet already carried him over to you. At the sounds of the snow crunching under his soled shoes, you turned around, your eyebrows risen in surprise. Your cheeks were red from the cold, despite the fur-lined cloak that engulfed your shoulders.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said, your breath visible in the cold air.

“Only me,” Jacaerys confirmed, bowing his head slightly in greeting. You did the same. “Come out here for some quiet?”

“Something like that, “ you sighed, eyeing him briefly. Jacaerys tried not to flinch at the clear rejection and pressed his lips together.

“I should leave-”

“No, please, don’t leave on my behalf…. My prince.”

You added the honorific after a brief pause, and Jacaerys stayed rooted in his spot. You seemed like you were in deep thought, and your voice was hesitant when you spoke again.

“I am unsure as to what the difference is, if I’m being quite honest. Do you want me to refer to you as my prince or as your Grace?”

“You can refer to me as anything you want,” Jacaerys said quickly. Too quickly.

The frown on your face smoothed, a grin growing in its stead. “Indeed?”

“I meant,” Jacaerys pressed, trying to sustain any sort of dignity. “You’re not from Westeros, you do not need to address me as your Grace or my prince.”

“I wouldn’t want to seem disrespectful,” you added. “Folks are already whispering about the “foreign lady”, I do not wish to give them more reason to be suspicious.”

Jacaerys felt a flash of hot anger coursing through him at the belief of anyone uttering a bad word about you.

“Are you being mistreated, my lady?”

A laugh escaped your lips. “I did not tell for you to fight in my honor, I have endured worse than some meaningless gossip.”

You tossed your hair back, and for a brief second, your scent carried over to Jacaerys’ nose. You smelled… Sweet. A scent that was unfamiliar to him, but not exactly unwelcome. With a small sigh, you turned your head to look at him. Damn it, did you say something?

“So... Your grace or my prince?”

For some reason, either address didn’t feel right. Well. They felt right, but not right. Never before had Jacaerys felt anything when being referred to with the correct title except for a sense of respect and pride that he was being recognized for his status. But for some reason, having you address him with either had Jacaerys feel things in regions where he shouldn’t. And both seem equally catastrophic.

“Either is fine,” he finally settled on. “But if no one is around… It is alright for you to call me by my given name.”

“Jacaerys?”

A shiver ran down his spine at the sound of his name rolling of your tongue so easily. He was done for. No matter what you referred to him as, it made him weak in the knees.

“Or Jace.”

“Is that not improper?” you asked. “I would hate for folks to think I’m getting too familiar with the crown prince.”

He definitely wouldn’t mind getting too familiar with you.

“My friends call me that… And people that I’m close with.”

A corner of your mouth tugged up in a grin. “You wish to be close with me?”

Jacaerys flushed, stuttering. “I-“

“I’m only jesting,” you said, your gloved hand reaching out to touch his arm and even though there were about five layers between, Jacaerys could *feel* your skin on his. He was in trouble. “I will address you properly in public but if no one is around, Jacaerys….”

Your voice trailed off and you took a step towards him, leaning in so you could speak to him in a small whisper.

“I hope we can become friends.”

With that, you bowed your head, stepping back and turned to depart, leaving Jacaerys standing by himself. He exhaled a breath - a breath he had not realized he had been holding this whole time.

Somewhere in the distance, Jacaerys could hear Vermax screech out, no doubtedly feeling exactly what his dragon rider was struggling with.

“Yes, Vermax, you and me both,” Jacaerys muttered with a small sigh, enduring the cold for a little while longer before he retired inside, knowing he had to start getting ready for Cregan’s celebrations soon.

“How much longer are you going to stare at your reflection?”

Jacaerys resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. He was tense enough as it was, giving into Luke’s teasing was not going to help it.

“I’m representing mother at this celebration, a single hair out of place and rumors about my legitimacy as heir might start,” Jacaerys pointed out, wiping off the fleck of dusts that sat on the shoulder of his doublet.

“Of course, we would not want that,” Luke said, his voice taking that annoying tone which Jacaerys knew meant he wasn’t taking him serious. “You are most certainly not trying to look absolutely perfect for a certain lady.”

Jacaerys met Luke’s eyes through the mirror, his forehead creased. “I did not ask you to wait for me. No one is stopping you from going by yourself.”

Luke sighed, pushing himself off of the bench to approach him, hands reaching out to smooth out Jacaerys’ cloak.

“And who is going to tame that one wild curl that always does whatever it wants at the back of your head?”

Jacaerys winced when Luke gently tugged on said curl, setting it in its place, before the younger prince grinned at him through the reflection as the two of them stood in front of the mirror, Luke's shoulders slightly higher than Jacaerys'. He despised the fact that his younger brother was starting to overtake him in height. Jacaerys hoped that Joffrey would stay shorter than him.

“You look fine, Jace,” Luke assured him. “And even if a hair might be out of place, she will think it charming.”

Jacaerys decided against deeming that comment with an answer, instead straightening his shoulders.

“Let’s go then.”

The two brothers headed the the Great Hall and the closer they got, the louder the music became. Jacaerys tried not to pick on his clothes as they walked through the hallways, knowing he was just being antsy at this point. When they finally reached the threshold of the hall, the herald bowed to them both respectfully, waiting until the music quietened down, the guests looking at them.

“Presenting His Grace, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, heir to the Iron Throne, and his brother, Prince Lucerys Velaryon of House Targaryen!” the herald announced.

The guests all bowed, which Jacaerys and Lukereturned, before they were being led to their seats and Jacaerys tried not to stumble over his feet when he realized that Cregan had sat Luke to his right, whereas Jacaerys sat next to him.

Right next to you.

Jacaerys ignored Luke’s smirk as he sat down, and instead offered you a small smile.

“My lady.”

“Your grace.”

You sent him a conspiratorial smile, before your attention refocused to Cregan, who suddenly stood, lifting his chalice.

"Good evening, my dear guests. On this occasion, the celebration of my name day, I am deeply honored to be surrounded by such loyal friends, family, and allies. I thank everyone who made their long and burdensome journey to celebrate this day with me. Raise your cups, my friends, enjoy the festivities, the music and most importantly, the food. Now, let the feast begin!"

Everyone clapped as Cregan took his seat again, the lively music beginning to play. Immediately, people rose to occupy the dancefloor. You stayed seated, sipping on your wine and Jacaerys watched you out of the corner of his eye, reaching for his own wine, hoping it would ease his nerves. You looked pretty; wearing a dark red dress, the fabric seeming to melt against your skin like it was sown onto your body. Jacaerys tried to not let his gaze linger too much on your cleavage, which was tasteful, but still incredibly distracting. He couldn’t help but think how you and him seemed to be dressed to compliment each other.

“You look very beautiful,” Jacaerys blurted out. You turned to him, eyebrows risen in surprise and his cheeks reddened. “I apologize if it was too forward, I-”

“You look very handsome yourself,” you said, returning the favor with a grin. “At least I know what took you so long to get here.”

By now, Jacaerys was sure that the color of his face rivaled the color of your dress.

“Thank you,” he said, fingers tracing the stem of the chalice. “I try to look my best.”

“It is working in your favor, my prince,” you all but purred quietly, making Jacaerys grip his chalice so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jacaerys pressed out, letting a small sigh pass his lips. “I apologize. I am usually more… Composed,” he admitted. You raised an eyebrow at him, but he couldn’t help but feel like you were biting back a smile.

“And you’re not composed right now?”

“No. You…” he paused, letting go of the chalice, stretching his hand out. “You make me nervous.”

He dared to look up to you, searching for any sign of distaste, only to see your gaze focused on his hands, before you lifted your eyes to meet his.

“How?”

“You vex me.”

“In a good way, I hope.”

Jacaerys let out a breathless laughter, shaking his head. “In a very much not good way. This is not behavior befit for a crown prince.”

“Well, it’s just your luck that I have not a single idea of what behavior is befit for a crown prince,” you assured him, placing your hand on his, presumably to console him. It had quite the opposite reaction. “It is just me, you may speak freely.”

“I-” Jacaerys paused, his eyes darting around the countless of guests mingling in the Great Hall, the threat of a listening ear everywhere. “I cannot.”

You nodded in understanding, but Jacaerys could tell that his answer had disappointed you by the way you turned your head away from him. Silently, he cursed himself, feeling the desire for you coiling in his stomach, but unable to act on it.

For the rest of the night, Jacaerys tried to pick up the conversation with you again, and while you did speak with him, it seemed dull, like you were uninterested. He felt incredibly stupid, knowing he had messed up, but despite that, he couldn’t jump over his shadow to address the problem. So he didn’t. He pushed his disappointment in himself aside and tried his best to control the jealousy he felt whenever you accepted the dance of another man, acting like didn’t care at all, especially when Luke was watching, shaking his head.

Cregan was luckily too busy to entertain his guests to meddle, occasionally drawing Jacaerys into his side to clink their cups. Overall, (despite his personal failings) the celebration was a success. It was late in the night, nearing the hour of the wolf when Jacaerys finally retired to his chambers. He had dropped Luke off at his own chambers just before, his younger brother having one too many of the mulled wine and immediately dozing off in clothes.

Shutting the door with his foot, Jacaerys unpinned his cloak, tugging his doublet off, draping it over the small ottoman. His hands were in the collar of his tunic, ready to take it off when short raps on his door made him pause. Was that Cregan fetching him for another drink?

Jacaerys opened the door and his eyebrows rising in surprise when he saw who it was.

“My lady…”

You were standing in front of him, dark cloak slung around your shoulders, about the last person he had expected to come knocking on his door after his last conversation with you had gone. Your face was bare from any trace of cosmetics, but your cheeks still held a rosy glow. Jacaerys peered out into the dark hallway, expecting a handmaiden or anyone accompanying you, but alas, you were by yourself.

“It is late. Is something the matter?” he asked, concerned.

“Everything is fine,” you assured him. “I was feeling a bit restless, I was wondering if you were up for some company?”

Despite feeling exhausted just a few seconds ago, Jacaerys was wide awake now, his heart thrumming with excitement at the prospect of spending time with you alone. But he couldn’t help but hesitate, questioning whether it was smart of him to put himself in a situation he couldn’t control, especially with you.

You sensed his hesitation, tilting your head curiously.

“I can leave, if you wish.”

Before you could even attempt to retreat, Jacaerys’ hand shot out to stop you, and as he saw the amusement on your face, he knew you had never intended to leave.

Minx, he thought to himself, opening his door wider to let you inside. Swiftly, you passed by him and Jacaerys made sure no one saw you enter, before shutting the door. As he turned around, he found you had already settled on the cushioned couch, appearing comfortably at ease.

“These are usually my chambers I stay in when I visit Winterfell,” you said nonchalantly, taking in the chambers and Jacaerys’ possessions that laid scattered around. “You can imagine my surprise when Cregan told me it was occupied for someone else when I arrived.”

Jacaerys tried not to imagine you laying in his bed as he sat down on the bench.

“They are the chambers I stayed in when I visited last time. I assume Cregan wanted me to feel comfortable.”

“The lengths we would go to to make sure you felt comfortable,” you said with a look in his direction and Jacaerys flushed, clearing his throat.

“Do you like these chambers for a reason or are you merely a creature of habit?”

“These are the only chambers that don’t have the fire place directly facing the bed,” you explained, your arms gesturing to the layout of the chambers.

“I know the Northeners like to keep the fire on at night to feel cozy, but I tend to get a little… Hot.”

Oh.

His mouth ran a little dry and he only managed to blink at you, as you grinned, your eyes slowly trailing down his body.

“I imagine it is the same for you. What is it again, the motto of your house?”

Jacaerys opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out of it.

“Fire and blood?” finally pressed out and you arched an eyebrow at him.

“Are you asking or telling me?”

“Telling.”

Your mouth quirked up in a smirk and you brushed your hair back with a flick. “I must say, I have to admit that I thought you less nervous when no one was around.”

“You thought me less nervous when it is just you and I alone in a room?”

“Now when you say it like that…” you mused. “I told you that you do not have to worry about your behavior, I do not know any of the rules you have to abide by.”

“That’s not why I’m nervous,” Jacaerys said with a small laugh and you creased your forehead, looking at him questioningly.

“Is that not what you told me at supper?”

Jacaerys sighed, a chuckle leaving his lips and he had no other choice than to confess.

“You make me nervous because I do not know how to act around you. You make me stutter, lose my footing. I was never anything less than charming when it comes to talking to ladies, but you for some reason…”

Your face contorted from confusion to understanding and then glee.

“And I was starting to think you were letting me down easy.”

“I- what?” The indignation in Jacaerys’ tone made you laugh. “Let you down? Surely you must be jesting.”

“What was I to think? I was not exactly being subtle, my prince.”

Jacaerys bit down on his lower lip, nearly hard enough to draw blood, but he eased off.

“I’m trying my best to uphold my honor. And yours.”

You let out a small laugh, lifting your hand to deftly unhook your cloak. Jacaerys averted his eyes as soon as the cloak slid off your shoulders, but he could see out of the corner of his eyes that you were wearing nothing but a nightgown with long lacey sleeves. Jacaerys had never seen a nightgown like that before.

“Would it not be dishonorable to deny yourself what you truly want?”

Jacaerys dared to glance at you, swallowing thickly when he realized that you had come closer, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin. He exhaled sharply, feeling his cock stirring in his breeches, thankful that his tunic was untucked, covering his excitement.

“What if your future husband would cast you aside knowing you have laid with another man?”

You smiled at him, your hand reaching out to trace the neckline of his tunic.

“I think if my husband were to cast me aside for enjoying the pleasure of sex, he is not the right man for me.”

Jacaerys held his breath as you looked at him through your lashes. He managed to stay strong for about three more seconds, before he let out a frustrated groan, his hand curling around to pull you close, pressing his lips on yours.

You sighed softly into the kiss, your mouth pliable as Jacaerys moved against them, the kiss nearly driving him insane.

He needed more.

Tightening his grip on your waist, Jacaerys pulled you into his lap, situating your legs on either side of him.

“I have been going insane,” Jacaerys whispered against your lips, his finger tips dancing up your arm. “Trying to keep my composure, act like a prince, but one look from you and I lost the ability to string a sentence together.”

“Please,” you gasped as his hand wrapped around the back of your head to tilt it back, placing featherlight kisses on the column of your neck.” Cregan was telling me to behave - for once - because his great friend, the crown prince of the Seven Realms was to attend his nameday celebrations, but how could I when you’re just so-”

Your sentence trailed off in a sigh and Jacaerys pulled back to look at you, an eyebrow arched.

“I am so...?”

“Infuriatingly handsome.” Your voice was breathless as you spoke, hands slipping under his tunic and Jacaerys lifted his arms to help you take it off before you discarded it to the floor carelessly. “Like you were carved out of marble.”

You caressed him with your fingertips over his chest, your touch so tantalizing he had to shift his hips to ease the pressure on his breeches, a motion that did not go unignored by you at the sound of the small whimper that left your mouth, a sound that went directly to his south. He leaned in to kiss you again, before maneuvering you off his lap, standing so he could lead you over to the bed. His touch was gentle, but firm as you followed his lead to lay down at the edge of the bed, your nightgown bunching up at your calves.

“You don’t even know the affect you have on me… You had me on my knees,” he murmured, pushing your gown up. “I’m the crown prince of the seven realms. I don’t kneel for anyone.”

He might make an exception for you.

With his hands on your calves, pulling you closer, Jacaerys got to his knees, peppering small kisses on your inner thigh, making you squirm. He could smell the warmth of your musk as he neared your cunt, your smallclothes displaying a small patch of wetness he couldn’t help but be thrilled by.

“Lift your hips,” Jacaerys said, and when you did, he tugged your smallclothes off easily. He let out a soft breath when coming face to face with your cunt, sliding one finger through your folds. The moan out of your mouth sounded like heaven to him.

“Jace…” you sighed and his breeches got impossibly tighter, but he wanted you to finish first before he could even think about himself. Jacaerys applied a little pressure on your pearl with his thumb, inching closer, his breath hot on your lips before he licked a strip up your cunt. You responded with a small groan, your hands tangled into his locks and he knew he was on the right track.

He kept drawing circles on the small nub over your cunt, his tongue exploring between your folds, trying to elicit every moan and sigh out of your mouth possible, repeating his motions that seemed to please you the most. Soon, Jacaerys had you writhing on his bed, your hand tightened around his hair in a grip that nearly hurt, but he didn’t care.

“Jacaerys…” you breathed out, your hips lifting from the bed; he merely pushed it down with his free hand. “Don’t- I’m so..”

Jacaerys nuzzled his mouth even further into your cunt he not thought possible, the circles he was drawing onto your pearl becoming tighter, smaller until you let out an especially loud moan of his name, your cunt pulsating.

With a breath heave, you fell back into the cushions and Jacaerys pulled back from between your legs, not without leaving a lingering kiss on your inner thigh. You looked absolutely marvelous, blissed out on his bed, your sweaty hair sticking to your forehead. If he had to guess, he must not look any better, his entire face must be covered in you.

“Is this behavior befit for a crown prince?” you asked, chest still heaving. Jacaerys quirked a smile at you, brushing his hair back.

“For a lady like you, without question.”

A small laughter escaped your lips, and you tugged him down to kiss him, your hands slipping beneath his trousers and then his breeches, wrapping around his cock. Jacaerys hissed, bucking into your hands, realizing he was still fully clothes from the waist down. Giving you one last kiss, he reluctantly pulled away from you, taking his boots off, and then slowly pushing his trousers off, his smallclothes along with it.

He couldn’t help but flush as he stood in front of your inquisitive eyes, still wearing your nightgown but looking incredibly debauched, your gaze… Hungry. He got on the bed, crawling towards you on his knees, fingers gingerly pushing your nightgown off your shoulders - you didn’t lift a hand to help him, but merely watched as his eyes grew wide when he finally pushed your nightgown down, as it pooled around your waist.

“You were made by the gods,” he mumbled into your skin, mouth latching on the sensitive skin of your tits, his other hand gently rolling your nipples until it formed into a stiff peak. He leaned up, kissing you deeply and as he moaned into your mouth, he pulled away, breathing hard.

“Do you…” he trailed off, unsure how to word it.

“I will die an immediate death if I don’t,” you said, extremely serious. “Lay back.”

As Jacaerys settled into the mountain of cushions, you knelt in front of him, nightgown long gone. You positioned yourself over his lap, just as he had earlier, hand wrapping around his cock to guide it to your cunt, which was still sopping wet. Jacaerys let out a slow, guttural groan as you lowered yourself onto his cock, until he was fully sheated inside of you.

“Are you feeling alright?” he pressed out, his hands finding your hips to pull out incase you were feeling uncomfortable.

“Perfect,” you breathed, lips parted and eyes hooded. You leaned a hand on his chest, impulsively rolling your hips and Jacaerys moaned, throwing his head back. Slowly, the two of you found your rhythm as you rode him, in slow, but deep hip thrusts. His chambers was filled with the sound of skin hitting skin, whispers of his name and moans of yours. It wasn’t long until Jacaerys felt the familiar tension in his lower stomach, knowing he was close, while you were still moving on top of him, head thrown back.

If he had it his way, he would shoot his load into you, making you his, but the last thing he wanted was to trap you, so he stilled your hips, holding you in place and turning you so he was on top of you. Your hair fanned out on the bed, and Jacaerys kissed you, tongue licking into your mouth as he drove his cock into you with deep, but slow thrusts; his thumb was pressing into your pearl simultaneously.

“Jace,” you whined, your walls clenching and he nearly lost it right then and there. “Please…”

Jacaerys snapped his hips into you harder, leaning his head against yours as he did and after one particular deep thrust, you held onto his bicep as you moaned his name in a way that would ingrain into his brain for the rest of his life and he quickly pulled out, before he emptied his load in thick, white spurts onto your stomach. With a small groan, Jacaerys collapsed onto the bed next to you, neither speaking for a few seconds, catching your breath.

Jacaerys was the first to rise, pushing his hair back, standing to find a wet rag to clean you up. His touch was gentle as he cleaned your stomach, disposing of the dirty rag, lingering on the side of the bed.

“Do you want to stay? For a little while, at least?”

You turned your head to look at him, corners of your mouth tugging up. “If you’ll have me, my prince.”

Jacaerys snorted out a laughter, settling into bed next to you, making sure to pull up the blanket to cover your naked body, even though a warmth was emanating from you, it was rivaling his own.

“Are you sure you’re not a distant kin of Aegon the Conqueror?” he asked, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder. “You would fit right into our house.”

“I find it very flattering that you think I have royal blood in me,” you laughed as your fingertips traced along his arm.

“It is only a question,” Jacaerys mused. “I think you would get along well with my mother.”

“A foreign girl in front of the esteemed queen of the Seven Realms? I wouldn’t stand a chance. Her royal knights would behead me as soon as I curtsied the wrong way.”

And as the fire crackled in the far corner of the chambers, pressed against your side, Jacaerys knew that while you spoke in jest, he wouldn’t mind you meeting his mother, even if that was highly unlikely. Coming the following morning it seemed like he would never see you again, with you returning home and him returning to King’s Landing.

And while he was a dragon rider, he wasn’t sure if that distance would be easy for him to cover, considering the fact he had duties he had to attend to, he couldn't just leave whenever he pleased, no matter how much he wanted to.

“I really enjoyed your company,” you then said, your voice a bittersweet tone. Jacaerys pressed his nose against your neck, biting back the question if you wanted to come with him, see King’s Landing. He knew he was being foolish.

“As did I yours.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: hehehehehe did u like it?

[dollfacefantasy]

billy butcher x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, fingering i am so down bad i had to get this out of my system

Everywhere he went, you followed Billy around like a puppy. Always watching him with adoring eyes, lingering by his side to see what he was up to. At first he pinned it on you looking for reassurance as the newbie in the group, but after a few weeks, it was obvious that your attachment ran deeper. You obviously had quite the crush. 

You spoke to him with more nerves in your voice. Followed his orders down to the letter and damn near saluted him when you received them. He could scowl at you or scold you, and you might scurry away with your tail between your legs for the hour. But give it some time, and you'd be back.

He didn’t know what to make of it. Sure it was... flattering, and technically, you were still doing your job well, performing on missions as you should. But at the same time, it was distracting having a sweet young thing like you prancing around him at all times, seeking his approval with each breath you took. He was supposed to be focusing on revenge, justice, saving the world and all that. But fuck, one look at you and that's all a distant memory.

At the end of the day, he's just a man. He needs to have a taste. One night when the two of you are out scouting, he gets you alone in the van. It only takes a tender look and a few words in a lilted tone of his voice to have you cumming on his fingers and your panties in the pocket of his coat. A few days later, you blow him in a public bathroom while you wait for a target to show up. After that, he eats you out at your desk in the office.

Tonight he gets you back to his place. He's sat on the sagging couch, thighs spread wide enough to accommodate you between them. He holds you there. You're bent in half with your legs up in the air. One of his arms is hooked around them for support while his other is curved around your bottom to get at your dripping pussy.

His thick fingers pump in and out. He works at a moderate pace for now, not enough to break you just yet, but the perfect rhythm to make you squirm your ass against his solid bulge. You have your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him with droopy, glazed eyes. All he can do is smirk in return.

"Feel good? You like gettin' that little cunt stuffed full?" he teases.

His voice comes out hushed despite the fact that it's just the two of you. The words rumble up from his chest against your back. You just nod in response. Any words that would have been suitable have turned to mush in the pit of your belly.

The wordless gesture doesn't stop him at all. It only spurs him forward. His entire hand is coated in slick by now, your arousal seeps out with each pump and slips over the expanse of his palm. Wet, erotic noises emanate from your center while soft whimpers pour from your lips. He squeezes your legs up tighter, smooshing your breasts down.

"I know you do, pup. Such a needy thing," he says, "Following me around like I got you collared and leashed."

You moan at the image of that filling your mind. If he wanted you to, you would. You'd kneel at his feet, bound and pretty, displaying your devotion to him around your neck. You'd rest your empty little head on his knee and zone out while he pet you and called you his good girl.

"Oh, she likes that," he chuckles as your walls clamp around him.

You nod eagerly before arching your back and yelping as his thumb starts swiping across your puffy clit.

"Atta girl. Panting like a bitch in heat for me," he murmurs and nuzzles your temple.

You whine like one too, trembling in his arms as the coils of pleasure tighten in your tummy. Your eyes flutter, lashes dusting your cheeks as you look up at him. He watches on with his own lust blazing in his eyes.

He fucks his fingers into your tight heat faster, curling them a bit to stroke that sweet spot inside you. Some drool slips from between your lips at the onslaught of stimulation. His fingers were just so fucking thick. Only two of 'em were in right now. He hadn't let you take his cock yet, but you could only imagine how snug of a fit it would be if this was any indicator.

"There you go, love. You're getting there," he praises as he continues sliding his fingers in and out while massaging your bundle of nerves.

"F-fuck," you whimper, "Gonna cum soon."

"I can tell," he rasps, "Go head and do it. Wanna see you come apart for me."

Soft noises of ecstasy bubble from your lips. You were nothing if not dedicated to pleasing this man, so you give him what he wants. It only takes a few more flicks and thrusts of his digits to get you to crash into bliss. 

Your head tilts back as you cum. Your legs kick lightly in the air, but he keeps you in place. You squirm against his broad, warm chest. Your cunt locks tightens around his fingers, wishing so fucking badly that it was his cock.

He kisses you as you start to come down. His lips land on yours and capture every delicious sound you make. Your breathing calms and returns to a normal pace along with your heart rate slowing down. Your legs bend over his forearm before he lets them down gently and allows you to just sink back into his body.

You're soaked between your legs, inner thighs slippery with release. As he withdraws his fingers, your pussy is already aching for another part of him to fill it up again. You turn and slide your grabby hands beneath his shirt, but he simply boosts you up to sit fully on his lap.

"You're insatiable, sweetheart," he teases before pecking your lips.

"Cause you keep teasing me," you mumble.

"Yeah? Think so? I think I'm just taking my time with you."

"Takin' too long," you huff in response between kisses.

"Maybe you're just greedy and spoiled," he says.

You're about to reply with another bratty comment, but he flips you over and spreads you out on the couch. You hear the zipper on his pants slide down, and you're almost certain it's the most thrilling noise you've heard in your life. One look up at his eyes tells you you're not gonna be complaining in a couple more minutes.

[mggslover]

How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed. 

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age. 

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them. 

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece. 

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.” 

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking. 

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied. 

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up. 

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you. 

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat. 

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.

Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable. 

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold. 

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips. 

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again. 

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin. 

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more. 

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure. 

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth. 

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips. 

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.” 

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you. 

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart. 

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in. 

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. 

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

[limethefirst]

Hello! I recently rewatched Sonic 3 and was Wondering if you could do a Shadow x (fem) child of Stone’s who basically takes one look at Shadow and goes he’s my friend now.

(Age- 5-10) I picked this age because I have VIVID memories of trying to befriend Anything even things i really shouldn’t

You’re my friend now!

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x child!reader (platonic)

warnings: none!

summary: you meet Shadow and decide he is going to be your friend, whether he wants to or not

a/n: OMGGG THIS IS SO CUTE! I imagine Shadow being so careful around reader because they’re a child and he’s just so confused why this little kid is just following him around😭

When you first saw Shadow, you thought he was some big plushie that came to life. It was magical really. Being a child and one so young, these things intrigued you. In fact you quite literally could not stay away.

Your father, Stone didn’t exactly tell you not to stay away either, he just gave you a heads up that Shadow was very powerful and to be careful around him. Which you would be, but first you needed to make him your new friend.

You stood behind your father, your eyes narrowed onto the hedgehog, with a gaze so serious even Shadow was confused. He took a few glances at you before looking back at the Robotniks so called ‘bonding’.

While he was distracted you took this as a chance to finally walk up to him. Stone watched you, never letting you leave his sight as a protective father would.

Shadow sensed something going on and as he turned around he was met with your face. You brightly smiled at him giving him a small wave to which he only replied to with a small nod.

Obviously Shadow could tell you were a child, no older then 10 at that, and he knew how innocent and fragile they were so he kept his responses short. Not in a rude way, he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He was actually quite nervous, he was considered dangerous and didn’t want that danger to harm you since you hadn’t wronged him in anyway.

You blinked up at him, your eyes wide with joy and excitement seeing how he acknowledged your presence (which was literally the bare minimum but you are a child so what can most people expect). Without hesitation you blurted out, “You’re my friend now!” Shadows eyes slightly widened a bit before going back to his usual neutral expression.

“What?” He asked, trying not to sound rude and offend you; even though he didn’t understand what exactly was happening.

You only giggled and grabbed his hand, dragging him away, “We’re having soft tacos later!”

That was how Shadow was dragged into being your new friend and how he was currently sitting on the floor watching you stuff your face with tacos while making matching bracelets that said ‘bff’ on them. Shadow couldn’t lie, it was actually endearing to see how you were so bright and willing to immediately befriend him.

He sat there quietly, watching your focus go into the bracelet currently in your hands. Yours was a mix of your two favorite colors while his was black and red for obvious reasons.

He watched as you slipped yours onto your wrist, then you grabbed his arm and raised it up as you put his bracelet on as well. A small smile made its way to your face, proud of your hard work.

Shadow examined the bracelet a bit before he gave you a small pat on the head. He wasn’t big on words, he preferred to show he cared through gestures and actions instead, so you knew you’d done well.

Shadow wore the bracelet with pride, happy to show off his new friend.

[niiwa-angel]

I can't stop thinking about how Stan Pines, a man who was kicked out of his home at a young age by his abusive father, turned his own home into such a safe space for not just the twins, but his employees and the kids friends as well.

First of all, we know Wendy frequently slacks off on her shifts, she has her roof top hideaway but she also reads magazines and flat out refuses to do certain tasks. Like when Stan asked her to put up a sign and she just said she couldn't reach it, or telling Stan "absolutely not" when he asked her and Soos to clean the bathrooms. Not only could Stan fire her, he could take away her magazines or stop her from going on the roof. We see that Stan is more observant than he lets on, you're telling me he didn't notice her dragging a cooler and a lawn chair up there? And she's either bringing her own pop and ice to fill that cooler or she's taking his.

And then there's Soos, who Stan cares about so much he got himself on the no-fly list trying to get his birthday removed from calendars, just because it made him upset. We know Soos cares about the Mystery Shack, he feels comfortable there, and he respects and adores Stan. Soos also volunteered to DJ for free at Stans summer party.

We also frequently see Soos and Wendy hanging out with the twins, so either they're slacking off during working hours or they're coming over after their shifts just to hang out. In an after credits scene, we see Mabel and Dipper turn Soos into a disco ball and they're clearly in the residential part of the shack. So either Soos buggered off during working hours to hang out with the twins or he's off shift just chilling. Either way, Stan is fine with him being in the actual house part of the shack.

Wendy also helps Mabel try and make Stan more 'desirable' to Lazy Susan, which I'll get into later, but she's not working and she also in the house part of the shack. We also see Soos and Wendy watching television with Stan, Mabel, and Dipper during the Summerween episode. They aren't on shift! They're just chilling. Wendy hits Stan in the face with a water balloon while working as a lifeguard. She's comfortable teasing him.

Soos tags along with Stan, Dipper, and Mabel when they break into the golf course after hours. He brings his shirts to cut Ws into. He doesn't have to be there, he just is. Wendy goes hunting with Mabel and her friends for unicorns. Mabel wins a pig at the fair and Stan lets her keep it, the pig needs food, who do you think is footing that bill?

Now let's talk about friends. Mabel often has Candy and Grenda over, we know she has loud sleepover with them. Do you think Mabel would bring her friends over if she wasn't comfortable in the house? Do you think Candy and Grenda would keep coming over if they didn't feel safe? Not to mention, they literally ambush Stan in the bathroom and give him a make over. Which he allows, we see him fight off the undead, punch bald eagles, and catch the twins when they fell from the nose of that monument. The man is strong, he could get three preteen girls off him if he wanted to, he was 100% playing along.

Candy and Grenda also invite themselves along on their road trip. And Stan lets them come!! Mr cheap stake agrees to feed and care for two extra kids who aren't his family.

Dipper sneaks around trying to see his tattoo, he feels safe enough with Stan to push those boundaries. He literally pulled the Memory Gun on Ford during the basement scene, if he wasn't comfortable with Stan, he wouldn't try to get that close to him. He calls Stan when he and Mabel are trapped in a haunted convenience store (he doesn't answer but still, he called him).

Now let's talk about Gideon, because I will stand by the Stan had some fondness for the kid. We know Stan has been annoyed with Gideon for a while, we know Gideon has been gunning for Stan for a while. And Stan just... Keeps letting this happen. He never involves the police, he plays along with Gideons attempts, even when Gideon is laughing uncontrollably, Stan just assured him that "you'll get me one day kid". Even when Gideon climbs in THROUGH THE WINDOW all Stan does is aggressively sweep at his feet. Correct me if I'm wrong, but Stan never gets rough with Gideon.

I'm just, I'm weeping over the knowledge that Stan Pines, who wasn't safe in his own home, made his home a safe place for kids as an adult.

[tealvenetianmask]

Does Blitz blame himself for Cash's abuse?

Stick with me, and I'm truly sorry.

All of the people except Cash featured in the memories Rolando shows Blitz are people who Blitz has cared deeply for and felt like he hurt, failed to get close to, or let down.

Let's look at them (again, yes)

Tilla

Fizz

Verosika

Loona

M&M

Barbie

A whole lot of Stolas

So. What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is Cash Fucking Buckzo. Doing in this line-up?

Well. Hurting Blitz, horribly. My first meta on this scene didn't really capture this, but as many have pointed out, this is Cash grabbing Blitz's freshly burned wrist after the fire and smacking the ever living shit out the burned side of his face. Presumably blaming him for the fire and everything (and everyone) lost from it. And then Cash telling Blitz in the hospital that Fizz doesn't want to see him.

It's emphasized too. Right after we see the memory of Cash hitting Blitz, we see Blitz physically flinch while watching it.

So if this is just a compilation of horrible memories, maybe that's all there is to it.

But if it's a grouping of the people Blitz cares for, well . . . it makes sense for it to be that, doesn't it? Blitz has a lot of love in him, and yet he's scared of intimacy. His trauma is ABOUT hurting people, losing people, driving people away, craving closeness that he can't have . . .

Being an abuse victim is complicated. Being a family scapegoat is complicated too. A lot of abusers try to make the victim think that they're ACTUALLY the cause of their pain and everyone else's, and we already know that Cash did this to Blitz (literally in this same set of memories in the hospital).

But we also saw it in The Circus when Blitz was much younger, and saw how much this tactic got to Blitz.

Cash guilts his son into going into a dangerous situation for him. If Blitz doesn't do this, their lack of resources, the possible suffering of his parents . . . it will all be Blitz's fault.

And Blitz cares deeply (he always has!), so he does it.

Now one might argue that Blitz says "of course I want to help Mama" here and leaves Cash out of his reply, so he doesn't love his father. But reality is often more complicated than that. He's upset here that Cash is forcing this on him. Cash hurts him. His mother (seemingly) offers much more love. That doesn't mean that Blitz doesn't ALSO feel some care and responsibility for his father's wellbeing.

I think that Blitz believes (or at least a significant part of him believes) that he destroyed Cash's life too with the fire, and that he deserved that beating and being turned away from the hospital and possibly many of the beatings and beratings that Cash delivered in the past. I think that in the moment when Cash grabbed him, he felt that he fully deserved the agony he felt when Cash held his wrist.

I think a part of him loved his father growing up and still loves him-- that there were moments between the incidents of cruelty where they had fun together as a family, and where looked up to his dad and wanted desperately to win his approval.

I think that Blitz has a lot of anger toward Cash too, and that a part of him always knew that Cash was wrong to hurt him. He had a whole lot of resilience and defiance in him even as a young kid.

I think that he felt guilty for all of the times he felt angry at his father. I think he might still.

I'm off to cry and then grab my pitchfork and storm wherever Cash is living nowadays. Who's with me?

[theyluvkarolina]

౨ৎ PANIC ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Oscar doesn’t mean to come off as a panicking first time father, but his little one is his whole world! How will that anxiety crawl up when and boil over when it’s her first Grand Prix?

PAIRING ౨ৎ Dad!Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS ౨ৎ oscar is just a nervous first time dad 😞

A/N ౨ৎ OSCAR REQUEST 🗣️, Sadie loves to terrorize Oscar, and I love that. A little menace she is.

OSCAR NEVER EXPECTED to be a father this young. He would have at least thought that he’d have a Championship, turn 25, or even get married before he had a child. But life had its own plans.

From the moment he first held her, everything else faded into the background. Racing, which had been the center of his universe, now revolved around his daughter. She was so small, so delicate, and every little noise she made sent his heart racing.

Oscar was known for being calm. Level headed. Realistic. Yet, when it came to his little girl, things changed. Drastically.

Everything was a threat. It started with the small things: a tiny cough, her first stumbles and falls when she first attempted walking, the way she’d put everything she found into her mouth. He tried to stay calm, telling himself that every parent worried, but it never took much for that anxiety to creep up on him. A trip to the playground turned into a mental obstacle course—every slide was too high, every swing too fast, and the idea of her falling down onto the wood chips make his skin crawl.

And now, it was the moment many fathers in Formula One would love: to see their children watch them race. But Oscar? He was a wreck.

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

The night was quiet in Australia, the moonlight shining through the blinds of his parents home you both decided to stay in before the start of the Grand Prix around the corner with the chirping crickets forming their own harmony outside. With Sadie finally asleep in Oscar’s arms, a small smile tugged at your lips before you spoke.

“You know… I’ve been thinking.”

Oscar glanced over softly, his eyes warm with affection. “You? Thinking? I’m bracing myself here.”

“Haha. Funny.” You took a deep breath, carefully choosing your words. “I was thinking… maybe we should take Sadie to the Australian GP. I know it’s her first one, but it could be a special experience for her. And for us. I mean, it’s your home race. Our home race.”

Oscar's fingers lightly brushed against Sadie's soft, downy hair as he shifted her gently in his arms. The quiet, tender moment was interrupted by your suggestion, and his brow furrowed slightly in concern.

“..What?” He questioned, his Aussie accent slipping through. The thought of having his little girl at the track, in the midst of the roaring engines and flashing cameras, made him feel uneasy. It wasn’t the fact it was a race that concerned him but rather how unpredictable it is.

“Let’s take Sadie to the Grand Prix this weekend.” You repeated.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low. “It’s not exactly a calm environment. It’s loud, chaotic…”

You gently placed a hand on his arm, "I know, Oscar. But I think it would be good for her to see what you do, even if she’s too young to fully understand. It could be a special memory for us, and your Mum insists she comes with us for extra help."

Oscar’s grip tightened slightly on Sadie as he looked down at her peaceful face, her tiny hand curled around his thumb. “What if she gets scared? The noise alone could be overwhelming for her,” He murmured.

You leaned in closer, resting your head against his shoulder. “We’ll be right there with her. And she’ll have ear protection, and we’ll make sure she’s comfortable. Besides, she’ll be surrounded by people who love her, including your parents and sisters. It’ll be okay.”

Oscar didn’t seem convinced judging by his silence and expression on his face.

“Oscar, Sadie is a calm baby. Unusually calm.” You stated earning a small amused scoff, “Like how your Mum described you as a baby and kid kind of calm… without waking up screaming to be freed from the crib. She will be okay.”

Oscar sighed, feeling the weight of your words. You were right; Sadie was an unusually calm baby, a trait she no doubt inherited from him. But that didn’t stop the what-ifs from swirling around in his mind.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice firmer now. “We’ll do it. We’ll take her to the Grand Prix.”

`· . ୨୧⭒๋࣭ ⭑

Stepping into the Australian sun, the warmth envelops you like a blanket, its golden rays reflecting off the bustling excitement of the Australian Grand Prix.

“Sweetheart, do you have her-“

“Yes Oscar, I have her ear protection, I have her spare clothes just in case, and the baby bag is hanging on her stroller.” You reply with a amused smile at his questioning as we entered the paddock.

Oscar gave a relieved nod, looking over at Sadie in his arms who was taking in her new surroundings. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as you approached the McLaren garage.

The garage was abuzz with activity. Team members hurriedly prepared the cars, the unmistakable scent of gasoline and tire rubber filled the air, and mechanics shouted over the din of the crowd. Oscar's teammates and crew were working efficiently, their focus entirely on the task at hand.

As you reached the entrance to the McLaren garage, Oscar’s anxiety flared up again. “Do you think she’ll be okay in all this noise?” he asked, casting a worried glance at Sadie while he set her down, who seemed completely unfazed finding her balance.

“She’ll be fine, Oscar,” you reassured him, squeezing his hand. “Look at her. She’s curious, not scared. Besides, she’s got her daddy to protect her.”

Oscar smiled faintly at that, but the knots in his stomach refused to loosen. He glanced back at Sadie, who had wandered over to a stack of tires and was trying to peer around them. Every little movement she made seemed like a potential hazard in Oscar’s mind—what if she stumbled and hit her head? What if she got too close to something dangerous?

He quickly crossed the short distance to her, crouching down and gently steering her back toward the stroller. “Stay close, okay?” he said softly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Sadie looked up at him with a small smile, her tiny hand gripping his finger as she babbled something incoherent. Oscar’s heart melted a little, but the tension remained.

You watched him, your heart aching for the way he was trying so hard to keep it together. “Oscar, she’s safe. I promise you-”

As if on cue, Sadie eyes lit up as she spotted the bright orange McLaren car. Oscar couldn’t help but smile at her reaction. It was the first time he’d seen her show interest in his world…. or really anything besides her family.

Yet, that moment didn’t last long.

Sadie, determined to explore, suddenly let go of Oscar’s hand and toddled off towards the car. Oscar’s heart skipped a beat as he scrambled after her, scooping her up just as she reached the edge of the garage. “No, no, no… not there.” he muttered, holding her close as he carried her back to the you and the relative safety of the stroller.

“She’s fast,” one of the mechanics chuckled, having witnessed the scene. “She’s like Verstappen on track!”

Oscar simply gave a embarrassed chuckle after his daughter’s attempts of adventure. Yet, Sadie’s terrorizing didn’t end there. As the day progressed, Oscar and you did your best to keep Sadie entertained and safe in the bustling environment of the McLaren garage in preparing for the race. Unfortunately, she seemed determined to explore every inch of the place, much to both of your guys’s dismay.

INSTANCE 1: TIRES

As Oscar tried to get a moment of calm in the garage, he put Sadie down for a quick break next to her stroller. He was just about to check in with his team when he heard a faint sound. Spinning around, he saw that Sadie had wriggled out of her stroller’s harness and was crawling towards a rack of tires.

Oscar’s heart raced as he dashed over, his eyes wide with panic. “That’s where we aren’t going, Missy.” he exclaimed, scooping her up just as she was about to pull herself up onto the stack. The tires wobble precariously, and Oscar’s breath caught in his throat. He held her tightly, his face pale as he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his near disaster.

The surrounding mechanics, sensing his distress, quickly stepped in to stabilize the tires. One of them patted him on the back, “Seems to me she wants to be part of the pit crew already!”

“Maybe she’ll be the one changing your tires this race!” Another commented with a laugh.

Oscar forced a smile, but the worry lines on his forehead remained.

INSTANCE 2:

As Oscar prepared for the race, you took over watching Sadie, trying to keep her entertained while Oscar suited up. You were stationed near the McLaren garage entrance, making sure to keep a watchful eye on Sadie who was now sitting contentedly in her stroller—at least for the moment.

However, as you turned to chat with one of the team’s engineers, you heard a soft giggle followed by a rapid series of thumps. Turning quickly, you saw Sadie had somehow managed to wriggle out of her stroller again and was crawling towards a set of hydraulic jacks. The sight of her tiny fingers reaching out to touch the massive equipment made your heart skip a beat.

“Nu uh, little lady! We don’t touch that! No no.” you exclaimed, rushing over to her. But as you got closer, Sadie let out a giggle as you lifted her up into your arms.

“I’ve never seen a baby this eager to be with McLaren.” Charlotte smiled as she passed by. “Perhaps she should start working with me at communications to be with Oscar more often!”

You gave a slightly embarrassed laugh as you buckled her in, she reached out with a pout, clearly unhappy with being restrained. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but we have to stay safe,” you murmured, brushing her hair back.

The rest of the crew chuckled at the spectacle, but you could see the worried look on Oscar’s face as he came out of his room, suited up in his gear. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“Just a small adventure with the hydraulic jacks,” you said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “She’s fine now, but we might need to make sure all the escape routes are blocked off.”

Oscar gave a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Noted…”

INSTANCE 3: THE LANDO OVERTAKE

As the tension in the garage reached a peak with the race fast approaching, Sadie’s curiosity showed no signs of waning. Oscar, now fully suited up and mentally bracing himself for the race, was still visibly on edge.

In the midst of the frantic pre-race preparations, you found yourself trying to keep Sadie entertained while Oscar finished his final checks with the team. However, Sadie’s attempts to explore had escalated to a full-blown quest for adventure.

The McLaren garage was abuzz with activity, but you kept a close eye on Sadie, who had recently discovered the appeal of the large, colorful tire barriers. She was reaching out, her small fingers attempting to grasp anything within her reach. Just as you managed to corral her back to the stroller, a familiar voice came from behind you both.

“Oscar, mate you look like you’ve went to hell and back.” Lando chuckled, approaching with a sympathetic grin. His eyes quickly darted to Sadie, who was now fixated on the box of tools that a mechanic handed her just to keep her occupied.

Oscar, still visibly stressed, gave a exhale, resting his head on your shoulder. “Lando, you have no idea. She’s like a magnet for trouble today.”

Lando and Sadie have met before, back when she was just born in a hospital visit.

Lando’s gaze softened as he crouched down to Sadie’s level, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Hey there, Sadie. How’s it going, little lady? You’ve grown up quite a bit haven’t you?” he questioned, trying to capture her attention.

Sadie’s tiny head turned toward Lando, her eyes wide with interest with the new face for today. The sight of Lando’s playful demeanor seemed to break through her persistent determination. For a moment, she was entranced by his animated expressions and the sound of his voice.

She reached out towards him, her earlier determination to explore seemingly melting away in the face of his playful antics. Lando’s antics were enough to draw a genuine smile from her, and she even let out a small giggle, her tiny fingers grasping at his brightly colored McLaren cap.

Oscar, watching from a short distance, let out a relieved breath as he saw Sadie’s attention shift from her previous distractions. It was as if Lando had managed to temporarily derail her adventurous spirit with nothing more than charm and a few well-timed funny faces.

Needless to say, Oscar was astonished. He spent a handful of hours trying to stop her from even wandering off and all it took was a a small talk and a funny face?

“I…wha… how?!”

“Having a niece helps out a lot when it comes to kids, y’know.”

All that was left now was race time.

POST RACE

After all the chaos, Oscar achieved a solid P4 just behind Lando. Truely a race to remember compared to first race last year.

When he finally emerged from the car, the first thing he did was seek out you and his daughter. He was visibly relieved to find her in one piece, though she had managed to wriggle out of her stroller again and was now playing with the cap that Lando had given her.

Lando, who had been keeping an eye on Sadie during the race, gave Oscar a sympathetic grin. “You survived the race and the baby chaos. You’re a hero in my book.”

Oscar chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. He scooped Sadie up, finally able to relax. “Thanks, Lando. I think I need a nap after all this.”

As the team cleaned up and you all walked out of the garage, Sadie clinging to Oscar’s neck and half-asleep after all her terrorism she caused in the McLaren garage. Happily, you could see the exhaustion in his eyes but also a newfound contentment.

“We aren’t taking her to another race are we?” You questioned.

“Unless we got a baby leash like Kevin suggested? Hell no.” Oscar huffed out in response.

[larrylimericks]

19Oct24

No matter how mad the word made us, It always held hope — a “hiatus.”

I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.

The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.

And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.

We’ve lost hope.

It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.

It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.

That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.

I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.

I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”

❯❯❯❯