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tldrthor · 3 days ago

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things we shouldn't have said | steve rogers

Summary: The Captain has a scathing outburst that puts their already rocky relationship six feet under for good. He reaps the consequences when she gets hurt while looking out for him.

Part one // She was watching my back, and I wasn't watching hers. // word count: 3k

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“I am sick and tired of you endangering yourself and others, (y/l/n)!” The shouting started from behind the frosted panes of the meeting room. Tony, sitting on one of the benches outside, wondered if he had considered that the meeting room wouldn’t be soundproofed enough to stop people hearing sensitive information, or, if you were Steve and (y/n), insanely loud arguments nearly every day. It seemed like a design flaw.

“You were the one who made the wrong call! They weren’t on the left wing, they were on the right, who knows what could’ve happened if I hadn’t followed my instincts?!”

“It doesn’t matter, you flung yourself headfirst into danger, and disobeyed a direct order.”

“I’m not your soldier, Rogers. And I told you exactly what was happening, you just didn’t listen!”

Natasha banged the back of her head repeatedly on the wall she leant on. “How long do we reckon this ones going to take? I need a shower.” She sighed, sniffing at her armpits and wincing a little at the result.

Tony looked at his watch, responding: “If I am correct in my estimation (y/n) will storm out right around …” The door to the meeting room burst open, and out barrelled a seething Agent (y/l/n). “Now.” Tony concluded, as the others laughed at his uncanny ability to predict how a Rogers-(y/l/n) fight went. He waved his hand and lowered his head in a fake bow.

“Do you think they’ll ever get along?” Young, innocent, naïve Peter asked. He had previously been fast asleep sitting upright in the uncomfortable waiting chairs. The sound of the door hitting the plasterboard on the wall had startled him awake.

Sam chuckled. “Kid, those two have been at each other’s throats since you were in middle school. It’s just what they do.”

Peter seemed to accept that answer, nodding slowly before covering a yawn with his hand. “That's classic enemies to lovers stuff.” He was nearly asleep again by the time the others had processed his statement enough to question what it meant.

The door opened again. “Come on, let’s debrief.” Cap pulled an anxious hand through his hair, clearly in turmoil. The Captain looked exhausted, his eyes nearly bloodshot. The bags under his eyes were some of the worst Tony had ever seen, and that was saying something. When his eyes landed on Peter, he shook his head, “Pete, head to bed. You’re beat.”

Peter nodded again, but fell asleep in the exact same position, approximately 0.3 seconds after the door closed behind the other Avengers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Good morning." (Y/n) muttered, walking into the briefing room with a coffee in hand. It wasn’t like her to be late, especially not with coffee. Tony realised that lately, she had been more and more demoralised after every mission. Especially after every argument with Cap. He was worried there was more going on with her than they knew.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t resist a dig.

"Don't you hate it when someone turns up late to a meeting with Starbucks in hand?" Tony tilted his head and spoke with sarcasm coating nearly every word.

"Bite me, tin man." She joked with her mentor. It wasn’t her usual chipper humour, but rather much more subdued, more pointed. She looked more tired than usual as well, Tony noted. But he had a meeting to present, and an interview in an hour, so there wasn’t much time to mull it over.

Steve didn’t pick up on anything strange, blinded by his annoyance. He shook his head silently in the corner, jaw tensed, eyes sending daggers into her with every step she took.

"Young lady, you are in a terrible mood this morning. And, I'm about to make it worse." Tony flashed her a charming but sarcastic smile. "We've got a code red recon mission over in Europe, and only you and our dear fearless leader are available to man it."

Her face immediately fell, but she wasn't the first to find her voice.

"Nope. There's no way." Steve responded to the news. She sent him a foul look at his rude outburst, before chiming in with her own.

"Rude, Rogers. But agreed, you send us on that mission, one of us is coming back in a body bag." And it won't be me. She thought.

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his tense posture maintaining an intense gaze on Tony. His arms, crossed, shoulders raised nearly to his ears.

Tony rolled his eyes at their reactions. "You guys need to stop your middle school bullshit. We're the Avengers, and at the end of the day, we've got each other's backs."

She decided to bite her tongue, opting for a vicious look towards Tony instead. Sure, it would be awful, but she wouldn’t mind a chance to prove to Steve that she was a valuable member of the team, and shove it in his face that he was wrong about her.

She looked towards him, expecting him to have a similar disposition. Mr. Upstanding, the moral preacher. To her shock, he didn’t. And god, was he vocal about it.

“No, she’s a goddamn liability.” He turned to her with a withering, disdainful look. “She messes up every mission, and I’ve had enough. I’m not putting a code red in her hands, she doesn’t have the skills for it.” He immediately turned to face her, expecting her to fire back with the same passion.

He didn’t expect her neutral, almost – almost – hurt expression. She pressed her lips into a straight line, and his heart dropped when he thought maybe there were tears in her eyes. For just a second.

He might have gone too far. He didn’t think he would ever miss her rebuttals, her constant nitpicking, her endless talking back. But at this moment, he knew he would have preferred it.

She looked away from him, and back to Tony, who watched the outburst with an open mouth. It wasn’t very often he was rendered speechless, but it took a solid ten seconds for him to clear his throat, pick his jaw up off the floor and continue.

“Unfortunately, there is no other choice, um, so hopefully that will go smoothly. You will leave at 8am sharp tomorrow. Uh … onto other business…”

(Y/n) drowned the rest of Tony’s briefing out as she replayed the Captain’s outburst over and over again. Liability. Messes up every mission. Doesn’t have the skills. It was all of her worst fears come true, packaged up neatly coming from the mouth of someone she had always secretly admired. Not that she would ever tell him that.

She wasn't sure why, but his words had cut her to the core.

An excruciating thirty minutes later, Tony concluded his meeting. “Okay, everyone out. Except Cap, we have to talk about logistics for tomorrow.” He watched with eagle eyes as (y/n) ran out of the room, lowering her face and ignoring anyone who sent pitying looks her way.

He turned to the Captain, who covered a bright red face with his hands.

“Now what the hell was that?” He asked.

Cap groaned, “I messed up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8am. Sharp. She took a deep breath as she left her room, locking the door behind her. Her pack wasn’t too heavy, considering they were only supposed to be gone for a couple of nights max. Her chest felt tight, walking to the aircraft hangar, a pit of dread growing and growing with every step.

Before she met the hangar, she passed by Tony’s office. It was one of Tony’s off days, so she knew he wouldn’t be in. She slipped an envelope under the door, hoping he would only see it once she was long gone.

“See ya later.” She whispered to no-one.

Trudging to what felt like the executioner’s block, she was dismayed to see Steve already fully ready and waiting for her. She braced herself for the lecture, for the ‘we said leave at 8am, not arrive.’ But it didn’t come.

“Good morning.” He spoke cordially, almost upbeat. Making up for something.

She could only manage a polite smile in return. He frowned at the lack of response, but she didn’t see it.

“All systems ready to go.” She said, once she had got a seat and checked all her listed items. Steve nodded, and made a call through the radio to air control. “Alpha base control, this is Eagle and Wunderkind, ready to take off.” She hated hearing him say her nickname from Tony, which had become her official callsign for all base activities.

Through the headset, she heard the confirmation from ATC, and watched as the Captain piloted the quinjet up and away from the base. God, it was going to be a long trip.

As soon as she could, she took off her harness and retreated back to the seats further away from him. She heard the gentle click and mechanical thrum of the auto-pilot being put on, and the movement of the leather seats as Steve moved away from the cockpit.

She felt his presence over her as she tried to focus on her kindle. She had been reading and re-reading the same page, over and over, desperately trying to take in the words. But it was futile.

“(y/n).” He sighed, knowing that she was purposefully ignoring him. “I want to apologise for my outburst at the meeting yesterday.”

She shrugged. He desperately searched for some kind of anger, some kind of white-hot hurt that she would respond with. It was what he deserved, after he had embarrassed her and doubted her in front of the whole team.

“You told me how you really feel. It’s okay.” She still didn’t look at him.

“That’s not –” He huffed. “That’s not what I think. I was out of line.” It seemed that the words he wanted eluded him. What do you say to someone after you’ve put out their spark? How do you ‘fix’ a quenched fire?

“It’s fine, Captain. Honestly.”

Rogers sighed and understood that he was being subtly asked to leave. He understood, really. But there was something about her dejected manner, her slumping posture and her big, sad eyes that made him feel like more of a villain than he already did. Like he had kicked a puppy, or stolen candy from a baby or…

Completely humiliated one of the newest Avengers in front of the whole team.

“I’m sorry.” He managed to stutter out, before turning and leaving to fiddle with some of the controls on the quinjet’s interface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the six hours were long. Painfully, achingly long. The tension in the atmosphere was only marginally cut by the quiet hum of the engine and the tap, tap, tap of the Captain getting some work done. The captain spent a longer time staring at his comrade than he would ever admit, watching as she frowned at her book. She turned one page approximately every five minutes, her eyes continually moving from the top to the bottom of the same page, over and over again. Her frustrated sighing the only sign of emotion coming from her.

He took a deep breath, trying to remove the suffocating guilt from his chest.

Standing, he waved a hand in her line of sight, interrupting her ‘reading’ session. She slid her headphones off, looking up at him expectantly. “We’re going down.” He spoke. “Thought you would like to get ready.”

The problem with recon missions was that a quinjet was a dead giveaway. So, they had to take their large, heavy packs, and camp out in the forest surrounding the castle. Why was it always a castle?

The hike was hard. The frost on the path made it difficult to get a proper grip on the near-vertical slope, and she realised quickly she had forgotten her gloves. The frost nipped at her hands, growing more painful with her step. She cursed Tony for sending them here in the dead of winter.

She threw her pack up a ledge, scrambling up behind it. While scrambling up the side, she made the mistake of grabbing on to a bundle of brambles. She hissed and retracted her hand, a line of crimson appearing straight across her palm, a precious droplet splashing down onto the snow.

“You good?” Steve turned to watch her as she folded and unfolded her palm. He reached a hand out to help her up, his eyes focusing on the blood drip, drip, dripping.

She wiped the wound on her trousers, and took his offered hand with her opposite one. “I’m good.” She seemed agitated, nervous. “Do you feel like something’s not right?”

When she said it out loud, just for a second, his heart rate raised. He had convinced himself through his inner dialogue that he was just being overly cautious, but as she said it, he realised that she was right. If there was one thing Steve had learned, a true philosophy of his, it was that one Avenger’s intuition can be wrong. But two Avenger’s instincts are always correct. The unique blend of pattern recognition and situational awareness made the Avengers the closest thing on earth to fortune tellers. Or, so he believed.

“I agree. Let’s hunker down for a minute.” They settled in some of the brush, making themselves as invisible as possible. She was thankful to have a rest, she couldn’t lie. The tossing and turning all night, and every night for weeks, had truly taken its toll.

“Do you think it's bad intel, or a set-up?” She asked, her heart beginning to race at the sight of Steve becoming more and more stressed. She realised that the forest was absolutely silent. No wind, no birds, nothing. She hated it.

He took a second to respond, “I’m not sure. I don’t think we should keep going.”

“What? Then we’ve come all this way for nothing?”

“I would rather us have come for nothing than die for nothing.” He spoke, trying desperately to manage his tone. How did this girl have such a way of getting under his skin?

She scowled. “Aye, aye, Captain.” A sarcastic salute followed.

With a futile deep breath, he snapped. He rolled his head in disbelief, incredulous that she would choose now to be obstinate. “Are you serious, (y/l/n)? You want to walk straight into something we have no idea about?” He gesticulated, hands flying wildly through the air.

Both of them were too annoyed to realise that they were on a recon mission while quite loudly arguing in a forest. The Captain, blood boiling, didn’t hear the snap of a distant twig.

“I didn’t even say anything, Rogers! Don’t pretend like you care about my opinion anyway.” She scoffed. “Let’s just fucking go back.” She grabbed her pack, hauling it onto her back, standing from their spot in the brush.

“Shit!” She exclaimed as a bullet past her ear by less than an inch, the sound startling her down. The Captain instantaneously jumped over her, pulling her into him and covering them both with the shield.

For the record, he smelt like cedarwood and rosemary.

“Came from the East.” He smouldered into the distance. If she hadn’t been so focused, she would have scoffed. He turned to her, his mouth mere centimetres from her ear, his warm whispers tickling her neck. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, no. Aside from the goosebumps, she had luckily been missed. The eye contact he made had something behind it… something she didn’t recognise. Something she had never noticed before.

The moment was shattered by more gunfire.

So, they did the avenging thing. He covered her, she shot as much as she could. Bullets sprayed in every direction, missing them both by the narrowest margins possible. They battled on and on, seemingly endless waves of agents appearing as soon as they thought they were almost through with it.

That’s when she saw it. The bullet heading straight for him.

“Steve!” She screamed. She didn’t know why she called him by his first name. They weren’t friends. Hell, soon, they wouldn’t even be colleagues.

He snapped to attention, spinning quickly to ricochet the bullet off of his shield. The bullet was so close to hitting him, he realised she had potentially just saved him from dying in the snow, 5,000 miles from home.

He looked to her to thank her and it all happened in slow motion. She screamed, a shrill, ear-splitting scream that turned his stomach. “No!” He shouted, still fighting through the hordes, sprinting to where the snow turned maroon.

His thrown shield thudded through the undergrowth, distant shouts of soldiers nearly split in half by the metallic disc. He grabbed the gun that had fallen from her hands, unleashing the last of its bullets on those who still dared to try him.

And the forest fell silent.

“(Y/n)!” He looked at her, her usually rosy face growing greater pallor by the second, her chest moving ever-so-slightly, and with growing effort. The black stain on her suit grew larger, and larger, and larger. Any and all medical training he had escaped him, as he realised that now, this moment, was where his regrets were fated to culminate. This was his punishment, his comeuppance.

He didn’t hate her. As he watched this hollow form of her, he realised he would give his own life to bring her back. He would bargain with anything and everything he could for this to be a nightmare that he would wake up from. He would fight with everything he had left to give to her.

Grabbing his pack from behind him, he tipped out its entire contents.

God, what had he learned on those courses? What was going to kill her first?

“(Y/n), if you can hear me, this is going to hurt. I don’t… I don’t have anything to stop the pain. You’re bleeding out.” He spoke into the void, using scissors to remove her outer layer, exposing the wound. He noticed the blood slowly trickle from her mouth and nose, only worsening his anxiety.

It was worse than he thought, in fact, too deep for him to even suture… He used an antiseptic wipe to clean the area, before packing it with cotton swabs. He swore to himself. They had left the quinjet so far away, and he didn’t know if she would make it all the way back to the compound.

He had to get her out of here. It was cold, and wet, and there could be even more enemy agents on their way there, right now.

“God, you’re going to have to hold on for just a little while longer, (y/l/n).” He whispered to her, picking her up bridal-style and running for the jet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other avengers weren’t expecting them to be back for a couple of days, so when Sam ran into the room with news that the quinjet was on the way back, they were pleasantly surprised. Each had finished their missions or meetings early it seemed. Which meant that just maybe they would be able to have some time as a team. Something they were in dire need of.

Tony smiled at his friends, but for a change wasn’t chatting. He sipped his coffee, and smoothed his hand over the handwritten note in his pocket. The note that he thought would never come.

Steve's voice over the intercom. “Mayday, mayday. Eagle to Alpha Base Control, we have a critical medical incident on board. Ready the medbay for severe blood loss and potential hypothermia. Wunderkind is compromised. Wheels down in 10.”

A panicked hush fell over the group.

“Okay, code red.” Sam jumped into the procedures they had all been trained on. “Bruce and I will go down to the hangar and help out. The rest of you stay here and we’ll keep you updated.” The four named avengers immediately ran to their stations, as the others tried to busy themselves doing other tasks that could be useful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The quinjet came into land at a near-dangerous speed. Bruce and Sam burst open the door as the back door of the jet opened and Cap ran out with a limp (y/n) in his arms, jumping over the ramp before it had even reached the ground.

“What happened?” Sam shouted, running in front of the Captain up the stairs to the nearest Medbay, making sure the way was clear. FRIDAY has thankfully opened all doors in advance.

“Gunshot wound to the chest, severe haemorrhage. I’ve managed to pack it but not stalled the bleeding nearly enough, she needs help now.”

“Have you got vitals?” Bruce ran along, slightly behind them, not quite as fit.

“She’s still breathing on her own, weakly. Low pulse. Unconscious since the event.”

As they reached the medical room and Steve laid her down on the surgical table, it hit all of them how severe the situation was.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Sam, as he saw not only the extent of her wounds, but the volume of blood that covered every inch of the Captain. The colour of skin on his hands could not be seen from the crimson staining covering every inch of them, and his once-blue suit looked more like an inky black, even under the fluorescent lighting of the medical ward.

More than that, the expression on Steve’s face was something he could only recall seeing on him once. When they discovered that Bucky was alive. He was shell-shocked.

“You guys need to clear the room.” Commanded Dr. Cho, scrubbed in and ready to operate. “We’ll keep you updated.”

“We trust you, Doctor.” Bruce spoke, as he realised the others weren’t going to. Both men grabbed Steve’s shoulder, gently directing him back through the double doors. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away, as Dr. Cho made demands to the other members of her team, beginning surgery immediately.

“Come on, bud. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Sam was trying not to treat him like a ticking time bomb. But he knew that the Captain was going to snap out of his stupor eventually, and the consequences could be disastrous.

Steve’s eyes didn’t move from her lifeless body on that cold, steel table until they were well past the doors. When Sam tried to lead him out of the medical wing in general, his feet stopped just short of the door.

“I can’t, I - I have to wait.” He turned back around. He looked to Sam, almost asking permission. “I can’t leave her.”

It wasn’t lost on Sam that Steve had to have been keeping her alive by himself for at least six hours, over the Atlantic. That’s not only an impressive feat, but a damn near miracle. It was beyond dedication, it was lunacy. And something like that will make a pretty strong bond between people.

There was something deeper at play here. And as the pieces started to click into place, he wondered how he had never seen it before. The reason Cap was so hard on (y/n), and had been since the beginning.

“Okay, okay.” He guided him to a seat, as an unspoken compromise. “Bruce, could you grab a wet towel?” He spoke softly.

Banner nodded, and wandered off to find ways to help Steve be a little more comfortable. When Bruce returned, Sam gently took his bloody friend’s hands and wiped away the crusted blood that stained them.

Cap watched the red as it left his hands. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling that with every smear of dark brown on the towel, she was slipping away.

Sam’s adrenaline could only abide the silence for so long. “Cap, you gotta talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“She saved me, that’s how she got shot.” He didn’t make eye contact, instead staring towards the doors, behind which she lay on death’s door.

“It’s not your fault.” Steve didn’t have to say anything for Sam to know that’s what’s running through his mind. A hazard of being an Avenger – the unending and relentless guilt.

“It is my fault. She was watching my back, but I wasn’t watching hers. And I had the damn audacity to call her a liability.” He scoffed, bitterly.

“It’s nobody’s fault, Steve. These things happen, it’s part of the job. She’s going to pull through.” Sam hadn’t even considered the fact that the last proper interaction they had had, was rather… vitriolic in nature. He didn’t dare ask if anything else had happened on the mission. Not for now, at least.

Steve felt like he was being crushed by his own ribs, like his own body was depriving him of oxygen he didn’t deserve. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare think, except to chastise and punish himself for what he had done.

And not once did he take his eyes off those doors.

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part two: promises we intend to keep

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darkmatilda · 2 days ago

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𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞��𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a spontaneous idea for a new year's eve party doesn't seem so brilliant anymore when there's so much to do and so little time left. and when the sound of fireworks wakes you up with flashbacks. but luckily, reid's right there with you. as always.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer x newbau!female reader, baking cookies together, the beginning is really chaotic, reader has a panic attack and flashbacks from time when she was a hostage (in my previous fic but there's no need to read it before. no major references as usual), mention of shooting. penelope garcia slaying. glasses read one more time (will i ever get bored of this?) a lot of jokes (successful i hope) most of the fic is very fluffy, inspired by new year's eve by taylor swift (i recommend listening to this song on repeat while reading)

𝐚/𝐧: this is probably one of my fav fics of mine, i literally cried while writing (because there's no one to clean up the bottles with me on new year's day)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6k

“Okay, I think we’ve got everything. Although, do you think we have enough types of cheese...?”

“There’s so much cheese it won’t even fit on one board, Pen.”

“Exactly, so maybe we should make two…”

“Hey, look. Do you think these glasses will work for champagne?”

“Two boards—one with cheese, more savory, and the other with…”

“Because I don’t think I have any others. Jesus, I need to wash these; they’re fucking sticky…”

“…and on the second one, we’ll arrange the cookies we’re going to bake…”

“Shit, the cookies. I’m not even sure if this oven works…”

“Wait, did we even buy olives? Fuck, how could we forget olives…”

“Screw the olives! Wash the glasses if you can, and I’ll check the oven…”

“What do you mean, screw the olives?! How the fuck are you supposed to make a cheese board without olives?!”

For about twenty minutes now, you and Garcia had been running around the kitchen in your house, talking over each other non-stop and hardly listening. A grocery bag sat unopened on the kitchen island, you hadn’t started preparing a single one of your overly ambitious snacks, and some pesky gremlin was doing flips on your shoulder, whispering tauntingly, you know it’s highly likely the milk in your fridge is expired, right?

Well, that’s just how it goes when you decide to throw a New Year’s Eve party spontaneously—on New Year’s Eve afternoon. Honestly, it was a fucking miracle so many people agreed to come. And once they said yes, there was no backing out. You had to organize everything: the food, decorating your house, outfits, makeup. With every passing minute, Penelope was transforming into a full-blown organizational beast, completely unsure what to tackle first. The two cute space buns on top of her head had fallen apart, leaving her blonde curls loosely cascading down her neck—not that she even seemed to notice.

You, on the other hand, were losing steam fast. All you wanted was to curl up in a ball on the floor and eat cheese without bothering to arrange it on a board in an aesthetic way. Two types of people under time pressure.

To make matters worse, the doorbell rang.

“Coming!” you shouted, your voice so filled with irritation that, if you were in the visitor’s shoes, you’d have turned and run for your life. Quickly, you opened the fridge and sniffed the damned milk. No signs of spoilage, thank fuck. There was no way you had time to go back to the store…

You made it to the door, and halfway there, you realized you were still holding the open bottle of milk you had forgotten to put back. You sighed, turned around, and with a double dose of rage, anxiety, and sheer insanity, you finally opened the door.

"Hey," Reid greeted, standing on the doorstep. His glasses were perched on his nose, and his hair was slightly tousled from the rather strong wind that day. Without even looking at you, he pointed to the brown bag hanging from his shoulder. "So, about those board games, when you invited me, I decided to look something up online and ordered one that I think you'll like. It's inspired by the works of Jane Austen, and players take on the roles of characters from the Regency era..."

"Is someone trying to sell you something, or what?" You heard Penelope's voice from the kitchen.

"Anyway, I ordered it, but unfortunately, it didn’t arrive, so I just grabbed chess and..."

You could only manage a confused shake of your head.

"Reid, with all due respect, but what the hell are you talking about?"

He looked at you as if you’d asked him for the juicy details of raccoon marital life.

"You invited me over for New Year’s," he reminded you, frowning slightly, as if wondering whether he’d gotten something wrong—like the day, maybe. "Me and Garcia. We were supposed to play board games..."

Your mouth dropped open as you suddenly remembered he was absolutely right. You had invited him. For board games. And then forgot to cancel after you’d all decided to spend the evening in a completely different way.

"Give me just a second," you said, and without waiting for a reply, slammed the door in his face.

Then you screamed. Stomping your foot like a frustrated child. Why, oh why, did you have the memory of a goldfish? Forgetting literally everything, from buying those damn olives to canceling this meeting. Why did the last day of the year have to suck so much? Why couldn’t anything in your life just go smoothly?

"The plans have… slightly changed," you explained with an apologetic smile when you reopened the door.

Reid rocked slightly on his heels, his hand clenched around the strap of his bag. He had clearly heard what happened after you closed the door and looked as though he was debating whether to hand you a note with the number of a good psychiatrist.

"But that doesn't mean I'm kicking you out," you assured him quickly. "I’m really, really glad you decided to come, seriously. So, sorry about how things turned out. But still—will you come in? Garcia's here."

He shrugged and followed you inside.

"What exactly does plans have changed mean?" he asked.

He didn’t look around the room—he’d been to your house countless times before. Lately, for the past few months, with an increasing frequency. But he did stare curiously at a disheveled Penelope, who was busy loading glasses into the dishwasher.

"Well, we met up for lunch," she began explaining without even turning to face him. You didn’t waste the little time you had either, pulling ingredients for cookies out of the fridge. "We talked a bit about Derek and Elle spending New Year’s Eve in the Maldives. And our princess here decided that she wasn’t going to spend the evening in a nerdy way, playing nerdy board games, with two nerds like us..."

"I didn’t say that!" you protested indignantly.

"...while they’re sipping cocktails on the beach and having a great time. And so, it turned out we’re throwing a party."

The explanation came to an end, and Reid listened to it all without much emotion on his face, something you caught out of the corner of your eye. But you didn’t expect him to be devastated. After all, it wasn’t as if you had canceled an event the two of you had been counting down to like prisoners marking days on their cell walls, eagerly awaiting freedom.

Standing by the kitchen island, he glanced at you, then at Garcia, then behind him, as if unsure whether he should stay or politely excuse himself and leave.

“You’re invited, by the way,” you clarified, because while you thought it was obvious, maybe it wasn’t so clear to him. “So, yeah, if you’re planning to come, you have no choice—you have to help me bake these cookies. Get with it.”

You tossed him one of the aprons. The other you began tying around your waist.

Reid caught the object you threw, looked at it with furrowed brows, then shifted his gaze to you, a hint of something resembling a smile flickering across his face.

“Who said I’m planning to come?” he asked.

His mock-offensive tone didn’t quite match what he was doing—slipping the apron over his head. It made you snort.

“Oh, what, got other plans, pretty boy?” Penelope teased. “Some wild party at the book club?”

She leaned over to close the dishwasher. But instead of straightening up, she froze in place, staring at her reflection in the machine’s door. Her jaw dropped, and she gasped in something close to horror.

“What happened to my hair? I look... I look like…”

“Like a homeless caveman who just barely won a fight with lightning?” you suggested in a syrupy tone. “But only just.”

“Excuse me for a moment,” she huffed.

She left the kitchen, the sound of her heels echoing as she headed upstairs to the bathroom. Reid turned to himself with a smug expression.

“Does a caveman qualify as homeless if he lives in a cave…”

You interrupted him with your outstretched hand, pressing it to his mouth.

“Cookies, Reid. Not philosophy.”

You were planning to bake simple butter cookies in the shape of stars, and then decorate them with edible glitter. You started pulling out all the necessary ingredients from the fridge and cabinets, which were soon covering the countertop in your kitchen. You stood side by side, and your eyes were drawn to the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, barely touching his wrists. Unable to resist, you grabbed his hand and started rolling the sleeves up to his elbows.

"You could've just told me..." he began, looking at you in surprise.

You merely shrugged. You found yourselves facing each other, and you nodded towards his other hand, which he gave you after a brief hesitation. Just like before, you rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, but this time much more slowly. As more of his skin appeared before your eyes, you gathered yourself to speak.

"I feel a bit bad about how things turned out with the games," you admitted, not looking up to meet his gaze. You focused on his hand, holding it by the knuckles.

"It's okay," he reassured you, his voice soft without a hint of reproach.

"I should've warned you earlier," you continued stubbornly. "Instead of doing it last minute. And, you know, if you don't want to come to this party, that's totally okay. I know you were expecting something different..."

"I was expecting to spend time with you," he interrupted, then paused to clear his throat. It was then that you realized you were still holding his hand. His fingers trembled slightly when you let go, and he immediately shoved it into his pocket—perhaps to hide it. "We can have a game night another time. On a different day. Like, this weekend, for example. If you'd want, of course. Not that I'm pressuring you..."

"I would like that," you assured him, looking up at him with a smile, amused by his over-explaining. It always charmed you. You used to think it was because you didn't know each other well and he still felt nervous around you, but as time passed, you came to realize that maybe that was just how he was. "Seriously. And it's not just because I feel guilty about how I left you hanging today. I'm genuinely curious about that game you ordered. It’s inspired by Austen's novels, right?"

He started to tell you more about it, while you both added the first ingredients into a large glass bowl. As he began to knead the dough with his hands, you leaned your elbow on the countertop, propping your chin on your hand, listening to him.

"...one of the symbols of excess in 17th century England was a dish called A Pie of a Thousand Birds..."

You wondered when the conversation had shifted to this topic, while Penelope was still in the bathroom.

"...containing various kinds of birds, sometimes in different layers, cooked together. In the earliest records of this dish, it mentions anywhere from a dozen to several dozen birds such as quails, chickens, geese..."

Reid suddenly stopped when his gaze landed on you. He must have been so absorbed in kneading the dough and sharing this tidbit with you that he was completely unaware of the fact that you were staring at him.

You raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," he quickly assured you, adjusting his glasses on his nose. He had a bit of dough on his skin, which seemed to escape his notice. He furrowed his brow, trying to remember where he'd left off. "And... quails..."

You couldn't bring yourself to tell him he'd already mentioned them. Instead of that, you moved from your spot, slowly lifting your hands off the counter and approached him to wipe away the stray bit of dough beneath his eye. Reid, wanting to make sure nothing else was left on his face, wiped it with his hand… which was completely covered in dough. At the sight of his expression when he realized what he had done, you couldn't help but burst out laughing, your head resting against his apron from the weight of it. Meanwhile, he desperately tried to wipe away the remnants using the clean skin of his forearms, muttering a few curses under his breath, which only made you laugh harder.

"I see you're having a great time," Penelope returned to the kitchen.

On top of her head were two cute buns once again, resembling little snails.

"The best," you corrected, undeterred, trying once more to wipe his face. This time, not as gently as before, until he flinched back under the pressure of your hand, scrunching his nose tightly.

You glanced at the clock, and your playful mood started to wane. There was still so much to do, and you rallied everyone into action. Penelope rolled up her sleeves to prepare the charcuterie boards (it turned out the olives were at the bottom of the bag), you got to work on the mini sandwiches, and Reid was busy cutting out star shapes from the rolled-out dough using a champagne bottle as a makeshift rolling pin.

“Oh, by the way, Pen,” you began, opening the heated oven to put in the first batch of cookies, “we’re still going to kiss at midnight, right?”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Nothing’s changed,” your friend replied, focused on arranging various types of cheese into the best possible combination.

Reid, meanwhile, was taking off his apron, folding it into a perfectly neat square, a frown of concentration on his face.

“Why kiss specifically at midnight?” he asked.

“You haven’t heard about that tradition?” you asked, surprised. “A kiss at midnight brings good luck in love and relationships for the whole next year. Skipping it means the opposite.”

“I didn’t know you were superstitious.”

“It’s just a gesture. Or maybe, better put, a symbol. But anyway, last year I was having a bit too much fun and passed out before midnight. And, well, I don’t think I need to tell you it wasn’t the best year for relationships. Or rather, the lack of them.”

“Doesn’t that mean you should kiss two people this year? One for the previous year and one for the current one?” Garcia suggested thoughtfully.

You mulled it over as well.

“Actually, that makes sense. But who?”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” your friend assured you. “There’s bound to be some handsome volunteer. And if not, Reid could always be your backup option.”

You glanced at him briefly, biting your lip as you considered the suggestion. Funny enough, you hadn’t thought of him at all. Not because you found the idea of kissing him unpleasant or something you wouldn’t want to do. It was just… this tradition felt more like grabbing a random person, the first friend within reach. Something done without much thought—a gesture that, in this context, meant absolutely nothing serious.

Wait, but with Reid, would it mean something serious? Why the hesitation all of a sudden? You shook your head, dismissing the train of thought.

You looked at him again; he seemed to be making a deliberate effort to keep his gaze fixed on Penelope, not on you. Though as soon as he sensed you looking at him, he turned his eyes to meet yours, his expression unreadable.

“What do you think?” you asked before you could stop yourself. To ease the sudden, inexplicable tension, you added with a playful smile, “My entire romantic year would rest in your hands—or rather, on your lips. Would you be ready to take on such a sacrifice?”

“Think carefully, darling,” Penelope chimed in, pointing a finger at him. “Otherwise, we’ll all have to spend the next twelve months listening to her complain about how awful men are and how unlucky she is in love…”

“I’m starting to feel an unjustified amount of pressure,” Reid remarked cautiously. You kept staring at him, arms crossed over your chest as you stood near the oven, its orange glow casting a warm light across the kitchen.

“No pressure. And just so we’re clear, it’s not like I’m taking advantage of you. You’d benefit from this too. Unless, of course, you decide to kiss someone else—then, fine…”

“Considering I probably won’t know anyone else at this party? Slim chances…”

A snort escaped you before you could stop it. Both of them turned to you with curiosity.

“What I mean…” you began hesitantly, gesturing toward him. He was objectively handsome—maybe not every woman’s type, but then again, no man was. In your opinion, though, he absolutely was. There was something about his polished, intellectual demeanor that occasionally clashed with his sharp wit, creating a strangely magnetic allure. You gestured at him again, as if emphasizing your point. “Just try not rolling down the sleeves of that shirt until midnight, and you’ll see your chances aren’t that slim.”

He shook his head, utterly bewildered.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Oh, Pen, explain it to him,” you sighed in mock defeat.

“She means your forearms are sexy,” Penelope clarified without missing a beat.

Reid looked down at his hands as though they belonged to someone else entirely. You exchanged an amused glance with Garcia, and the whole midnight kiss topic… well, it drifted away. You weren’t entirely sure if he had agreed or not.

You wanted to casually bring it up again, but soon Penelope left the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone with a tray of freshly baked cookies ready to be decorated. Somehow, to your own surprise, you couldn’t summon the courage to ask.

"I bought edible glitter specifically for these cookies," you said, pulling a small box from the cupboard. "Apparently, it’s flavorless, but it’ll make the star-shaped cookies look magical. Maybe we should mix it with the icing?"

Reid stared intently at the label on the bottle, silent.

"What? What’s wrong?" you asked, suddenly worried.

"That’s not edible glitter," he announced. For a split second, you thought you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. But when he noticed your completely bewildered—and now slightly furious—expression, his face quickly returned to its usual stillness. "It’s just regular glitter."

"You’ve got to be kidding me, Reid."

"Since when does edible glitter contain polyethylene terephthalate and aluminum?"

You snatched the package out of his hands, and when his words were confirmed, you slapped your forehead.

"Did I just almost kill all my guests?"

"Maybe not kill them right away," he said, his tone comforting as he took the package back from your hands before you could hit yourself with it again. "Complications from eating include gastrointestinal irritation like vomiting, nausea, and possibly damage to the mucous membranes of the mouth..."

"You're not helping."

"Sorry."

For a moment, you both stood in silence, your gaze still fixed on the tray of cooling cookies.

"But this isn't the end of the world," Reid said gently after a moment. "They still have their... interesting shape. We can decorate them with regular icing. Draw something on them. They may not sparkle, but they'll be just as delicious. And that's probably the most important thing, right?"

You knew he was right, but still, there was a certain sadness in the way you nodded. It took you a while to realize how much you’d been obsessing over such a small thing. You let out a chuckle, and he did the same.

"And I even came up with an idea for what to do with the glitter," you announced after a moment, taking the open box in your hands. A bit of the shimmering particles landed on your outstretched palm, and Reid squinted when you blew on it, sending the glitter his way. "I’ll make you shine. You’ll match the rest of the decorations..."

When Penelope returned to the kitchen, she found herself in the middle of a full-blown war, not even a battle anymore. Reid had both of your hands raised and held still, preventing you from reaching for another handful of glitter. You tried to wriggle out of this trap, kneeing him or doing something, but it wasn't really working. So there you were, looking like you were caught in some kind of bizarre dance neither of you knew the steps to, but your half-smiling faces suggested you weren’t too bothered by it.

You knew you wouldn’t be able to get that glitter out of your hair until the next New Year’s Eve.

You had a rule to be careful with alcohol when the party was at your house.

You preferred to make sure everything was running smoothly. Nothing slipped out of control — no one played baseball with your TV (although you hoped the adult crowd had outgrown that kind of entertainment), no one felt unwell or needed help. Moving between people, conversations, and laughter, asking if anyone needed anything or was having a good time, reminding everyone not to smoke inside. You didn’t notice when it all started to drain you. So much so that you decided to sneak away for a moment in the upstairs bathroom.

You just needed a little time alone, splashing cold water on your neck, playing a game on your phone for five minutes while sitting on the closed toilet seat. That’s all you needed.

Your bathroom had a window, usually left open. The room was on the second floor, so there was no chance anyone could be watching. You never worried about it. The window overlooked the yard of one of your neighbors, whom you didn’t even know. As you returned, you stood with your hands on the cool sink, your eyes half-closed from exhaustion but feeling a sense of relief.

Midnight was in fifteen minutes. The year was ending in fifteen minutes.

A lot has happened over the past twelve months. The most important, of course, was joining the BAU. A huge achievement for someone so young, always commented on with a surprised raise of the eyebrows, so much so that it still hadn’t fully sunk in for you. A fair amount, but still not enough, of cases solved, unsub caught, lives saved.

Apart from the professional achievements, there was also something you couldn’t add to your CV or your dating profile. Memories. The big ones, and the ones often overlooked. The countless smiles exchanged over office desks, the amused nudges of elbows, the hours spent in simple laughter. The nights, the ones spent dancing in clubs or at house parties, the ones in your friends' homes with bottles of wine passed from hand to hand and gossip flowing from your lips, one after the other, in a constant stream of surprised exclamations and sighs. There were also those spent in sad motels during business trips. Many of them, but it was the shabby ones that stuck with you the most. Narrow beds shared with Reid, because of his fear of the dark, which worsened in such places. Sometimes silly conversations and arguments, but also the more serious ones. Comforting. And, of course, you had to include the people around you, those you met this year, and those who have been with you for a long time. All the moments when you were happy, and all the ones when you cried. The books and movies. Those that disappointed you so much that you cursed them for days. Those that made you laugh until you choked, but also the ones that nailed you to the theater seat, your gaze vacant and your mind drifting somewhere on the waves of an existential crisis.

You thought about it all with a small smile on your lips

Unfortunately, when you focused on reflecting on the passing year, another memory hit you—one of those decidedly unpleasant ones. The one where, under the guise of normality, you found yourself in the middle of a robbery, becoming a hostage. And as you watched one body after another drop motionless to the floor, blood pooling around them.

The sink you were leaning against grew warm. Your hands were hot, sweating. You shook your head, trying to push away the uncomfortable memory. Why dwell on it? It was over, long over...

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash in your neighbor's yard. A bright spot rising into the air, even though it wasn't even midnight yet. What kind of idiot sets off fireworks before the New Year? What was the point of that?

You straightened up, an irrational sense of danger taking hold of you. As if that fired projectile was about to crash through your window, causing an explosion in the room. Absurd, you knew that. But then the sound hit. A blast, almost like a gunshot. A gunshot coming from an unknown direction, fading lights around you, and screams. You took a breath as another shot rang out. Fireworks lit up the night sky, a green glow spilling into your bathroom, painting your face. You stayed frozen, breath held, with your chest tight.

You knew you should move, shake off the state that the experience had put you in, but… you couldn’t. Although physically unharmed, in your own home, fear took control, robbing you of your agency. Your heartbeat quickened to an unnatural pace, a sickly rhythm. It paralyzed your limbs, one by one, while images kept flashing before your eyes, intensifying with each approaching shot.

Since your actions and most of your awareness remained beyond your control, you soon realized that you were sitting on the floor. And, worst of all, a silhouette cast its shadow over you. You flinched, expecting to see a pair of leather boots and a gun pointed at you.

“It’s just me,” came a quiet, familiar voice, somehow cutting through the wall that separated you from the world. “Me, Spencer. Sorry I came in, but you didn’t respond when I knocked... okay, that doesn’t really matter right now.”

He sighed and crouched down right in front of you, his forehead furrowed in concern. Hesitantly, he reached for your shoulder, lightly touching it, but you flinched the moment his hand moved.

“No touching, it’s okay. I understand, I get it. I understand... what you’re going through.” He spoke quietly and calmly, but you could see a hint of panic crossing his face as he carefully observed yours, choosing his words. He swallowed hard. “You’re really scared, your hands are shaking, you can’t... you can’t breathe. It’s a panic attack, you know what that means. And... it’s temporary. The important thing is to just breathe. I know it’s hard... but just try…”

The surrounding air seemed thick, like some dense gas filling your nostrils and painfully entering your lungs. You shook your head in refusal, not wanting to do it again.

"Slowly, they don’t have to be deep breaths. Just try to make them steady, okay? Please," he continued, settling down closer to you on the floor. He was also breathing the way he described, trying to demonstrate for you. Focusing on the rise and fall of his chest, you made another attempt. It went... better.

"Exactly like that. We're at a party now, remember? At your house. We baked cakes specially for the occasion. It's New Year's Eve and people are shooting fireworks... those are fireworks, just regular fireworks..."

The green glow crept in again through the window, covering and retreating from your two huddled forms on the floor like a tide. You focused on what he was saying, alternately keeping your eyes tightly shut and wide open. You preferred them closed—it was easier to listen to him that way. But when you closed them, it felt like he was so far away. You reached out with trembling hands, trying to touch him, to make sure he was really there in front of you. And before you realized it, you fell into his embrace, your hands clutching his back in panic with every new shot outside.

You could close your eyes; his presence and scent were with you. You could close your eyes, pretend it wasn’t happening, that you weren’t there.

But it didn’t stop. Reid whispered that it was midnight, and the next round of fireworks shot into the sky, sending those trembling sounds that rattled you. A part of your mind knew why this was happening, so why did your body still react this way?

You buried yourself deeper into his arms, feeling some weight on the top of your head—he must have rested his chin there. You kept trying to breathe, and by accident, you inhaled the scent of his neck, which, surprisingly, helped. One breath after another. In and out. His skin. Another shot outside. In and out.

It must have been many minutes before it finally stopped. You both ended up leaning against the wall, side by side. Your knees were pulled to your chest, his legs stretched out. From downstairs, through the floor, came the muffled sound of music, and that’s what you focused on. On that, and on counting the tiles on the neighboring wall, on the hands of Reid’s watch moving forward. On the details, helping you ground yourself.

"How do you feel now?" he broke the silence that had lasted for several minutes with a quiet question.

You pressed the back of your head to the wall behind you, closing your eyes for a moment.

"Better," you said after a moment. The sound from your throat was raspy, and you swallowed, pausing for a second. "Isn't it... isn't it a strange twist of fate that we're always there for each other when something bad happens to the other person?"

You kept your gaze fixed ahead, and from the corner of your eye, you saw him looking at you. Slowly, he shrugged.

"Isn't that what friendship is about?" he asked.

Then, you shrugged.

"Friendship," you repeated, turning the word around on your tongue. You shook your head slightly. "I guess so. I mean, I guess that's what it's about." For a moment, you paused, lightly licking your lips. Your mind was still clouded, and you struggled to form coherent sentences. "I completely forgot what I was talking about a moment ago. What was it about again?"

Reid smiled gently at the look on your face, the expression confused but calm. And then... his hand slowly dropped to the top of your head, gently stroking it and sliding down along your cheek, where it stopped.

"Friendship," he repeated slowly.

Suddenly, as if realizing something, he turned his head slightly, as if to pull his hand away, but you stopped him. You grabbed it, and even though it had moved away from your face, your cheek, you enclosed it in a gentle grasp with both of your hands, the way a shell embraces a pearl.

You noticed the time on his watch.

"It’s already past midnight," you remarked. "Do you think everyone’s too drunk to look for us, or do they just honestly not care what we've been doing in the bathroom for the past hour?"

He chuckled at your words, amused by your suggestive tone.

"Don’t want to go back?" he asked, making sure.

You immediately shook your head.

"Not yet. I like it here. And I guess I’m not ready," you said, the last part tinged with a slight embarrassment. He nodded understandingly, signaling that it was okay. You didn’t have to leave yet.

You sighed, probably for the hundredth time.

"Honestly, I’ve completely lost my party mood. We could’ve played those board games instead. When I think about the bottles I’ll have to clean up tomorrow, I just feel like I might puke."

"We'll be here. Me. And Garcia," he reminded you. "You thought we were just going to disappear together, expecting you to clean up all this mess by yourself?"

"It's not really your responsibility," you replied with a slight shrug. However, a small, grateful smile tugged at your lips. "It would have been enough if you helped me set it all up. Even if it meant the entire kitchen glittering with sparkles before the party even started."

"New Year’s Eve decorations."

"Right," you scoffed. "That I’ll never get rid of. It will always look like a place where My Little Pony ponies had an alcoholic binge."

As you continued to stare at his hand, lying limp on your lap, and at his watch, you realized something else. A thought that made you tilt your head back with a sigh.

"I missed midnight again," you groaned suddenly. "Third year in a row. Where am I supposed to find three people to kiss next year, when I couldn't even find two this time?"

"You did manage," Reid pointed out, frowning slightly. "Penelope. And if you're counting your backup option, that would be me too."

"Would you?" you asked, surprised.

Pleasantly surprised. This subject had slipped by so quickly that you were sure his final answer would have been a no. You glanced fleetingly at his lips. They were slightly parted, probably in the same way they would have been if everything had gone according to plan. If you had found yourselves facing each other under the full, colorful-blinking night sky.

He nodded slightly in response, his upper and lower lips meeting. You tore your gaze away from them and refocused on the rest of his face.

"Sure," he replied aloud. He was close, the words escaping him with a slight breath of his air. "I mean... I'd also like to have a good year. So far, it’s started well. Anyway... yeah. I don't mind if you extend my backup option subscription for next year too."

The way he phrased it amused you. you lowered your gaze for a moment with a smile. Then you nodded, turning your head back toward him.

"So I guess I have my lineup for next New Year's," you said, letting go of his hand to start counting on your fingers. Both of you only realized then that you had been holding it at all. "First, of course, my husband..."

"Husband?" he interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"I’m being very ambitious this year, Reid," you assured him, with mock seriousness. "Then Garcia, if she agrees again. But she probably will. Unless Derek gets in the way. Oh well, I’ll just send him to the tropics again. And then, number three, you."

"Your husband won’t mind if you kiss me?"

Something changed in his expression, and it was becoming harder for you to maintain eye contact. Your gaze kept dropping, as if it were searching for something against your will. Plus, the whole bathroom suddenly felt incredibly small, your movements slow, like in slow motion. You forced yourself to wave it off dismissively.

"He’ll understand," you said, forcing yourself to take a breath. You had forgotten again, but this time, it wasn’t panic. It was more about his face, so close to yours, the side of your head against the wall, your bodies nearly touching. "Well, he won’t have a choice. If he wants our marriage to last happily and forever, he’ll have to let me make up for all those lost years, those three missed kisses. Sorry... if I’m talking nonsense right now, just tell me, I don’t know what’s happening with me..."

When he kissed you, for a moment, you couldn’t find yourself. Even though everything had been leading to this, with your faces so close for the last twenty minutes, gazes repeatedly falling on each other's lips, it still surprised you. You sucked in a breath through your nose as his lips pressed into yours.

Only when his hand, the same one you had been playing with for so long, the one that had earlier caressed your cheek, fell back into the same place, carelessly resting and brushing the tips of his fingers against a small part of your ear, did you truly feel it. You squeezed your eyelids shut, placing your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer. It wasn’t the kind of kiss you usually associated with New Year’s Eve, one you’d forget the next day or mention with a fleeting smile. Every thought of it was meant to bring overwhelming loneliness to your lips, to make you imagine it still lasting. It alternated between tasting you slowly and carefully and consuming you with the anticipation held captive between you.

You sighed softly against his lips, and he mirrored it when you briefly pulled away. Your breaths mingled, your faces still close, foreheads gently touching.

“I almost forgot,” you whispered, barely lifting your eyelids. “Happy New Year.”

He smiled, his lips brushing yours once more for a fleeting moment.

“May your wishes come true...or something like that.”

“Or something like that.” you whispered, completely distracted, before pulling him back to you again.

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heavyhitterheaux · 2 days ago

Text

Santa Tell Me

See Me Through You Series

Synopsis: It's your first time celebrating Christmas with Joe as a couple as your first semester at LSU comes to an end. The two of you celebrate in your own little way seeing as Joe is going back home while you are headed to New Orleans. However, you confide in your best friend about your hesitations about getting into another relationship so quickly and hoping that what feels like a fairy tale isn't too good to be true

Pairing: Boyfriend!Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The timer went off once again letting you know that all of the cookies were now officially done baking. As you were taking them out of the oven and placing them on the cooling rack, Erin attempted to grab one to eat it when you quickly slapped her hand away resulting in her letting out a yelp followed by her glaring at you.

“Ow!”

“Those are specifically for Joey so we can decorate them once he gets here. I literally just made you an entire cheesecake.”

“But I want a cookie, too!” Erin exclaimed, but you weren't budging.

“No and he should be here soon.”

As you sat at the table in your small kitchen, Erin sat across from you and had begun eating her cheesecake when you suddenly asked her a question which caught her off guard.

“Erin, what if me and Joe break up? And that cheesecake was not meant for it to be eaten in one sitting.” You casually asked as you unlocked your phone to play one of the many games that you had installed.

“Huh? What in the world are you even talking about? And I'll just ask for another one.” She asked as she put her fork down to look at you.

“What if we break up and we don't work out? I literally just hopped from one relationship to another and…”

“Stop. Just stop. I have on my Christmas sweater and I am eating my Christmas treats you made me and we are listening to Justin Bieber's Under the Mistletoe and you are fucking the vibe up.”

“But…”

“No, we are not doing this. You two haven't been together very long, but Joe literally worships the ground you walk on. The way he even looks at you is insane. That boy is IN LOVE.” Erin said as she now opened the freezer to take out the ice cream you thought you were discreetly hiding from her, but it looks as though you efforts had failed.

“But what if it's too good to be true? Sometimes It doesn't even feel real.”

“You literally have no idea of what happiness looks like even if it hits you in the face. He has been after you basically the entire semester and now that he finally has you and you have him, you think that the two of you are going to end up breaking up? Make it make sense, babe.”

“Everything started out too good to be true with Trevor and look what happened with that.”

“Uh no, boo. Trevor had been an asshole from the beginning, it just took you forever and a day to notice. Everyone else saw it but you. You’ve been treated like shit for so long that your ass is literally blinded to how good you actually have it. I mean Joe hit me up a few weeks ago to help him pick out your Christmas gift or gifts I should say.”

“Wait, he did what?”

“Oops. I wasn’t supposed to say anything so let’s just pretend I didn’t. But they're really pretty and I know that you’re going to like it.”

“I just… he’s really important to me and I just want this to work out between us.”

“And it will. I literally started planning the wedding the day you two met because I saw the way you lit up when you talked about him. It’s going to work out and I will be the first person to say ‘I told you so’ when you are walking down the aisle.”

“I’m holding you to that seeing as it’s still pretty early to be singing about wedding bells.”

“But for now, it’s December, we almost made it through our first semester as college students, you have a very cute boyfriend who wants to spend every waking moment of the day with you so you need to make the most of it.”

“You’re right, I do need to make the most of it seeing as it’ll be a few weeks where we won’t see each other since he’s going back home.”

“And his birthday is coming up too. So, my vote is to have Christmas early with the two of you. Hopefully by doing this you won’t miss him so much on the actual day since the two of you kind of already celebrated in your own way.”

“I mean, I did get us matching Christmas pajamas to decorate our cookies, drink hot chocolate, and watch cheesy Hallmark movies.”

“See? Perfect. And I know that he is going to love every minute of it. But for now, I am going to go study for one of my many finals and hope and pray that the words on the pages in the textbooks somehow transfer themselves to my brain. Let me know how everything goes.” Erin told you as she wrapped up her cheesecake and placed it in a plastic bag hoping none of the filling would get on the seats in her car.

“Me saying ‘I told you so’ is going to hit so hard in a few years. But….” She was cut off mid-sentence as there was a knock on the door.

“And look at that, there he is. Let's go see your future husband.”

You couldn't help but to laugh and shake your head at Erin as she was gathering all of her things, while you went to go and answer the door. Once you did, you were met with your boyfriend carrying a shitload of different bags and him leaning down to kiss you.

“Okay, you two! Spare my eyes, I'm leaving so Joe can turn you every way but loose without me having to see it.”

“Bye, Erin.” Was all you said as she continued to smile at the both of you.

“Hi Joe, Bye Joe.” She told him as he fully walked into your apartment as she was headed out the door.

“Bye Erin.”

Once the two of you were by yourselves, you immediately started questioning Joe about the many bags he brought.

“Uh, babe? Are you moving in and didn't tell me yet?” You asked and he let out a laugh before starting to open some of them and pull out their contents.

“I just bought a bunch of different things we could do. It's almost finals week and I wanted to spend as much time with you as possible. And you have literally been playing this album since the day after Halloween.”

“Aww, I love it. Okay so tell me what you bought. And what about it!?” You asked as he had set everything down and motioned for you to sit down on the couch so he could show you.

“So my chess set. Ever since I taught you how to play, you said that you were going to try and beat me before the semester was over and never mind that I even said anything. Low key convinced that you're going to break up with me and get with Justin.”

“Very true but athletes are my thing, not singers.”

“My telescope since you love learning about space as much as I do. And I guess that means I'm safe?”

“I am loving this so far and yes, babe. You're safe.” You told him as you placed the chess set on the table.

“Madden. Since I know if you were able to be on the field with us, you would be. But I mean I can't sing all that well, but if you want me to serenade you just say the word.”

“Good point and seriously?” You replied while laughing.

“And I think that's it for now. I could only carry so much. But you'll be the one hitting high notes with how good I'm making you feel.” He told you as he shrugged while you gave him a small smile while also shaking your head at him.

“It's absolutely perfect and I have something for you too. I'm ignoring that last part.”

“What is it? Before the night is over, I'm making it happen.” Joe said as you ran into your bedroom to find the bag that they were in before coming back out into the living room.

“Matching Christmas pajamas.”

“Oh, so we're that type of couple now?” Joe teased as you rolled your eyes.

“Yes, and this is literally going to happen starting from this year until forever.” You replied as Joe moved closer towards you and put his finger underneath your chin in order for you to be able to look up at him.

“Forever? I like the sound of that.” He quietly said while leaning down to kiss you.

“But for now, we also have cookies to decorate that I baked and hot chocolate to drink.”

“Let’s do it.”

The two of you got comfortable in your pajamas before starting to decorate the cookies and you were multitasking with making the hot chocolate at the same time.

Joe was concentrating hard when you decided to peek over and take a look at what he was doing.

“Joey, I thought you were making a Santa cookie?” You asked while a little bit confused on what you were actually looking at.

“I am! This looks like Santa! I just need to do his beard.”

“And his hat.” You added noticing that was missing also.

“Not everyone can be an amazing baker in their spare time like you.”

“Hmm, you're right, but it doesn't look bad. If I opened my own bakery, I might hire you. I do happen to be a woman of many talents. So, someone mentioned to me that you got my Christmas gift already?”

Joe stopped decorating his cookie to look at you with a blank stare.

“No. I'm not telling you what it is and I am never telling Erin anything else ever again.”

“But babe!”

“No. Final answer.” Joe replied as you rolled your eyes at him which then led to him pinching your cheek.

“Fix your face. I want it to be a surprise and I don't plan on spoiling it for you.”

“Well I got you a gift for your birthday as well as Christmas. It didn't feel right combining both of them together.”

“And unlike my girlfriend, I'm going to be patient and wait.”

“You mean to tell me that you aren't the least bit curious about what I got you?” You asked him and you could tell he was thinking about his answer before he said it.

“Nope.”

“Liar. I know that you definitely want to know. But I'll just say I know that both of them are something that you're really going to love.” You told him as you reached up to kiss him.

“As much as I love you?”

“No, but knowing you it might come close.” You told him as you were now putting the final touches on the hot chocolate you made for the two of you and handed him his mug.

“And like I said, I'll be patient unlike some other people.”

“I'm ignoring you. Anyway, break out the telescope since it's clear tonight and we'll be able to see something.”

Once Joe had gotten the telescope set up by the window, you were just finishing your hot chocolate and went to place your mug in the dishwasher before going back into the living room and seeing Joe with a bashful smile across his face.

“Why are you smiling at me like that?” You asked while wrapping your arms around him and Joe leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead before responding to you.

“I'm about to show you. Stand in front of me and look through it. Don't adjust anything.” He said as he slowly turned you around so that you would be facing it.

You did as you were told and noticed that it was focused on one single star.

“I see it, babe. What's so special about it?” You asked as you turned back to look at him and he simply handed you an envelope.

“It's the star that I got named after us.”

Your eyes went wide and a smile broke out on your face as you took out the contents of the envelope and it simply said Y/N and Joey's Star at the top.

Underneath was a map detailing where you would be able to find it.

“So no matter where we are, whether together or apart. We can be able to look at it at the same time. This isn't a part of your Christmas gifts by the way, I just wanted to do it since I figured you would like it.” He shyly told you as the smile became wider on your face. You didn't say anything, but simply wrapped your arms around him once again.

“This was… no… this is definitely the sweetest thing that anyone has ever done for me. I honestly wouldn't have even been upset if this did end up being my Christmas gift. I love it and I love you which you already knew, but I figured that I would tell you anyway.” You quietly told him as he leaned down to place several kisses on your lips.

“And I love you. Remember earlier how you mentioned that matching pajamas are going to be a thing for us forever?” Joe asked and you gave him a swift nod.

“Mm hmm, what about it?”

“This is also going to be something that we have forever. Any time we get in a disagreement or we're not seeing eye to eye with each other, we need to remember that we're in this together for the long run. And looking up at the star can remind us of that. I know we haven't been together for very long, but I want this with you and I've been saying from day one how I'm going to treat you how you deserve to be treated.” Joe confessed and the smile on your face couldn't help but to get bigger.

“I'm going to hold you to that Burrow.”

“How about you hold me to this too? Look up for me?”

As you looked up, you saw that Joe was holding a mistletoe above the both of you.

“Any excuse to get more kisses from me, huh?” You playfully asked him and was met with a smirk.

“I mean, I've been getting kisses from the moment I got here, but this is just a plus.” He told you as he leaned down and you reached up to meet him halfway.

“And there will be many more where that came from.”

“Santa definitely did his big one this year.”

“How so?”

“I get to spend it with someone who I know cares about me just as much as I care about them. That's literally all I asked for.”

#Spotify #joe burrow #joe burrow lsu #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow fluff #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction #joe shiesty #joey burrow

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paradiseprincesss · 3 days ago

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˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹 | Jonathan Crane

𝔖𝔥𝔬𝔴 𝔪𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢.

𝑁𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 — Hello my angels! I haven't posted in a while & I was on a little writing hiatus due putting my mental health first, but I am slowly coming back to writing! I'm not sure when I will write another fic/have the time to, though! Also sorry in advance for any grammar errors as I barely proofread thiiiiiis!

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 — Your mentor, Doctor Jonathan Crane, coerced you into making a sex tape as a means to keep you silent about what you saw, and for the night, you become a star on camera for him.

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 — 2.9k

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺 -> 18+ ONLY DUBCON, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f!receiving), creampie, sex tape, drugging, stockholm syndrome(?), blackmail & coercion

𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You stared at him silently from the bed, unsure what to say next. The atmosphere wasn’t tense by any means, but it was heavy. The air – the air was heavy. Jonathan silently stared you down in his suit, standing beside the blinking camera on a tripod.

This wasn’t your idea. You’d have never agreed if he hadn’t forced you to.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if you’d made the decision long before he even mentioned it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Jonathan Crane was your colleague – or rather mentor. You had been offered a position to work under the renowned Doctor at Arkham Asylum at the beginning of your practicum last month, and although most people would shiver at the thought of working with the criminally insane, you jumped at the opportunity. This would most definitely advance your chances of getting a coveted job post-graduation, and you were willing to do whatever it took.

The last few weeks had been chaotic but thrilling; you’d shadow Crane around Arkham as he treated his patients and wrote down evaluations — whatever he was doing for the day. However, one evening, you went to his office to ask him a question you’d had, only to walk into a scene that caused your jaw to drop.

Lay slumped over on Jonathan’s office desk was a patient – patient #20373 to be precise – who appeared to be…not breathing. Your eyes darted from the patient to Crane himself, who was now rushing to slam and lock the door to his office behind you. You don’t quite remember everything that happened after that.

One thing you do remember though – and you doubt you’ll ever forget – is waking up in a cushiony room on a bed, groggy and half awake until Jonathan came into your line of vision. You tried to cry, or sob, or do anything, really, but your mind was going four ways and you couldn’t seem to process what was happening.

“Did you drug me?” You rasped with watery eyes, your hands reaching to your throat out of instinct.

“I did what had to be done. What you saw – what you think you saw…” He corrected himself, “I can’t risk anyone finding out about that.”

“I- Okay, I won’t tell anyone, just please–”

He shushed your panicked voice as he eyed you down the way a predator would do to its prey. “I want to trust you, I do — but I can’t.”

You watched as he stepped closer to you, and you noticed that even though you wanted to run, your body was seemingly too weak. Too heavy.

“I’m working on a clinical trial,” he informed you. “I’m observing the neurological patterns of patients exposed to their deepest, darkest fears. Unfortunately, like with all clinical trials, there are sometimes…flukes. Accidents. Some patients don’t react properly to the medication in the way we want them to. Dosage errors, genetic factors, allergies…the list goes on. What you think you saw was just that — a medical error.”

You tried to talk, but for some reason, you couldn’t – you were floored, to say the least. He seemed to take notice of this, and he cooed softly as he came to pet your head gently. “I know,” he feigned sympathy, “you must be so out of it.”

“What did you do to me?” You choked out, failing to swat his hand away from you. “How–?”

“A fast-acting sedative and a small syringe,” he interrupted, before letting out a soft chuckle. “Poor thing, you were out cold before your brain could even register what was happening.”

“You…God, you’re fucking sick.” You let out a choked sob as he smirked at you, clearly amused.

“I’d like to return to our previous topic of discussion.” His tone shifted back into his usual, clinical one. “Although I'm quite certain you won’t speak a word of what you saw earlier to anyone, I need something from you. Think of it as an eye for an eye — that sort of thing.”

Blackmail, you thought to yourself, he wants blackmail so that he can have something to hang over my head.

At that very moment, you noticed a camera propped up on a tripod in the corner of the room, causing your mouth to go dry.

“You– Doctor Crane, you don’t have to do this…” You almost whispered as a tear ran down your cheek at the realization of the type of blackmail he had in mind.

“Jonathan,” he corrected, “I’d like to believe we’re on a first-name basis by now, wouldn’t you?” He sighed, looking at you through his glasses with his steel blue eyes. You’d be lying if you said you never found him even slightly attractive, and sure…maybe you’d fantasized about him once or twice in bed all alone at night, but what you had in mind was different – innocent. It was just that; a fantasy.

“I–I don’t know what you want from me,” you stammered, feeling your stomach twist in knots.

“What do I want from you?” His voice dropped to a near-whisper. “Simple. You and I are going to make a little…project. Something personal. Something memorable.” You felt sick as you failed to form a response. “You’re awfully quiet, sweetheart. I thought you’d have more to say, perhaps even put up a fight.”

“You’re disgusting,” you spat, finding your voice again. “I’ll never—”

“You will,” Jonathan interrupted, his tone sharp and menacing. He smiled softly at you, a juxtaposition to his cruel, mocking tone from mere minutes ago, and he was eerily calm. “Because if you want to keep even a shred of your dignity, your reputation, your job, or your life—”

“Fine,” you panicked as he went on with the list and gave in as your voice dropped to a whisper, “just…just don’t hurt me.”

He smiled faintly. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

He didn’t bother waiting for you to reply before moving the camera and tripod to the edge of the bed, watching you like a hawk to make sure you didn’t even dare to attempt to get up or do anything that would indicate you would try and fight back.

Once he set everything up, you looked at him with watery eyes, which caused him to feign worry and coo mockingly at you. He towered over you as he stood at the edge of the bed where you sat, and he took your face into his hands, forcing you to look up at him.

“I want to hear you talking dirty.” His words sent a chill down your spine, and even though you’d tried to break eye contact, he forced you to look at him once more. “I want to feel you put the work in.”

“Please—”

“I want to watch you entertain.”

You watched as he turned his attention back to the camera and tripod. He toyed with it momentarily before it made a small beep sound, and a flashing red light started to blink.

“Is it on?” Your voice noticeably trembled.

“Yeah, it’s on.” His voice was eerily relaxed.

Your hands were shaking – which you hadn’t even realized until now – and you nodded, unable to do much more. He didn’t say anything yet, but he looked at you with a menacing stare, causing your blood to run colder than it already was.

You weren’t even sure you had a pulse at this point.

“Strip,” he suddenly ordered, causing you to grimace. “Fucking strip.”

Scrambling on the bed with your eyes darting from the camera back to Jonathan, you do as told with trembling hands. Hastily, you attempted to rid yourself of your clothing before you choked on a gasp as you felt Jonathan yank you back by your hair with a harsh grip.

“Slowly,” he purred, knuckles going white with how hard he was gripping onto your hair, before letting go after what felt like a lifetime. “I want you to savour the moment you gave yourself up to me.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth – that, yes, you’d given yourself to him long before this moment. Not with your body, but with every line you let him blur until you could no longer tell where you ended, and he began.

You gave yourself up to him unknowingly when you caught him “treating” his patients with his fear toxin on countless other occasions and yet, you didn’t say a word because you were blindsided by how pathetically attracted you were to him.

This time, you just happened to get caught, and he acted on impulse, forcing you to surrender.

But this wasn’t really surrender. This was inevitability.

Once you were left in just your underwear, you were a shivering, doe-eyed mess. Although, it seemed Jonathan preferred you this way. “You’re such a good girl,” he cooed, hands coming to brush up against your neck gently. “God, you truly are pretty.”

His words were sickeningly sweet; as if he wasn’t keeping you here, forcing you to film a sex tape as blackmail for yourself.

But was it force when you’d handed him the reins so long ago, piece by trembling piece?

“You're so soft,” he mumbled, placing a delicate kiss on your cheek as he moved your hair out of the way, exposing your neck, to which he placed another kiss.

“...Jonathan, please.”

Your voice came out soft – quiet – and it had this tremble within it because you were free-falling. One moment he had you quivering in fear, and the next, he was the same soft-spoken, intellectual, kind mentor you had found rather endearing before all…this. Perhaps it was your mind playing tricks on you, maybe it was even a coping mechanism – but if it helped you believe that you didn’t somehow allow yourself to let him do this to you, then you welcomed that idea.

Psychology is interesting. Human behaviour is interesting.

“I know you better than you know yourself,” he whispered against your skin, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up as you shut your eyes. “Don’t lie to me — you love this. I’ve seen you snooping around my office, I know you’ve looked in my file cabinets…”

He continued speaking softly – not in a menacing way – but rather in a reassuring way, like he knew who you really were underneath this facade you put up. “I know that you know what I do within the walls of Arkham when nobody is looking — well, nobody except for you.”

“You’re so vile,” you whispered, leaning into his touch as you let his hands roam your body in front of the camera, not even attempting to deny it.

“You’re just as vile for letting me do this to you,” he nipped your neck, causing you to let out a startled moan. “You know whose blood is on my hands, yet you let those same hands touch you.”

The lines between sex, lies, and the ugly truth blurred in an instant as your hands found his shoulders. With a sharp pull, you placed your lips on his. Before he could react, you tugged him down onto the bed, the weight of him pressing against you like the inevitability of everything you’d already surrendered.

“Show me who you are,” he whispered, getting just enough distance between your lips in his to get the words out, and you didn’t need to be told twice.

You pressed your lips up against his once more, feeling him intertwine his hands into your hair this time around. Your nails dug into his suit as you desperately tried to tug him out of it, falling deeper into the unholy temptation that was Jonathan Crane. He continued to kiss you as you rid him of his clothes, and in between kisses, you straddled him as his hands found purchase on your hips.

You pulled back momentarily, glancing at him and noticing his glasses were slightly fogged up, but his eyes were still ever so blue through them. You smiled slightly before you started to unbutton his white, collared shirt that was under his suit jacket, while simultaneously trying to remove his tie fully.

Jonathan had no objections – he wanted to see how dirty you were willing to be. How filthy you would get on film…and that sparked an idea in his head.

Jonathan suddenly slammed you down onto the mattress within seconds, his shirt half undone and his tie hanging off his neck lazily before he was tugging your lace panties down your thighs. This was the moment that he decided even if he was supposedly blackmailing you, he needed to have his face buried in between your legs.

“Jonathan,” you panted, looking down at him between your legs, his brilliantly blue eyes now much darker. “Wh-what are you doing?”

He tossed your underwear to the side, offering no response before diving right in, devouring your cunt skillfully as his tongue darted through every single inch of you. You let out a sharp gasp before it turned into a moan. It was almost disgusting how good he was with his mouth.

“Fuck,” you whined, hips arching upwards so that he could taste all of you, down to the last drop.

“Delicious.”

His voice was muffled as he ate you out, savouring the taste of you against his tongue. He knew exactly what he was doing, but it was too late to try and save yourself now – not that you really made any attempt before because here you were; getting eaten out by a man who supposedly drugged you and forced you into getting fucked on camera but hey, it happens to the best of us...

He licked your folds, gently nipping on your thighs or pressing kisses to them, before diving back into you as he lapped you up. Soon enough, you felt that familiar feeling in your stomach starting to build up as he sucked your clit gently, causing you to let out a rather loud moan.

“I’m close,” you warned as your back arched off the mattress again, causing his grip on your thighs to become harsher, keeping you there. “God–”

He hummed in acknowledgement as you felt your release hit you all at once. He continued to eat you out as if you were his final meal until you were a shaking mess, begging him to give you a break as your legs shook.

Before you even had a chance to fully recover, you found yourself in yet another position he manhandled you into, this time face down ass up – and looking right at the camera. You heard his belt unbuckle from behind you before you let out a quiet gasp, feeling him line himself up with your entrance.

You were plenty wet at this point, so soaked you could certainly feel yourself dripping down your thighs. Jonathan pushed himself into you desperately, filling you up fully with one, quick stroke before his hands gripped your hips. Your eyes screwed shut as he stretched you out around his cock, slamming his hips into your ass as he fucked you into oblivion.

You babbled and moaned into the mattress as you felt yourself soak his length. He then grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to look at the camera with wide eyes and an already fucked out expression as he continued to plow you.

“Fuck,” he huffed, “you take cock like a professional. Atta’ girl.”

The way his cock was angled inside of you was perfection. It was that perfect mixture of pleasure and pain that made it feel so good when he was fucking you – ruining you – and rearranging your insides. You could physically feel every inch of him fill you and stretch you out around his thickness, pounding you until you lost your ability to think about anything other than him filling your holes twenty-four fucking seven.

“Jonathan,” you feverishly said his name before letting out a moan so pornographic, that it even caught Jonathan by surprise – a good surprise though, nonetheless. You continued to beg him to fuck you harder and harder, pleading with him for God knows what. “I need— nnghh – need you to fill me, yes—!’

“You’re a fuckin’ natural at this,” he gruffed, feeling himself edge closer to his release. “Look at you go, you’re such a slut, aren’t you, baby? Show the camera what a good girl you become when you’ve got my cock in you.”

“Mmm,” you drawled out a few more breathy moans before neither of you could go any longer.

Jonathan cursed under his breath before he filled you up with his come, stuffing you full of it as his thrusts slowed down. Simultaneously, you were clenching down on him as you drenched his cock with his hands still intertwined in your hair lazily.

You stared at the red light which was still blinking before Jonathan finally let his grip on your hair go, making you sigh with relief. He was still buried in your warm, wet cunt as you looked over your shoulder, silently admiring the way his blue eyes pierced through you. His hair was slightly dishevelled and you could’ve sworn his cheeks were a bit pink, but you were soon pulled out of your thoughts as he let out a soft, breathy laugh.

“You’re a fuckin’ star, babydoll.”

But the difference between a pornstar and you? They know what they’ve signed up for.

You on the other hand? You’re drowning in a role written for you, simply too blind to see who’s holding the pen.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

#cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy imagine #cillian x fem!reader #jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane fanfic #dr jonathan crane #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x fem!reader #jonathan crane x female reader #jonathan crane x y/n #doctor jonathan crane #batman begins #scarecrow x reader #the scarecrow

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safination · 2 days ago

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There's Children Screaming in the Streets

|Masterlist| Parings: Alasot x OC! Mina Warnings/ Tags: Honestly, sadness. A big smoll sad. Chaos in the streets. It's insanity. WlW. Fem!Reader A/N: So, this isn't my usual Alastor x reader, but hush. I do what I want. This is a gift for a friend of mine @whatswrongwithblue. This is for you <3. Merry Christmas. I've been wanting to write you this story for a while but I've been too shy, but I finally found the courage to give this to you. I hope you enjoy it Mina is her OC, and she's honestly the best. This takes place during "Don't Take That Sinner From Me" from Blue's fic "The Fire in the Sin," which I highly encourage everyone to check out. Please check out her amazing story. It's honestly gold.

ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ

Your wife runs her thumb up and down and up and down the skin of your hand. She does it in such a rhythmic and soft way that it contrasts the small huff in her steps. There’s a cute frown on her lips as you drag her, hand in hand, across the streets of Hell.

How cute!

She rolls her eyes as you give her the brightest smile you can muster . . . but she eventually smiles back nonetheless. “Are you going to drag me out the whole day?” she signs at you, her hands carefully making each word. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined spending my weekend.”

You position yourself in her line of sight, making sure she can see the way your lips move. “Yes, I think I will if you keep complaining like that,” you say, laughing a little, and press a quick kiss on her cheek. “Will that suffice as your payment?”

“I’m going to need something better than that if you expect me to stay.” She snorts at you, and even if she cannot hear it, the sound she makes is too cute. “A proper one this time.”

You laugh a little louder, slowly pulling her by her shirt to steal a kiss from her lips. There’s a small giggle as you do. “I can give you more la—”

B̷̨̨̢̨̨̧̲͔̜̳̟͈̳̫̖̗̻̩̗̝̻͇̼̖͚͙̠̪̖̭̳͚̘̬̥̰̙͉̞̈́͂͊̍͜͝͠r̷̨̨̡̢̩̜͈̼̭͍̮̰̙̮̝̺͓̦̮̀͆̌̀̔͑͛͊̌̆͋̊̀̊̓͂͗̂̑̀̑́͂͋̎͆̔͛̊̊̈́̔̆̋̈́̂̚͘͠͝͝i̴̧͇͚̣̟͑͗͊̐̅̈́̋̉̾͆̎̂̆̇̿̐̓̾̿͑͗́̅͊͑͘̕̕͝͝n̷̛͔̼͚͓̝̺̙͍̩̤̖̪͔͖̞͓̈́̈́͗͛̀͊̀͆͋̈́̄͐̋͘͘͜ͅġ̸̡̫̖̯̦̪͈͍͇̺̭͚̼͇̤͉̗̰͖͕̥̀͊̈̐͛͌̇̔͒͆̈́͘͜͜͝͝ ̸̧̡͚̠̤̦̩͈͛͗̉̅͒̉̋͆̑̏͆͌͌͒̚ͅm̶̧̨̧̧̡̛̛͕̥̱̼̩̞̲̬͖̻̥̬̜͇͈͕̞̻̙̫̩̯̪̱͖̤̟̪͙̯̮̫̻̘͇̅̊̀̓̉̾̑̽̈́̇͝e̸̢̢̧̢̜̥̳̦͇̹̜̩̲͍͕̟͓̳̯̦̥͎͔̭̹̝̥̼͔͉̾̽̈́̋̓͆̄́ͅ ̸̮̼̣̤̗̩̩̫̳̬͉̝̳͇̠̖̘̰̽͋̈̀̊̒͑̈̒̾̂̋̄̎͋̈́͂̈́̉͂̄͌͌̄̓̕͘͝͠͠A̷̧̬͕͎͈͆̆́̅͜͜͜l̵̨̹̦̤̟̳͕͙͍̣͈̻͕̲̣̰͍͖̜̺̙̱͕͓͇̻̘͓͖͑͗́́̀̋͂͒̿͗̒͘͠ą̸̧̢̛̻̗̝̙̟͔̖̦̗̬͎̩͕̼̗͓̳̲̖̩̗͉̮͇̪͊̓̒̃̒̌͌̃̽̈́́̑̈̆̅̌̿͑̎̇͂͐̊̈́̎̅̈͐̑̚̕̚͝ͅş̷̨̧̧̛̭͈̖͕̗̙̰̟̭̣̹̠͖̘̰̻̖̤͖̰̖̙͊͌̓́͛̉̄́̕͜͝ẗ̶͇͕̭̗̟́͒̋̒͝ǫ̵̛̼̻̗͖̝̞̻̱̲̼̠̩̤̩̠̮̯̙̪̞͖͖̅̅͂͑̇̈̄͗̉͌̇̌̊̏̉́͐̾̀̂͋̅̎̆͆̇̅̓͐̿͘̕͘̚͘̕͠͠͠ŕ̵̢̡̛̘̼̺̲̭̱̥̤̟̥͖̲̪͙̺̭͙̣͓̤̗͇̆̉̅͆͑̓̇̌̂̀́̄̇͂̄̓͒̓̃̾̊́̕͘̕͜͝͝͝͝

It starts off as a soft melody, the distance making it almost impossible to hear, but the voice is there. It echoes vividly against the curses and the booming sounds of gunfire. The voice that you hear . . . it’s . . . it’s beautiful. It reminds you of the laughter of your wife, or those small squeaks she makes when you sneak up on her.

The voice that calls out to you sings a soft tune. It’s ethereal, almost so enchanting that it brings you into a small lull. It reminds you of the Queen’s voice.

B̵̛̲̺̰̼͇̼̻͚̥͇̝̣̺͈̣̞͍̞̭͈̭͇̥̋̑̂̍̅̍̈́̈́́͋̀̽̓͊͘͘͜͜͜͠ͅr̵̛̤͕̭̩͈̤͓̬̤̟̳̘͓̟͈̳̀͒̓̑͋̄͂͑͒͋͗̿̋̐̕͝ͅi̶͓̽̈́̂n̸̢̬̮͓̣̣̼͚̟̍̆́̉̃̽̈́̎̉̈́̅̿͛̈͝ͅg̸̢̡͙̝͚͔̻͓̝̖̫̩̮͊̈́ ̷̢͈̬̣̪̞̖̭̼̪̪̠̠̳̩̜́̓̇m̴̧̨̛͔̘̹̱͈̖͕̻̤̲̞̓̈́̆̌̽̂͋̌̎̈̐́̒͂̒̓̕̚ͅe̶̮͍̯͚̦̣̤̞̥̤̫̞̫̳̙̘͔͗̀̀̃̎̿͑́̕͜͜͝ ̵̠̬̬̥̑̒̓̌̾͋̔̌̈̓̾̐͐̂̋̓̕͘͜͝͝A̴̡̨̨̨̨̤̭͙̙̘̜̣̣̖̳͕͕͎̜͇͔͉̺̙͗͂͜ͅl̶̡̨̠̖̟͚̗̤̪̱̗͎͎̼͚̻̥̏̓̒̽̐͋̓͆̿̂͂͂̑̔̾̏̈́̚̕͝ḁ̵̧͙̲̭͚͕̣̬͍͎̰̠̰͇̭̒̿̽́̅̾̐̌͜ͅs̸̡͎͕͚͚̫̙̯̖̱̜̠͕̻̞̲͗̌̀̈́ť̵̢̧̤̝̯͍̝̪͎̬͉̝͚̮̦̼͖̱̩̜͔͛̍ͅơ̴̠̘̹̇̎̂̊̉̌͑͘̕̕r̵̫̻̜̖̭̮̯̝̫̣͉̳̪̺̮̦͔͕̩͓̥̬͊̂̌͌̍̈́̿́̇̂́̿͑̂̀̋̂͝͝ͅ

The trance breaks when your wife tugs in your hand. “What’s wrong?” she signs. “You don’t look too well.”

You blink, trying to shake off the effects of the song. That owner of that voice must be one powerful Sinner if even the softest melodies affect you like this. It would be too dangerous to stay. “I . . . don’t know,” you say, slowly, but give her a bright smile. “Let’s be safe, and just go home.”

“But our errands.”

Truthfully, it was your errands, and she just got dragged along.

“We can always just do it tomorrow,” you say, grabbing her hand. “We have eternity to do these things together.”

There’s a suspicious look on her face, but she nods once, and pulls you to the direction of your home.

You spare one last glance at where the voice sings after you, then follow after her. After all is said and done, this is still Hell. It’s better not to get mixed up with anything dangerous, not when your little bubble of Heaven hangs in the balance.

B̷̛̬͓͉͔͎̺̭̪̺͐͐̈́̒̎́̋̄̐̌̽̒̈́̔̏ṛ̶̳͙̘̣̼̝͕̲̤͊̈̇̔̀̉̇̎͜͝͝i̸̛͓̻̭̦̯̬̮̙̣̘͍̦͓̝̹͎̓̂̈́̔̔͐́̅̎̅̋͘͝ň̸̩̙̮͒́͗̇̈́́̔ģ̶̞͎̳̼̯̳̞̮̹̼̰̲͇̑͊͑͋̀̆̂̉̏͑͋̑͆̑͘͝ ̴̧̡̛̗̺̖̭̭͖̞̮̯̱̭̈́̄̇͌̐͑̿̍̄͛̓̑̂̕̕͜͝m̶̨̧̩̪̰̭̬̠̣̜̥͔͖̘͙̝̔͂̍̈́̓͂̋̎͋̔̌̆̀̕͝͠͝é̷̖̱̭̞̘͕͍͉͈̟̐̏̀͌̅̆̋̂̿͌͝ ̸̧̜̞͓̘̱̟̣̅͐͑̈́̂̀́̌̓̃͋̕͝͝͝Ă̷̧̙͌̓̀͆̚l̴̢̤̦̺̤̼̭̳̺̝̮͙̇̂̅̏́͐̕͜a̶̢̜̥͓̰͓̬̣̰͍̪̜̮̘̦̬̣̮̍̑̇̀̎̽̍̉͌̃̅̋̈́̅̈͠͠͝s̵̨̛͔͚͓̟̣̣͖̗̰̺̳̠͎͓̞͉̪̩̊̋̋͗͗̈̃̔̒͘͠t̸͍̂̉̍̔̀̆͋͒̒̓͠o̴̢��͎͎̮̩̭͗̔͐̈́̓̌͊̏̑͆͘͝ŗ̶͓̺̫̱̤̩͓̥̬̐̀̄̓͊̿̿̓̍̌͘ͅ

She bumps into your shoulders, jolting you harshly. “You keep spacing out,” she signs. “Tell me what’s going on. Don’t lie to me.”

“I really don’t know,” you say, pulling her to walk a little faster. “And I don’t want to find out. Let’s just get out of here, yeah? I’m sure it will be fine.”

There’s a small twist on her lips, but your wife nods at you and squeezes your hand with a reassuring smile.

B̴͙̂̑͛̋͂̆͗̂͘͝r̶̭̂́͆͒̎̿́̐̎̎̂͘͝͠ì̷̩̼̞̻̥̖̠̯̼̳̒ṋ̵̥͇͒g̵̡͉̬̟̜̰͎͉͇͔͌̅̃͑͆̓̓͌̄ ̵̡̨̠̤̤̤̪̙̦̝͔͇̯̺́̀͊͒͐̽̆̒́̀͘m̴̤̖͕̩͖̍ȇ̷̞̭̖̪̳̾̆̍͆̊̔͘ ̶̡̛̫̬̠̯̮̥͈̦͍̠̳͎͚͊̃̏́́͛́̿̈́͛͒͋A̵̧͈͈̦̹̼͛̈̌̅͗̐̎͑̅̇̚l̸̡̛͚̺͕̣͎̀͆̎̈́̂͋ả̵̧͕̆̎̑̅̾́͗̉̓͝ş̴̝̝͚̺̖͓̯̬͖̹̰̪͆̔̈̒̓̀̋͒̈͛͠t̷̥̺̳̖̻̬͖̗̯͚̔̔̊͌̈́̎̅̋̅͑̊̈́̈́̒ǫ̴̨̛͖̻̬͍̙̦̉͋͒̌̃̐̿͗͒͆͘͘͝ŗ̶͇̖̜̣͎̺̻̰͈͙͉̑̀͘

B̷̗͌ȑ̸̤̖̖͋̿͑̔i̸̱̞̜̼̗̍̇̒̀́͛̕n̴̝̞͔̠̎̓̏̔̉͝g̴͖͙̠͓͎̖̿̊̅̂͛ ̶̨̝͎͕͂̐͒̊͜m̴̝̌͗̃͝e̵̛̩̬͇̰͇̾̅̀̽ ̷̡̛̪̱̯̞͚̠̈́́͂̔́̕A̵̰͌̄͝ḻ̸̫̫͛̀̈̌͋̓͝ä̸͔̭́̿ͅs̴̹͕̍͋ẗ̴̛̰̤́o̶̳̊͑͂̌̋̚͝r̴͙̪̳͐͂̈͐͘

B̷̤͖͛̑ṛ̸̬̀͗i̵̦̚n̷̻͂g̵͈͋ ̵͖̰͠m̴̖͈̆e̴̛̗ ̶͕̣̈́́Ą̶̰̑l̸͚̫͛̚a̴̢͊s̶̪̼̍̑ṱ̸̮̏̏ö̵̼́̄r̵̮̭͆

Everything . . .

. . . Everything . . . uhhhhhh . . . Everything?

What about everything?

. . . Everything starts to become fuzzy.

It starts off small, but there’s definitely something clawing its way into your body. It climbs up your skin in sweet melodies. You pull your wife to walk faster when the siren’s voice grows louder. Oh god, you never should have gone out today. It was a mistake to—

Your wife crashes into you, tackling your body aside.

A car crashes into a small shop, exploding on impact. The heat from the fire trails up your skin, and the deafening sound rings across your ear. Yet . . . you can still hear the song of the sire, echoing in your mind.

Your wife pulls you up, dragging you across the streets as chaos itself descends on the streets.

Sinners were attacking each other, ripping limb after limb after limb. A mob of them enter into shops, pulling anyone they could get their hands on to the streets. It’s madness. It’s in the way fire crackles from the burning door of the bakery. It’s in the way the cars blare their alarms for everyone to hear.

Despite the chaos, only one thing rings across clearly . . .

B̷̨̔̅̔̆͗̋̈́̓̒r̶̢̢̐̽͂̕͝i̸̮͖̠͙̮̩͉͐͊̄͠͝n̶̛͎̼̝̓̒̊̿͂̉̈́͠͝ǧ̴̛̘͌̄̇̑ ̴̫̺̠͊̏́́m̴͚̃̿̈̇̍͆̀̚͝͝ẹ̸̲̊̆̃͆̆̋͘͝͝ ̶̖͈̤̦̉͋͌̓̌̂̒͘͜À̸̱̼̎̂̂̈́̒͂́́̈́l̴̬̺̲̣̪̠͊͊͂̚͘͜ä̶̛̻́̏́͒͐͌̓͒͑͝s̸̢̡͇̠̎̿̔̓̎̒̀̈́̚t̴̮͓͓̫̜͚̜̱͖͚̳̔̾̆͆̓͋̄͊̉̚͝o̶̭̟̓̉̿͛̐̎̄͂̈̕͜͝r̸̢̲͋̌̐͋̿̈̽̌̍̚͜

You’re pulled into an alley, far away from prying eyes. The smell of blood and feces mixing with that distinct sulfur air, prick your nose.

“Tell me you’re okay.” Your wife demands, waving her hands around as she signs frantically. “Hey! Tell me nothing’s wrong with you.”

The words choke around your throat. That command rings across your mind. It’s getting clearer by the second.

B̵̯̰͑̓͌͂͝ŕ̵̨̠̩̣̞͛̄͊̽̈́͝i̷̢̲̠͚̥̾̇̌̎̾̀͜͝n̷̰̆͆̂̏͜ĝ̵̛̼͎͙̳͌͋͜͜ ̷̜̮̹́̈̊͘̕m̶̼̈̃̌̂̌è̴̡̮̮̰̹̮̝̀̓̌ ̶͍̈͌͌̈́̇Ą̸̻̞̋̈́͛̊̈̈͘̚͜ḷ̴͖̝̠̦̦̠̲̆̓̐́̐̕̕͠á̶͚̱͈͉̖̭̦̚s̵̡̗̯̼̣̭̈́͑ͅt̶̜͔̗̣͙͆͌̌͐̚͝ô̴̢͉̙͓̦͙͕͠ͅr̵̛͈̤̥̮̥̖͂̐̋̍͊̑̚͜ͅ

There’s no reason – absolutely, no reason – for you to slap her hand away. You know that she’s just trying to reach out, but it’s like your body surges with something, and you end up doing so. You wince a little when she looks at you, hurt all over her expression. It’s in the way she frowns at you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, quickly. Not once have you ever laid a hand on her. You promised yourself you would never do such a thing to anyone. “I don’t know what’s going on with me right now.”

She smiles . . . and then . . .

. . . Wait. She smiles, and then –

And then what?

Absolutely everything and nothing, all at the same time.

B̴̪̲̟̥͊̈́͝r̸̹͖̱͙̎̇̕͘i̶̡̥͌͜n̶͓̖̠͚͂̀̆ğ̷͕̾̂͗̀ ̸̲̹̯͕̰̱͆͊͋̏ṁ̷̱̦̼͉͊̚e̴̡͉̤̭̾̃̽̇̍̕͝͝ ̷̧̤̖̠̘͚͝Ă̴̮̮͇̹l̵̳̲͈͎̠̱̗͈̊å̸̞͕̓̈́̑̽̅̋̕s̶̙̆̈́̍̀̐t̵͍̲͈̬̲̟̖̭̄͌̓́́̒̑ò̸͎̲͐̃͑͘͘r̵̢̼͉͊͛͂̂̽͗͝

B̴̠͒r̸͙͑ï̶͇ṅ̷̟g̴̬̀ ̶̦̋m̸̲͝ë̶̗́ ̴̲̄Ȧ̴͔l̴̖̚ȁ̶̢š̴͙t̴̰̐o̴͙̐r̷̲͆

B̶r̷i̷n̴g̴ ̷m̶e̷ ̷A̷l̴a̴s̷t̶o̸r̷

Bring me Alastor.

It tastes like a wildfire, raw and consumes everything in its path, but this isn’t your own. These emotions that bite down on you are not yours. Still, they trace a path up your skin with their fiery claws, sinking itself into your very being.

You pull back from your wife, stepping away to clutch your head. It’s echoing so clearly in your mind now.

Bring me Alastor.

Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor.

Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor.

Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor. Bring me Alastor.

The command echoes itself in your brain, refusing to be denied. It consumes you, pulling you down into its fiery sea of . . .fury?

Yes.

No.

Despite the maddening wrath, there’s sorrow that traces every command, every line, every word. It’s carefully hidden underneath the wildfire, but it’s unmistakably there.

Think about what you’re doing right now.

Your hands are wrapped around someone’s neck . . . but . . . the heat underneath your fingers is familiar. It reminds you of a gentle touch amidst a grumpy frown. This belongs to your wife. Why are your hands around her neck? You belonged in hell for a reason, but your wife is your heaven. She’s the only good thing in a life that’s filled with shit.

The song refuses to release its enchantment. You’re fully aware of what you could not control. Everything is so vivid now – the heat of her skin, the trembling of her body. It’s all so clear to you.

Bring me Alastor.

“I’m sorry . . .,” you say, managing to choke out the words. “I can’t stop.”

Chaos burns the streets with its wrath, yet your wife stares into your eyes and your eyes alone. It’s impossible to look away.

Anger.

Confusion.

Then the worst of them all . . . understanding.

She reaches up, even as she struggles to breathe because of your actions, and wipes a single tear dripping down your cheek.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please! I’m so . . . sorry. Stop me. Someone, please, stop me.,” you say, as more tears drip down your eyes, and land on her face. “Who is Alastor? I don’t know who he is.”

Like all things, that burning anger eventually dims down, and all that’s left is charred sorrow. So much sorrow. It crashes down on you like waves. It’s so different from the wildfire, but it consumes you anyway, dragging you into its depths. The tears roll down your face, and some of these don’t belong to you. You cry, and you cry, and you cry for the sorrow that does not belong to you.

It’s madness.

It’s insanity.

It’s . . . love.

As you gaze into the dimming light of your wife’s eyes . . . you know that it’s love that fuels the siren’s song, and all that love gathers into the corner of your eyes, and drips onto the cheeks of your own fading love.

Bring . . . me . . . Alastor . . .please.

ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ

Mina stares at Alastor.

Alastor stares right back at her.

His smile hangs open, eyes wide and frozen like a literal deer in headlights. Even his hears are pointed straight. It takes a couple of blinks before his smile closes, and now he’s just stick in his pajamas, staring at her.

“ . . .but all that way years ago,” she tells him, scratching a bit of the fur on her skin.

Alastor’s ears bend as he tilts his head. “My dear, that was only seven years ago.”

“So, practically age ago,” she grumbles, crossing her arms. There’s a smug smile on Alator’s face that she rolls her eyes at. “I wasn’t exactly in the sanest mindset.”

“What the sight you must have been. Oh, I can practically hear the insanity you left with every stomp of your feet. All that sorrow must have been delicious!” Alastor laughs at her, tears running down his eyes. “Tell it to me again. I want to hear it again, my darling wife."

“Again?” Mina pulls the blanket higher on her shoulders, grumbling into the pillow.

Alastor tugs on the blanket, leaning his full weight on her when she doesn’t relent.

“Yes, again,” he says, and the weight he presses down on her causes a little purr from her throat. “I want to her the story of how the great Mina tore down Hell’s streets to look for me. The story of why your name still echoes from the madness of the power you displayed.”

Alastor presses his lips across the spots on her fur, tracing it with light kisses.

Mina turns back to him, sighing. “As if I would ever deny you anything.”

ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ

If you reached the end o this, then you really should chek out The Fire in the Sin Once again, Merry Christmas, Blue! (Please help me think of something for Inu.) Thank you for such a wonder fic and being such a wonderful friend. I've been wanting to gift this to you since the moment you released the chapter, but I've alwawys felt a bit too shy about it, but I'm less shy now. I hope if you enjoy. Also, if this is big sads, I just want to say that you were the one who said everyone started attacking each other. So, really, this sadness if from you.

#Alastor x oc #alastor the radio demon #hazbin fanfic #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x wife reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x reader

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moltengoldveins · 24 hours ago

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have I mentioned yet that I was a ninjago girlie for like….. years. I meticulously planned and outlined a rewrite of the entire show up to like season 7 before a lot of it got moved off the platforms I could access and I moved on to other fandoms. Zayn was my first exposure to a show Actually Just Killing one of their main characters (yeah I know he came back but??? It was an entire season later and he was VERY different) and then addressing the grief and trauma of that loss in the other characters. The characters are still some of my favorites in tv. The willingness of that show, at least in the first six or so seasons, to drastically change the status quo of the series and then deal with the consequences is still so refreshing when compared to most other media. They spent two seasons on Lloyd as a kid learning to fumble his way through being a little brother, magically aged him up in a mid-season episode with basically no warning (something that read as a HUGE SACRIFICE because he was literally sacrificing his life, the time and experience he would lose) and then Actually Handled the Consequences. He doesn’t know how long his limbs are. He’s missing years of schooling. He’s unrecognizable to the few people who he used to be friends with. His relationships are weird and stilted. He’s traumatized about it for SEASONS. That’s INSANE. Cole just freaking DIES. He spends like two seasons or so as a ghost who can’t touch people, despite being the touchiest of the cast, and that’s ADDRESSED. He’s CANONICALLY SHOWN to be touch-starved. That’s an insane thing for a show about funny Lego ninjas to mention, much less develop over time.

I’m. Considering going back and watching some of this again. Maybe breaking out my old notebooks. Dang I miss this show how many seasons are there now-

#molten rambles #ninjago

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lulublack90 · 2 days ago

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Prompt 27 - Skating

@wolfstarmicrofic December 27, word count 729

The second part of yesterday's Prompt - Champagne. Might see where this one goes.

First part

The bar Sirius took him to was extravagant. Remus was not overdressed in his white shirt and dress pants. Waitresses in sparkly dresses wandered about with trays of what Remus guessed was scotch that cost more than he’d made that night per glass. He felt instantly uncomfortable and didn’t know how to tell Sirius he would rather go somewhere else. Instead, he allowed Sirius to lead him to a badly lit booth on the far side of the bar.

No sooner had they sat down than one of the servers appeared with a large, toothy smile, spreading her bright red lips apart.

“Mr Black, how are you this evening? Can I get you your usual, and what would your date like?” She blinked her shimmery eyelids at Sirius and waited for his order.

Sirius’s jaw tensed for a second before a slightly forced smile appeared on his face.

“Good thanks, Crystal. Yes, usual for me and Remus, what would you like?” They both turned their attention to Remus.

“Oh, erm, just a water, thanks.” He tried not to stammer, but it was hard. He felt embarrassed by them watching him so intently.

“Are you sure?” Sirius asked him, insecurity flashing across his face. “I’m buying; you can get whatever you want.” Remus swallowed. People always found it strange when they found out he didn’t drink, but if that was a deal-breaker for them, then Remus didn’t want to associate with them anyway.

“Waters, fine, thank you. I don’t drink,” He added, wanting Sirius to understand it wasn’t because he wanted to make a hasty retreat or something. Sirius's face broke into a genuinely heartbreaking smile.

“Scratch my order, Crystal. Two waters please,” Crystal’s eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything as she turned to get their drinks.

“You can drink, I don’t mind, honestly,” Remus said quickly. Sirius reached over the table and took Remus’s hands in his.

“I’m good. Just enjoying watching you squirm as if I care what you drink,” Mischief danced in his eyes and Remus felt a familiar pressure in his boxers. He swallowed dryly. Where the fuck was Crystal with their waters?

As if by magic she appeared, depositing the tall glasses on the table.

“Can I get you anything else?” Remus grabbed the glass and took a long slurp of water while Sirius was distracted by Crystal.

“No, thank you, Crystal.” He said kindly.

“Well you need anything, just flag me down,” She smiled warmly and wandered away to another booth in her section.

“Wow, that’s a lot of ice,” Sirius said, scrutinising his glass. Turning it this way and that so, the cubes of ice clinked against the glass. “I haven’t seen this much ice since the last time I went skating,” He laughed at his own words, and Remus joined in politely. He had no idea what Sirius was on about. He took another sip of his own drink, trying to rid his throat of its dryness.

“So, Remus, tell me about yourself,” Sirius waited for Remus to answer, giving him time that most people didn’t. Sometimes, he needed a second to collect his thoughts and decide what he would and wouldn’t tell a complete stranger.

“There’s not much to tell. I live in a shit flat above a shit kebab shop. I work a shit job that pays me just enough to keep my shit flat and feed me shit kebabs from downstairs. Oh, and I’m studying English Lit at the university,” Sirius didn’t comment on his tirade about his less-than-great life at the moment. He smiled his crooked smile at Remus, leaned in and said in a sultry tone.

“I could really go for a shit kebab right now,” He bit his bottom lip and Remus had to surreptitiously reposition himself under the table.

“We could go get one, my treat,” He offered, his voice only a little hoarse. Sirius took out his wallet and dropped a twenty on the table. Twenty quid for two glasses of water, that was insane. Sirius must have seen the look on Remus’s face. “I tip well,” He shrugged.

Impulsively, Remus offered him his arm, like Sirius had done earlier, and the sweet smile he got in return made his insides squirm. He led Sirius out of the bar and turned towards home, praying it his flat wasn’t too much of a mess.

Next part

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wheelchairbatgirl · 20 hours ago

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Every wheelchair in the 2002 event Bruce Wayne, Murderer, reviewed by me.

There are 13 issues in Bruce Wayne: Fugitive, many of which include pictures of wheelchairs.

The event starts out with a one-shot, and then Detective Comics #766, which had no wheelchair.

So here we start with Batgirl #23. Jumping right in with Barbara grabbing the entire tire instead of using her push rim. We don’t have enough wheelchair to rate and yet our rule of “no push rim = -1 point” has already come into effect.

I’ll talk about it later, but this series of Batgirl often goes to very odd camera angles to avoid drawing Babs’ wheelchair.

Nightwing #65. We only have three rules here on Wheelchair Batgirl, which is that we deduct one point from any time that someone is using the tire instead of the push rim, without a good reason. The other rule is that we deduct a point every time Barbara Gordon’s wheelchair specifically has push handles on the back. I know I’ve never talked about that rule before, because I just made it up right now, but it’s a rule.

I get that Barb appears to like her wheelchair backs up super high. That’s her right, so I won’t complain about it anymore, even though it’d drive me insane. But all we can see here is high-back with push handles. So we’re at -2 points and we haven’t even had anything worth rating.

Quick note for people who don’t have to worry about wheelchair parts in their daily life: push rims are the extra bars on the wheels of the chairs. You push your wheels with the push rims so tha tyou’re not grabbing a dirty tire all the time. Push handles are the handles on the back of a wheelchair to make it easier for someone to push you and to steer. A good Barbara Gordon wheelchair should have yes to push rims and no to push handles, because she doesn’t like to be pushed around. This is a canon fact and not my sole opinion.

Batman: Gotham Knights #65.

Finally, we get a chair that clearly has no push handles. Good job. It does seem like she’s grabbing the tire instead one of the panels, but I’m not going to count that because it could be just for simplicity of drawing.

This wheelchair gets 9/10 based on what we can see.

Birds of Prey #39

Finally, a clear few wheelchair shots. We have push rims. We have camber. It looks relatively consistent from panel-to-panel. It’s not a hospital looking wheelchair. It sort of looks like what I’d expect a good Barbara Wheelchair from this time to look like.

I do have a quick question about the mechanism under this chair. Not sure how that works or what it does. Looks cool, thought.

8/10 because good dog why are there push handles on this chair, you all know better than to do that.

Robin #98 actually had no wheelchairs.

Robin #99 has, uh. This lovely little cartoon of a wheelchair, which I find very endearing. No push handles. Full points.

Also it’s got Babs telling my favorite joke of “I brought my own chair,” so I had to screencap that. I think a lot of authors are afraid to have wheelchair users make jokes or even make reference to the fact that they use a wheelchair. Most wheelchair users that I’ve met don’t mind telling jokes or referencing it. Me making a joke and me being a joke are different things.

The next wheelchairs we get are in Nightwing #66, and boy do we get wheelchairs. I love this wheelchair. It looks like a good custom chair for an active user. It’s consistent. It makes sense. It’s got a good camber and a good front angle and no push handles. She grabs her push rims instead of her tires. This is my favorite depiction of her chair in my reading thus far. Side guards and no arm rests.

These get 10/10, best wheelchair so far.

We also have the one non-Barbara wheelchair, which is for someone I can’t remember. Clearly a high level of injury because of the Sip n Puff (which is a tool to let someone with no arm movement operate a device of some kind). It’s clear that the artist understood that wheelchairs aren’t universal, and need to be customized for the user.

And we close down the event with Birds of Prey #40.

The push handles. They’re back. Well, handle, because apparently she’s got a single stroller handle. I will say that i love the picture of her leaning her arm on the push handle. I did that a lot back when I had push handles. It’s a comfy position. Pretty okay wheelchair, too. 7/10.*——

So our score so far is 42/50, or 8.4/10. We truncate, to 8/10 for Bruce Wayne: Murderer?

Final summary on the event: The fact that everyone’s superhero costume is clearly defined and looks consistent from every angle even across multiple authors can’t be ignored. The fact that no one decided to say, “Hi, this is what her wheelchair looks like from every angle,” is probably because it was/is policy to keep the heroes consistent and the rest of the world up to the artist, but I think it really would have helped everyone who hasn’t had time to research how wheelchairs are selected for a user.

I bought some physical Birds of Prey comics at a junk shop near my work, and they date to about 2008, and just by looking inside of them I can tell that our wheelchair quality is going to go down in the future. So here’s me being optimistic and nice.

#wheelchair batgirl #dc #barbara gordon #wheelchair #dc comics #birds of prey #batgirl #oracle dc #wheelchair batgirl rates 8/10 #Batman #nightwing #batman Gotham knights #bruce wayne #bruce wayne murderer #2002 #comics

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playedcrowd5610 · 2 days ago

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Jazz - Danny Phantom x Transformers Prime Crossover

Summary: Danny and his sister have some catching up to do.

---

Set in a series where Danny finds Starscream one day and decides to start haunting the Decepticons. That's basically all the context you need but if you want more here is the rest of the series:

Haunting the Nemesis

Part 1: Chasing Stars

Part 2: Burning Rubber

Part 3: Adventures of the Decepticons' Pet Ghost Or Tumblr Master List

Part 4: Falling Stars

---

Danny sat cross-legged on Jazz’s small dorm bed, watching with a small smile as his older sister turned on the kettle and pulled out two china cups from her cupboard. Danny absently glanced around, looking over how neat and well-kept her dorm was. She was always organizing, always making sure everything was perfect. Danny remembered how much of a hell it was for her to live with their parents, leaving weapons, tools, and even just puddles of ectoplasm lying about the house. Her bedroom was her only safe space, and Danny was pretty sure it was the only clean room in that old house/lab/deathtrap of theirs.

The faint scent of peppermint tea filled the air as he watched Jazz fill the two cups with boiling water. She added some honey, tapped the spoon on the edge of the cup and placed it into the sink, turning back around to Danny with a smile on her face, a cup in each hand. Despite the peaceful setting, Danny couldn’t shake the anxiety that twisted in his gut.

Danny hadn’t been by in months, he hadn’t contacted her in just under that… and now he owes her an explanation.

"So," Jazz finally sat down on her desk chair, spinning around to face him and passing him his cup of tea. "How have you been doing? I was worried. I haven’t heard from you in a while." Her voice was gentle but filled with concern.

Danny sighed, glancing up at her. "I'm fine, Jazz. Really."

Jazz narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. "Fine, huh? You were basically homeless the last time I saw you. Where have you been staying?"

He shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. How was he supposed to explain this without sending his overprotective sister into a full-blown panic? "Uh, well… about that. Promise me you won’t freak out?"

Jazz raised an eyebrow. "Danny, you know that’s not really helping me not freak out."

"I’m serious," Danny pressed. "Just… hear me out before you start yelling, okay?"

Jazz leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "Fine, I promise. What’s going on?"

Danny took a deep breath. "Okay. So… I’ve been staying with some, uh, aliens." He gave a light smile at the end.

Jazz blinked at him, stunned for a moment. Then she stared at her brother, waiting to see if he would start laughing. He didn’t. " Aliens? You're staying with aliens? "she asked incredulously.

Danny held up his hands in surrender, one still holding the mug. "Look, look. I know it sounds insane, but we’ve seen weirder things than that, right? And they're not the, you know, invade-the-world type… Well, not exactly. I mean, they did try and kill me at first, but they're actually kinda nice once you get to know them."

Jazz’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find the words. "You… what?"

"They're called Decepticons— or, well, technically, their species is called Cybertronian, but they’re basically giant thirty-foot tall robots." Danny continued, trying to keep his tone casual. “They're a little murderous, and most think humans are the scum of the earth, but they’ve also kinda… started caring about me?"

Jazz blinked, clearly struggling to wrap her head around everything. “So…you’re living with a bunch of alien robots that want to kill you?"

“In a giant spaceship, yes,” Danny said. Jazz stared at him, looking dumbfounded. Danny gave her a sheepish smile and wrung his hands together. "I mean, they're not so different once you get past the whole ‘giant alien robot’ thing.” He waved his hand to the side. “They have personalities, and grudges, and, well, issues… a lot of issues. You would honestly love trying to psychoanalyze them, Jazz."

Jazz started rubbing her temples. "I don’t even know how to respond to that."

Danny leaned forward, his expression earnest. "Jazz, I’m fine. I promise. I can handle it. I know how to protect myself." He glanced up at her expression. She seemed more concerned than he originally thought she would. "I’m sorry, Jazz, I didn’t mean to worry you. But now they’re… my responsibility, in a way. I’m finally getting them to grow their limited views on humans, and I've managed to prevent at least…” He looked to the side, counting on his fingers. “— Twenty? Twenty unnecessary deaths since I moved in, so I count that as a win!"

Jazz’s expression shifted to confusion at something Danny said. He was about to ask her what was wrong before she spoke up. “They think you’re human?”

Danny laughed and rubbed the back of his neck again. “Ah, right. I don’t think they know ghosts exist. They just think I'm a really strange human with no self-preservation skills. I mean, why burst that bubble for them.” Danny shrugged with a laugh.

Jazz gave an awkward chuckle in response before tilting her head to the side. “How, uh… do they possibly think you’re human? You have white hair, you glow, there’s the fangs, and then the whole pointed ears thing. Have you just been around them in your human form?”

Danny shrugged. “Most of the time in my ghost form, actually. But if we come down to earth, I switch to human so I don’t show up on any government radars”

“They don’t find that you can switch forms strange either?” She asked, tilting her head to the side.

Danny laughed. “I mean, technically, they transform into, like— cars and jets, so… Hair colour isn’t that different.” Danny shrugged again, hands still wrapped around his mug, which he hadn’t even sipped from yet. “I think I’m the first “Human” they’ve ever been around. It's honestly really funny seeing how they have no idea how to act around me.”

Jazz laughed again and then let out a long breath, eyes fixed on Danny with a thoughtful look. "You know… if you somehow ignore the whole alien thing, the way you talk about them kind of reminds me of how you talk about the ghosts. All tough and stabby, but secretly, deep, deep down, they care."

Danny smiled brightly, throwing his hands up in excitement. "Yeah, that's exactly it! They put on this scary, ‘I'm going to destroy you’ front, but really, if you dig a little deeper, they’re really great. I mean, take Skulker. He says that he wants my pelt as a trophy, but he helped me take down some of those labs a while back, and he sometimes even gives me self-defence tips mid-fight to make me stronger. Even if he claims it's to make me more of a challenge to hunt. I don’t think he even wants to skin me anymore."

Jazz raised an eyebrow. "And these… Decepticons?"

"Same thing. They’re always posturing and threatening at first, but once they see that I’m not going anywhere and I can stand up to them, it’s different. Like… I actually like being around them. It’s weird, I know. But they’ve kind of become like this chaotic family that I never knew I wanted."

Jazz leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. "So what are they like? I mean, besides being war machines that want to kill people?"

Danny smiled, his eyes brightening. "Well, Starscream is… complicated. He's got this huge ego and is always trying to one-up Megatron, their leader, but when you catch him off-guard, he's actually kind of thoughtful and gives me gifts and stuff.”

“—Knockout? He’s vain, like really vain, but also kind of funny. He’s all about his appearance, but he secretly loves to explain things to people, even if it is more like he’s trying to prove he’s better than you. But I help him out with his work all the time. And I go with him down to earth to help him join street races.”

“ —And Soundwave. He doesn't talk much; as far as I know, I’m the only person he really talks to besides his mini-con Laserbeak, who’s like his bird son. But he is honestly really sweet and is always looking out for me, and I sometimes just get to hang out in the control room while he works. Breakdown is fun to talk to, and he likes to bring me on missions when Knockout can’t come —He and Knockout are partners, by the way—."

Jazz smiled and finally took a sip of her tea. "You’re right. They do sound fun to psychoanalyze."

Danny grinned. "Oh, they are. They’re like ghosts in that way, too. They’re also in a war, so they have a lot of traumatic experiences. Plus, they’re so old. I mean, these guys have been around for thousands of years, maybe even millions," he continued, gushing over his new friends.

He paused as if something clicked in his mind. "Actually, I’m pretty they can live forever if they don’t get themselves killed. They have a spark in their chest, which is basically a ghost core, so if their body gets too damaged, as long as their spark is okay and has energon, sometimes they can change frames. Though I don’t know if they keep their memories. I’ll have to ask.” He put a finger on his chin.

Jazz’s expression shifted. She hesitated before speaking again. "Danny… do you think that’s why you’re so drawn to them?”

Danny raised an eyebrow at her change in tone. “What do you mean?”

“ Maybe… maybe it’s not just because they’re like ghosts." She paused, watching his reaction. "What if it’s because they can live that long? That if you’re friends with people who live for thousands or millions of years… you might not be alone after… after we’re gone."

Danny’s blood froze, his smile fading. "Jazz…" he started, his voice unsteady. "I’m not—I'm not thinking about that. I don’t… who knows if I’m even immortal or not, right? I can still die. I’ve done it before—three times!" He held out three fingers and laughed tightly. "I’m aging, right?’ He gestured to his currently not fourteen-year-old self. “So that means I’ll die when you guys do… right?" His voice cracked at the end.

Jazz looked up at him with sombre eyes, and he felt his core sink. "Clockwork said that one day you would become his apprentice. That you’d help him…"

Danny looked away and threw a hand to the side, his voice rising. "That’s just what he says! He’s like that, Jazz. Always talking about time and the future like he knows everything. That doesn’t mean I’m gonna live forever!" It couldn’t…

"Danny," Jazz said softly, standing up and moving over to the bed, her cup placed down on the desk. She pulled his out of his hands as well, hands that were now shaking slightly. This was supposed to just be a nice catch-up with his sister. Not this. "I understand. You don’t want to lose us. But one day, when you’re older, you might become fully ghost." She paused, reaching out to gently touch his arm. "But… I’m glad you’re finally finding friends who can be there for you. Be there for you longer than I ever can. To protect you."

Danny pulled his hands away from her, standing abruptly. His breathing was shallow, and the room felt too small. He stepped back. "No. Jazz, that’s not… I don’t want them because of that! I—" His throat tightened, and he couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought.

Jazz stood. "Danny, it’s okay. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I just think… maybe, deep down, you’re trying to make sure you won’t be alone. Even when we’re gone."

Danny’s fists clenched. The idea of losing Jazz, of losing Sam, Tucker… it felt unbearable. He shook his head, refusing to accept it. "I don’t want to think about that," he muttered, his voice strained.

Jazz’s face softened even more, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "I know. But things change. And when they do, I want you to have people who can be there for you. People who understand you. Even if we can’t be. I’m glad you met these guys, Danny; I truly am."

Danny stood still in her arms, his body trembling. The thought of outliving everyone he cared about haunted him more than anything ever could. He squeezed his eyes shut and hugged Jazz back.

Tumblr Master List

#danny phantom #crossover #Transformers Prime #Transformers #Jazz Fenton #ao3 #danny fenton #Haunting the Nemesis #Starscream #Knockout #Soundwave #Knockout x Breakdown

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