#andforthecoating

[riality-check]

for the mini fic thing! 17 with Steve & Eddie? i love your drabbles!!

This is exceptionally late, and I'm slightly adjusting the prompt, but here you go!

17. "Things I wish you hadn't said"

"You know you gave me the nickname, right?" Eddie says.

He does that a lot, Steve has learned. Starts conversations in ways that sound like the middle of them. It's one thing among many he's noticed about Eddie, since March '86.

"What?" he says, half to make sure he heard him right, half because he's a little slow from the joint they've been passing back and forth.

"The Freak," Eddie explains. He says it like he's talking about the weather and takes another drag of the joint before he passes it back to Steve. "You regretted it right after you said it. Well, right after Carol shouted it loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear. Could see it right on your face."

Steve remembers that day. His sophomore year, so Eddie's junior. Daniel McCain had gone up to Eddie, angry as anything about something Steve just had to know about.

He's glad he's not that guy anymore.

"Do you know why he came up to me? Danny?"

"No," Steve says. He interrupted that would-be conversation before he could hear any of it. He had to make himself the star of the show, all the time.

A sophomore, and already king.

He was such a prick.

He passes the joint back to Eddie without taking another drag.

"Do you remember my nose being broken?"

Steve has a flash of a memory, of a younger Eddie with hair curling just under his chin, bandages on his bruised face.

He nods.

"I kissed him the day before," Eddie says. He extinguishes the joint in favor of picking at his fingernails instead. "He didn't take too kindly to it."

Oh, shit.

"And you asked him what he had to talk to The Freak about."

For probably the hundredth time in his life, Steve hates the person he used to be. Because not only did he give Eddie the nickname that stuck with him all through the rest of his high school career, not only did he add insult to literal injury, but Steve couldn't even remember this particular cruelty in a sea of cruelties.

He wants to go back in time and shake that kid by the shoulders until his head's back on straight.

"I'm sorry. I wish I hadn't said that," he says, and it doesn't sound like nearly enough.

Eddie waves him off. "Can't go back. Besides, if you didn't say it, someone else would have. Probably me, to be honest."

Steve leans back, propping himself up on his elbows on Eddie's bed. He looks up at Eddie, sitting near his nightstand, cross-legged and still in a way that he never is when he's sober. The way he's backlit makes his hair seem like a gold halo, makes every stark detail of his silhouette stand out in a way that keeps Steve from looking away.

Not that he wants to.

He doesn't think that logic holds up. It's not worth thinking about "what-ifs," but he can't help it. He can't help the thought that if he had watched his mouth for once in his life, Eddie wouldn't have been tormented with that particular phrase.

Eddie doesn't seem to resent him for it, though. Robin always says that no one is as hard on Steve as he is, and this seems to line up with that.

Still.

"If you're not mad about it, then why-"

"I couldn't think of a better way to tell you I like boys," Eddie blurts.

Oh.

Steve has had plenty of people interested in him. He knows how to flirt back, even when they're as awkward as Eddie is, eyes burning a hole through his mattress.

It's not often that he's interested back. Really interested back.

Huh.

Guess I like men, he thinks to himself, and while thinking can wait for the morning, when he's sober, he knows that what he feels isn't going to fade along with the high.

And he knows exactly which moves to pull.

He sits up and moves a little closer to Eddie.

"Why do I need to know that?" he teases.

Eddie's head snaps up. He studies Steve's face with slightly reddened eyes, and when he finds, or doesn't find, what he's looking for, he relaxes. "Because I like you."

"You gonna do anything about it?"

"Yeah," Eddie says, leaning closer. "I'm gonna kiss you, and I hope you won't bre-"

Steve runs out of patience. He grabs Eddie's face with both hands and pulls him in.

It's a good kiss. Definitely not one worth punching over.

"You asshole!" Eddie laughs when they break apart. "You didn't let me finish my line!"

"Are you mad about it?"

"A little!"

"Too mad to kiss me again?"

Eddie pauses, grabs Steve's face, and kisses him fiercely.

Something tells Steve the answer to that last question is a resounding, "Not at all."

Prompts here.

[sincerelyverena]

pls pls pls charles x short!alive!reader? established relationship, maybe just some fluffy moments between the two?

⟡⁺ THE GHOST OF YOU

tysm for the req, anon! 💞💞 ive thoroughly enjoyed my return here, n now the story is yours n i hoped u enjoyed it as much as i loved writing it <3 special shoutout to my dbd betareaders, i love and appreciate all of u sm!

. . . CHARLES ROWLAND X GN!READER ‘think i like you best when you're just with me and no one else.’ @andforthecoating

inbox is always open for requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒you love him. and he loves you too. a story as simple as that.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒fluff ﹐short!reader﹐alive!reader ﹐established relationship ﹐im still getting a feel for charles character so go easy on me pls ﹐havent written non-smut in a long LONG time

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @love-xoxojules﹐@immortal101 ﹐@fadedpictures91 ﹐@charles-rxwlands﹐ @kidbiscuitt @smallestgremlin

Falling in love with a ghost wasn’t on the cards for you, until you met Charles Rowland.

The supernatural had haunted you since you were a small child, being the victim of a near-death experience isn’t easy on any youngling. Especially you. The consequences of viewing these seemingly mythological creatures took years of patience and silent work to endure, more so, because nobody would ever believe you if you told them you saw ghosts. How ghastly.

And as a young child, you couldn’t imagine that decades into the future, you’d be laid between the arms of one. Two bronzed columns that supported the minuscule length of your torso. And for a ghost? Charles is oddly warm. Or maybe that’s you warming up to your idea of your body heat, marinating in the crisp sheets of your bed. A sanctuary the two of you now shared, together.

But it was nice to think that it was Charles too. He was the reason why you felt comfortable and protected after all. In a world of witchcraft, warlocks, dangers, and death Charles was your home.

A pair of bow-turned lips place themselves against your temple, assisting you in drifting out of sleep. Charles murmurs against the surface of your skin, planting scattered kisses along the top of your head in the process. ‘Dove, we’re meeting Crystal for coffee, remember?’

Charles’s gently mustered words are enough to serenade a response out of your sleepy self. You murmur incoherent words, flipping yourself over so that when you inch your eyes open, they can delight in your boyfriend’s beauty.

His ebony-clad curls are fluffed to perfection atop his head, not a hint of bed-head in sight, which you consider impressive before you remember that Charles mostly spent the night just watching you. As if nothing else in the world matters. You extend a hand to the defined curve of his jaw, practically guiding his lips toward your own. They lock together in familiarity, and nothing but pure, honeyed ecstasy buzzes throughout you. This is better than coffee, better than anything. Charles tasted like heaven, hell, and everything in between.

And as you two separated, Charles beamed down at you with something indescribable bouncing around in his whiskey eyes.  ‘I think a sleep-in wouldn’t hurt, now, would it?’ Rising to the day seems like the logical option. Something that barely crosses your mind for a second before you fall captive to those bronzed arms, weaving around the hitch of your waist. And before you know it, you discover yourself half-tossed atop the ghost you had fallen for. The tall length of his legs tangled with your own. And any responsible, adult-like thought dissolved as your lips crashed together. Something oh-so-destructible yet perfect, how could you say no?

And possibly, that perfect destruction is always the reason why you both are considered late to possibly anything imaginable. If Edwin found himself in the depths of the fiery circles of hell again, the entire group would bet that you and Charles would take an eternity to part before he’d get rescued. It’d be more beneficial for Edwin to smuggle out himself.

‘We’re going to be awfully late, angel.’

‘Maybe because you keep distracting me.’

‘Nonsense, I’m brills and can do no wrong.’

You tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror before you. You scrutinise Charles with a disbelieving gaze at his words, which shortly dissolve into nothing less than adoration. Nevertheless, you continued to feign annoyance as you combed a single hand through your hair and down your scalp. Fingers adjusting the little strands to suit your desire for tidiness. 

You abandon this aspiration, pivoting upon your heel. The mask of annoyance you pertain slips away into nothingness as a soft laugh escapes you amid your words. Facing your boyfriend, you slip a hand into his own.

‘You’re lucky that I love you.’ 

'I am so very lucky.'

Charles’ adjusted his position as he moved his lips from the curve of your forehead, toward the curve of your lips. There was something passionate about how the deep onyx of hues sparked with something even deeper. Something warm and honeyed, indescribable. And before you could even decipher what it was you could feel the honeyed taste of him upon your lips, Charles scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder.

His arm relented against the small of your back, even as you holler out empty threats and meaningless curses amid your laughter. This merely prompted Charles to bounce you atop his shoulder blade, a chuckle of his own heard as you huffed and puffed. Nevertheless, you would refuse to admit that the action of soft intimacy made you feel over the moon with exhilaration.

A curse of Charles’s own accompanied your laughter as he was a breath away from the side of his torso slamming into the doorway he attempted to parade you through, which frankly made you laugh harder.

‘You’re such a dick.’ You managed to wheeze out.

‘I think you may be right about that one.’

Charles’s voice sounded with a tinge of mischief, which crept, announced in his tone. You could almost hear the grin in his voice as he articulated his words, even through your limited peripheral vision as you were held captive in his arms.

‘You love it, though.’

The Charles-like cockiness your boyfriend presented caused you to blow out a breath of feigned exasperation. Yet, unbeknownst to him, the slow ghost of a smile proceeded to creep onto your lips. Especially as he continued to balance you upon the bridge of his broadened shoulder, for a hint of dramatics, of course. Because you did love it.

And as the two of you ventured toward inevitable lateness, you couldn’t help but think how you couldn’t wait to do it all again the following morning.

WORD COUNT: 973 MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sprnklersplashes]

fic commissioned by @andforthecoating thank you for your donation to Operation Olive Branch

"gabe & natalie. prompt: gabe as a ghost (ambigious if he is or just a hallucination, like maybe he can move things but it might be her doing it idk) that Natalie starts to see/hear at some point in the show and some form of sibling bonding (he takes care of her/they have a talk/her emotions around what he means for the family)."

(ao3) fanfic fundraiser

The house is quiet.

It’s to be expected; it’s close to 2am when Henry drops her home. Every house in the street has lights switched off and curtains drawn. But her house has always felt different, right from when she learned how to recognise it. The rest of the street is quiet, but the silence in her house feels heavier.

Henry says goodnight with a kiss on her forehead. She doesn’t need to turn around to know that he’s lingering there as she opens the door, headlights on and engine softly running. 

So stupid, she thinks, as a faint blush creeps across her cheeks. So ridiculously stupid, she thinks as the smile on her face grows.

Boots in her hand, Natalie creeps through the hall and up the stairs. She’s still relatively new to this whole sneaking-back-after-curfew thing; before now, her late-night study sessions were confined to her bedroom. Still, she’s nothing if not a good student. Quiet on the balls of her feet, quick past her parents’ bedroom, opening her door carefully so it doesn’t creak.

Prom night begins to wear off as soon as she reaches her bed. It fades from her like rain running off a rooftop and she lets out a mighty yawn, limbs already sinking into the mattress. Her boots were tossed on the floor as she came in. Vaguely, she’s aware that she should take off her dress and probably her make-up too, but as her eyes fall closed she’s content with it being tomorrow’s problem. Half-wrapped in her duvet, she presses her face into the mattress, just inches away from sleep when-

“And what sort of time is this?”

Her eyes open.

Natalie bolts up, her thumping heart matched only by the echo in her head. Chest heaving, she scans her room as a small, hopeful voice asks if she imagined it. But she heard it, crystal clear. She couldn’t make that up.

As she reaches for the bedside lamp, the hair on her neck rises, the distinct feeling of being watched washes all over her. Her free hand grabs her purse and reaches for the pepper spray inside.

As soon as the light is on, she sees him. A figure stands against her closet. The scream is wrenched from her throat, and in her haste she forgets all about the pepper spray and chucks a pillow at him.

Her aim is off. It lands sadly just beside him. He looks down at it, bemused.

“Nice shot.”

“Who the fuck are you?” she hisses. “And how the hell did you get in my room?”

“Oh, you love the descriptors don’t you?” he asks wryly. “The fuck. The hell.” Natalie is sitting straight up, pepper spray hot in her hand, plans forming in her mind. She could blind him with the spray, then grab the alarm clock and bludgeon him with it. She could grab a belt or the cord for the curtain and tie his legs together. Yet as the plans pull together, he just looks at her, and in his gaze there’s a familiarity that holds her back. A small, adamant whisper of you know him.

He crosses the room, his gait brimming with false confidence. In the lamplight, she can see the deep brown eyes, dark hair sticking up in every direction. She sees that he can’t be much older than she is.

Then, he’s in front of her. She holds the pepper spray up, eyes bright and hand steady. He blinks, then reaches out. His hand slips through her hair, so light she doesn’t feel a thing. When he smiles, there’s a sadness in it.

“You look so like Mom,” he mumbles. She isn’t sure if he’s talking to her or himself.  

Natalie’s breath hitches, and all at once the realisation crashes over her, a tsunami wave against a tiny coastal town. Her head shakes because no, this is not-

She’s lost it. She has really, truly lost it. 

“Gabriel.” The syllables tremble on her tongue, as if they don’t want to come together. Gabriel smirks, then bows like he’s on stage. Natalie’s mouth hangs open, the sour aftertaste of his name lingering there. Carefully, the pepper spray lowers. 

They stand there, the silence so full that Natalie fears it will shatter. Gabriel rocks on his heels, his hands in his back pockets. 

He’s beautiful, Natalie can’t deny that. Long lashes and big doe eyes that would drive anyone wild. Dimples when he smiles and a face that’s almost angelic. There’s nothing of her in him; his skin is peachy where hers is pale, his eyes sparkle with no red anywhere. He’s handsome, just as mom always said he was. 

“You don’t look like your baby pictures.”

“Probably because I was a baby,” he says jovially. He speaks like it’s all one big game, which maybe it is to him. She doesn’t know how ghosts operate-if he is actually a ghost and not something conjured by her fucked-up mind. 

“You have questions.”

“Not really,” she says. It’s false. Sure she has questions, the main one being ‘what the fuck’. She also has several things she would like to say to him and the list grows longer by the second. She clears her throat, pushes her hair off her shoulder, and settles for the most obvious one. “Why are you here?”

Gabe folds his arms, his shoulders wriggle. He smiles so innocently, so easily. Like it means nothing to him. Like it’s obvious.

“Is it so wrong to want to see you?” he asks. “I kept trying to talk to you but I just couldn’t. You’re my sister after all. I want to talk to you.” The word sister feels more akin to a slap in the face. She flinches and Gabriel’s eyes widen. 

“You’re a pretty lousy brother,” she tells him. He scowls at that, like a kid being put in the corner.

“I mean… it was not my fault that I died, was it?” He gives a half-hearted shrug, face half-turned away. “Believe me, I was not planning on it.”

Everything hits her at once. Sixteen long, lonely years of living in this house, constantly cold in his shadow. Sixteen years of sitting like a forgotten book on a shelf and counting up every achievement and trophy in the hopes that they’d make her mother see her. Wandering the world like a ghost, like someone who was never fully born. Pausing her movie or closing her book because her mom was screaming downstairs. 

It rumbles, a thunderstorm in her chest, until her fingers shake and her heart is pounding and Gabe is looking at her with concern all over his perfect, lovely face.

She grabs the alarm clock from her dresser and chucks it. 

Gabe gasps and he ducks just a second before it hits him. The clock smacks into the wardrobe, the door shudders with the impact, then hits the floor. The back falls off, batteries roll out. The hands fall limply to one side. 

And then she’s crying. She’s crying because her alarm clock is broken. 

“Natalie?” There’s a knock at her door. Gabe freezes, his expression like a deer in headlights and at once, he dives to the floor and presses against the closet. Covered in shadows, Natalie can barely see him. All there is is the faint notion of him pleading with her. When she looks again, she sees him press a finger to his lips.

“Nat?” her dad asks again. She hastily wipes her face and rushes to the door, positioning herself so none of her room is visible. A voice whispers that she’s ridiculous, because if he looked in he’d find no-one there. But… look there’s only so much she can risk right now.

“You okay hon?” he asks. “I heard-I thought I heard you shouting.”

“I’m fine,” she replies. This part is easy. She’s become something of an expert at lying. “I-I saw a spider.”

“A spider?”

“Yeah.” She nods, taps her nails against the wood. “Really big one. I killed it though so it’s-it’s fine.” Her dad nods once, slowly, skepticism plain as day on his face. He studies her, sleep-heavy eyes drilling into her face. Natalie wonders what he sees when he looks at her. Gabe had said she looks like Mom. Does he see that too? The ghost of the woman he sacrificed everything to save? The ghost of Gabe? Did he ever look at her and see her?

“Well, good night then.”

“Good night Dad.”

She closes the door gently, with a soft and quick exhale.

Then she storms over to her bed, throws herself on it, and cries into her pillow. 

Fuck, she was meant to be done with this.

It’s not long before Gabe sits down beside her. She doesn’t exactly feel it, not in the normal way. The bed doesn’t sink under his extra weight. Instead she senses him, like a small pull in her chest. When she turns over, she finds him cross-legged atop the covers, elbows resting on his knees and picking at a loose nail. His head is slightly bowed, eyes half-obscured by his hair. He looks normal. He looks sad. 

“I hate you,” she mumbles. “I fucking hate you.”

“I know,” Gabe sighs. He pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin on top of them. Guilt prickles against her skin and Natalie wants to scream because why should she feel bad? 

They sit there for a long time. It’s quiet enough that Natalie could fall asleep if she wanted to. She has a feeling Gabe wouldn’t stop her and that’s what keeps her awake. Whether he’s real or a dream or she’s just straight up crazy, she wants to see this to the end. 

“I was six when I found out about you,” Natalie croaks. “Because Mom forgot my birthday and then two months later she threw a party for you. I thought it was a make-up party for me but it-it was for you.” She sniffles. “Then when I was seven, I cut my hair real short. I figured since Mom had lost you I’d just look like you and give her you back.” She chokes, a ragged sob tears from her. “Mom took one look at me and ran out of the room crying.”

“I remember,” Gabe says weakly. She looks up at him, eyes blazing. Her hurt is a tangible thing; it hangs in the air like fog. “You wore hats for the rest of the year until it grew back.”

“What did you think?”

“I think you looked ridiculous with it,” he offers. And for some fucking reason, Natalie laughs. It’s a short-lived little thing, but it was there. Gabe pulls himself inward, his thumb rubs circles against his leg.

“I won’t lie to you,” he tells her. He curls in on himself, traces patterns on his jeans. “A lot of the time, I liked it. I liked when Mom looked at me instead of you. Hell, I pushed for it. Because if Mom was looking at me-it meant I was still alive.” He closes his eyes and breathes out. “It felt like I never died.”

“You did though,” she says. It’s so blunt and so cruel that she can’t quite believe she said it. “You died, Gabriel. And you were meant to stay dead.” She gasps, her chest and cheeks burning. The worst taste bitter and she spits them out. “It would’ve been better for everyone.” Hot tears roll down her face. “You ruined my fucking life and you want my sympathy?”

“I don’t want your sympathy,” he sighs. His head falls back, and the light catches the matching tears on his face. Natalie blinks. She didn’t know ghosts could cry. She doesn’t want him to cry.

“I never meant for any of this to happen.” His voice is hollow. “For this whole time, I never thought about what was happening to you. I just-” He swallows, shudders, looks down at his hands. “I was lonely. And I was angry.”

“Join the club.” It doesn’t come out quite as angrily as she meant it. Gabe looks at her, brown eyes so wide that she can’t breathe. At this moment, he doesn’t look like a monster or a ghost or a phantom; he looks seventeen. He looks like her brother. Natalie reaches for the hatred and the anger that she knows and it slips through her fingers.

Maybe she’s growing. Maybe she’s just tired.

“I’m so sorry, Natalie,” he says. And that squeezes her heart like a vice. It squeezes until the edges crack and the pain comes spilling out until it’s all over her and her bedsheets and it’s all over Gabe too, because he’s crawled over to her and his hand is on her shoulder and he’s sobbing with her. And she doesn’t want to push him away. She wants him to hold all over shattered pieces with her.

(How many times can a person be broken and rebuilt in one night?)

For a long, long moment, they’re silent. All they can hear is her beating heart and the catch in her breath and a car passing outside.

“I think in another life we were friends,” she says. Her voice breaks. She feels, rather than sees, Gabe’s smile. His shoulders sag, as if she took some weight from him.

“I hope so,” he mutters against her hair. It sounds real. He sighs, presses his weightless body into hers. Atop her covers, his fingers brush hers and while the physical sensation isn’t there, something else is. Something soft, warm, tickling her skin.

It feels like forgiveness. 

“Get some sleep, kiddo,” he tells her. “I’ll watch over you.”

“Creepy,” she mutters. Gabe averts his eyes as she steps out of her dress and dumps it on the chair. She pulls on a t-shirt and Gabe sits quietly as she scrubs off her make-up. He shuffles aside as she flips over the covers, her eyes half-closed. She’s almost certain that he won’t be there when she wakes up. 

“Hey,” she says. “One more question.”

“Of course.”

“Are you real?” She lifts her heavy head, forcing her eyes open. With tiredness blurring her vision, helooks more hazy. He could fade away in one blink. “Or am I actually crazy.”

Gabe chuckles, a warm, throaty sound. His fingers brush her hairline.

“Would you believe me if I said I don’t know?” 

“Yeah,” mumbles. Her eyes fall closed. “Yeah I would.”

Isn’t it a classic Goodman trait, to not know if you’re real or not?

She wakes late the next morning, when the sun is already blaring through her window. Her room is aglow, painted in yellows and oranges. 

The alarm clock is back on her table. The hands tick steadily.  The closet door is solid, intact.

Her blue dress is hanging against it, carefully pressed and her boots laid underneath. 

She smiles. 

[rainbow-universe]

🥰🥰🥰 love this!!

►These things take time

ao3 saw it first

Summary: 4 times Gideon stops Elle from calling him dad and the one time he lets her.

Relationships: Elle Greenaway & Jason Gideon, Elle Greenaway / Spencer Reid

Word count: 1618

i.

They’re on the phone the first time it happens. There’s a case, like most days, and Elle is stuck with Morgan in the SUV they always end up driving. He’s been blasting music for the last twenty minutes, so when the phone rings Elle is quite happy to hear the signal. She motions for Morgan, who’s not heard the signal, to pause the cd player as she picks up the phone and checks the caller ID.

“Hey Gideon!”

“Are you on your way to the crime scene?”

“Yeah, we’re driving there now. Care to brief us?” She says and out of the corner of her eye she can see Morgan snickering.

“The victim is Peter Andersen, white male, 43 years old. Stabbed multiple times in the abdomen. We think the unsub is still in the area.”

He pauses and Elle takes it for what it is, a warning, and most likely the end of the briefing.

“Ok, anything else?”

She can hear him breathing in and then, with a voice laced with worry, he says

“Be careful.”

And honestly she can’t take the way he sounds so genuine, can’t take the way it makes her stomach twist. So she sighs exasperatedly and rolls her shoulders, satisfied when they make a small cracking noise.

“Yes, dad.”

“Not your dad, Greenaway.”

ii.

She’s sitting beside Reid. Up until five minutes ago they had been together in companionable silence, which had now been disturbed.

The paramedic who had previously forgotten about her is on her like a hawk and insisting he take her to the hospital. She knows it’s stupid but she wishes the paramedic would leave her alone a bit more.

Elle’s really not that hurt except for the gash in her forehead, which isn’t even bleeding that much anymore. And the headache, but she has those all the time. So really, she’s not that hurt.

When she spots Gideon walking over to them, she can feel a small sliver of hope burning in her chest. If it were Hotch she wouldn’t even ask, but with Gideon, she thinks there might be a small chance he’ll help her.

“Gideon, will you please tell him that I don't need to go to the hospital?”

“Regulations are regulations.” He says sternly before looking her up and down. If Elle didn’t know better she’d say he looks concerned: “You're all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, dad.” And, God, didn’t that slip out a little too easily. She can feel Reid tensing beside her even though he’s trying to cover it by faking a small shiver.

Gideon is the one to break the silence:

“Hey Elle?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever call me ‘dad’ again.” He says.

As she watches his retreating back she turns to Reid, who’s stayed right next to her for the whole conversation, albeit a little awkwardly. She smiles a little, shakes her head, and deadpans:

“How do you think he’d feel about ‘mom’?”

That earns her a lopsided smile and a:

“Let me know when you’re going to do that so I can uh- run.”

iii.

The team is in the conference room when it happens. It’s been a rough couple of days and Elle knows they’re starting to take a toll on her.

She knows because when Reid asked if she wanted sugar in her coffee this morning, she’d said yes. Today, she might actually have a shot at beating his standing record of the amount of sugar in one cup of coffee. She and Morgan have been trying to one-up each other on that front for months, but she usually can’t take more than two sugars and Morgan never manages to finish his coffee when he tries.

“Elle, you take Reid and go over the evidence the Philly PD sent us.”

Elle looks up from her coffee, the spoon in her hand still swirling around in the cup. She shakes her head a few times to try and get rid of the fog in her head.

“Yeah, dad- I mean… dad. Uhh- Jason! Sir.” She can hear Morgan snickering behind her, and honestly, isn’t this just great. Spencer (and when did he become Spencer?) gives her a small, shy smile before he too lets out a quiet giggle.

“Just Gideon, Elle,” Gideon affirms and just like that Morgan’s outright chuckling.

As if the mortification of saying the wrong title at 7am wasn’t enough.

Elle slides down a few inches in her chair and stretches her legs, aiming to kick Spencer under the table, while attempting to send a murderous look Morgan’s way. She probably doesn’t look as intimidating as she wants to.

vi.

Spencer is sitting in his desk chair while Elle’s taken the liberty to sit on his desk, her legs dangling off the end and awkwardly brushing against his knees. The coffee cup his hands are wrapped around has ‘pretty high degree’ written on it in bold black letters. According to Elle, it’s the best cup they have in the office- and it’s definitely not just because she has the best humour of the team and had bought it specifically with him in mind.

Her phone rings, disturbing the peace and quiet (or as much of it she can get at the BAU). From across the room, she can hear Morgan whistling.

“Not a boyfriend,” and then, because she’s a tease and she loves to balance the scales “I’m interested in someone else, actually.”

She can see Morgan’s eyebrows raising.

”Get off it, Morgan.” She sighs “I don’t think he likes me anyway.”

“It’s actually highly unlikely that he doesn’t like you. It’s called reciprocal liking, if he thinks you like him, then he’ll start to like you even more. And some peo- “

“Reid,” she interrupts with laughter in her voice, “thank you. But I don’t want someone to like me just because I like them.” She pauses for a moment: “Besides, I’m pretty sure this guy doesn’t fall into the statistics.”

Spencer takes a sip of his probably diabetic inducing coffee and looks up at her.

“Most people do. That’s the point of statistics.”

“I guess so,” she amends, in an attempt

To end the conversation. She has to get out- and fast. ”I’m getting more coffee, want some?”

“Please,” he says and hands her his cup.

Elle grabs her own disregarded cup from beside her on the desk and hops off it, thankful when she doesn’t upend the whole desk. She makes her way into the kitchen seemingly normally but she can feel the ghost of their conversation as a weight. It’s not that she cares what Spencer thinks, not really, but it’s also the fact that she does care.

It’s all too confusing for 2 o'clock in the afternoon so she settles for pouring the coffee from the coffee pot, trying to silence her thoughts. Just as she’s taking out the creamer from the fridge she feels someone’s presence behind her in the kitchen.

She turns around; Spencer’s cup in one hand, creamer in the other and the fridge door wide open.

“How are you?” Gideon asks and he looks genuinely concerned in the way only he can- where it’s phrased like a throwaway question and you can’t really see the tenderness behind it unless you know what to look for.

“I-“ she hadn’t realised she’d been choked up but as she tries to answer him she is made acutely aware of the overwhelming something she feels. “I just don’t think Reid’s right, you know,” she settles for and takes a deep breath.

“Well, it’s only human to be wrong.”

“I know,” she sighs and turns back to the coffee, closing the fridge door as she does so, and seeming the conversation over.

“And, Elle?” Gideon says and she looks over once again at where he’s standing in the arch-way to the kitchen with a knowing gleam in his eyes, “Any boy would be lucky to have you.”

She swallows, shock probably written plain across her face. Sure they’re all profilers and Gideon’s been on the job for longer than any of them but she still can’t quite fathom how he got it right on the nose.

“Yeah, yeah I know,” she elbows him after a moment, before mockingly adding “dad.”

“Elle, I’ve told you not to call me that.”

+ i

Gideon stays behind in the hospital, even though he can feel his eyelids drooping. He wants to blame it on the lack of sleep but, if he’s honest with himself, it’s mostly because he knows Elle’s in there, fighting for her life. She’s out of surgery now but he’d insisted on being there until she’d woken.

People can say whatever they want about Gideon (old, naive, fatherly) and most of it would be right, as proven by how his back is starting to hurt from the plastic hospital chair.

“Dad?”

An unsure voice permeates the deafening silence of the hospital room and Gideon lifts his head from where it’s been resting against his hands and is met with an awakened Elle.

Gideon takes her hand in his larger ones, almost hiding them from sight, and lets out a relieved sigh. She looks so, so fragile, as if she’ll flicker away any second. Her eyes are bloodshot and skin is sickly pale. He can see the bandages peeking through where her shirt has bundled up and he resists the urge to straighten it.

She looks horrible but at least she’s alive- she’s alive and she will recover- and that’s all that matters right now. He takes another steadying breath and squeezes her hands.

“Yeah, I’m here Elle. You’re safe.”

[drerry]

Hey I love your idea with the non-rates, it seems like an amazing way to spread positivity 💫🌙

hey thank you i’m glad you like this idea! if i can ask what’s your url from? and god your posts are on point!! i hope your day is being good! ♡

[minuses]

br | I love eleanor and park 💫

thats such a cute book tbh

url: not my type / meh / good / amazing / can i have ur url pls???

icon:  not my type / meh / good / amazing / flawless

mobile theme:  not my type / meh / good / amazing / i can’t stop looking at it, it’s absolutely stunning !!!

desktop theme:  not my type / meh / good / amazing / i’m going to steal it

updates tab:  not my type / meh / good / amazing / so litttttt where did u get it from?

posts:  not my type / meh / good / amazing / so aesthetically pleasing omg

overall: not my type / meh / good / amazing / perfection

thoughts & comments: you should change your desktop theme to suit your aesthetic better tbh

following?: no(t) yet / + follow / yes / ofc i am, can we pls be friends??

[ao3feed-kleinsen]

And suddenly (it didn't make sense anymore)

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2xGUdpm

by andforthecoating

Evan needs a friend, and Jared doesn't mind.

(or Jared is ridiculously in love and Evan is oblivious.)

Words: 1206, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Jared Kleinman, Evan Hansen

Relationships: Evan Hansen/Jared Kleinman

Additional Tags: pining!jared, Pining, Unrequited Crush, Or Is It?, Anxiety, Evan is oblivious, and also adorable, The Insanely Cool Jared Kleinman, Kleinsen, Kleinsen (one-sided), This only sucks a little bit, Fluff, Jared just wishes he didn't fall in love so easily

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2xGUdpm

[sincerelyverena]

. . . DEAD BOY DETECTIVES MASTERLIST

‘it is the stance of this department that a misplaced dead child causes more trouble than a live one.’

⇀ CHARLES ROWLAND @andforthecoating

➜ headcanons · tba

➜ drabbles · the ghost of you ⁎ · indecisive ⁎

➜ oneshots · so american ⁎ · motion sickness ⁎ · four walls ⁎ ➜ series · tba

MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

HII if you feel like writing this, could i request a charles/genderfluid reader in which the reader comes out to him ? and with other fluff xx

no worries if not though !

⟡⁺ INDECISIVE

thank u anon! <3 i luv this req eeeee

. . . CHARLES ROWLAND X GENDER FLUID!READER ‘there is a difference between body and mind.’ @andforthecoating

inbox is always open for requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒your trust in charles is put to the test when you come out to him.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒fluff ﹐amab!reader﹐established relationship ﹐charles being the supportive partner he is ﹐reader is a lil anxious

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @arthursdonkeyears﹐@deadshowsagency﹐@no-baths-for-stan

You didn’t know how to tell him. But it hurt not to. It had been plaguing you for days, and you held it tightly to your chest. Internally grimacing every time you were referred to wrongly, even though you knew it wasn’t his fault. He just didn’t know.

And over the past few days, Charles had been oblivious to it all. Every time he picked up on your shift in energy, you lied through your teeth, ignoring every single opportunity to sit him down and tell him.

So you shouldn’t have been surprised when the universe thrust you into an awkward position that night, virtually giving you a decision to tell your boyfriend once and for all.

You had picked up a wig from a store downtown the day prior and were itching to try it on. You had followed every instruction you watched from your phone, laying down the wig onto the adhesive you had applied to the wig cap. 

Brushing the hairs out with the pad of your fingers, you stared into the reflection of the mirror in front of you. Your lips upturned, feeling positively elated at the sight. You were so caught up in gender euphoria that you hadn’t realised that Charles had drifted into the bathroom, as casual as Charles could be.

‘[Y/N]?’

Oh, shit.

You slowly turned around at a comedic pace, and met Charles’s eyes with a plethora of anxiety that suddenly grappled at your throat. He wasn’t supposed to find out in this way, was he? And his look of confusion was enough for you to blurt out the one thing that screamed out in your mind.

‘I’m genderfluid,’ you said without a second thought.

Realisation seeped into Charles, blurring out the prior confusion. His shoulders slumped, and his lips quirked upwards. He was… smiling? Nevertheless, he didn’t say anything and just stepped towards you, slipping his arms around the curve of your waist and pulling you into him.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Charles mumbled into the top of your head.

Your arms were draped around his shoulders, you practically inhaled him. You had zero idea how his clothes still carried the scent he wore when he was still alive, but it served to be a comfort in that moment. ‘I was scared.’

At the hue of your words, Charles pulled away momentarily to look down at you. His lips were pressed together, presenting a look of seriousness that rarely shone through, except in times like this. ‘You thought I’d judge you? That’s bollocks.’

You looked away. ‘No, I— I didn’t  know how to explain it.’

Charles reached upwards. The pad of his thumb met the bottom of your chin, and his eyes softened incredibly. Lips parted. ‘I’m always going to be yours, love. No matter who you are.’

The intensity and the emotion in his words brought you to tears in a literal sense. Relief flooded throughout you and you ducked your head, feeling your eyes sting with unshed tears. The action of telling Charles something of this extent had become such a burden for you, that it felt as if you could finally breathe again.

‘So I’m assuming you’re my girlfriend right now, right?’ Charles added on, causing you to blink back your tears and look up. He was admiring you. A stark opposite to what your anxieties had whispered to you moments prior.

You smiled, absentmindedly running a hand through the wig you had installed. ‘Yeah, I am.’

‘In that case, you’re the fittest girl that I’ve ever laid eyes on.’ Charles’s serious tone slipped back into the similar flirtatiousness he typically used around you. He lowered himself to press a singular, long kiss at the top of your head.

That same elated feeling you had experienced after you saw yourself with the wig on returned tenfold at being addressed in that manner, and a laugh slipped from you. Staring up at your boyfriend with all of the love and light in the world, gender euphoria warm and honeyed in your veins.

‘I love you,’ you murmured.

‘I love you too, sweetheart.’ Charles pulled back, hands still propped on the hitch of your waist. He smiled down at you. ‘Now, there’s a little charity shop a block away and I’m positive there’s an outfit there that’ll look brills with your hair.’

Take that, anxiety!

WORD COUNT: 781 MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

charles x american!reader? maybe like him making fun of the reader for their accent? inspo based off so american by olivia rodrigo lol

⟡⁺ SO AMERICAN

tysm for the req, anon! wow, i absolutely love basing fics off of song lyrics. keep it coming, y'alls. :]

. . . CHARLES ROWLAND X GN!READER ‘but ain't it love? i think im in love.’ @andforthecoating

inbox is always open for requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒your tense relationship is tested with charles when the two of you are forced to bunk together for a roadtrip.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒fluff ﹐american!reader﹐mutual pining ﹐idiots in love ﹐forced proximity ﹐reader has an attitude (charles loves it)﹐charles being a flirt (they secretly love it)﹐i saw a charles edit to this and my entire brain chemistry shifted﹐roadtrip!

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @arthursdonkeyears﹐@deadshowsagency﹐@no-baths-for-stan﹐@spiteful-summer-of-sixteen

‘If he makes one more stupid remark about my accent, Crystal, I swear I’m going to bind him with iron chains.’

If Crystal had a pound for the number of times you’d raved on about Charles – mainly about his tendency to make fun of your American-ness (or about how ridiculous his hair looks) – she’d be able to move out of the Tongue & Tail with a snap of her fingers. Lucky for you, Crystal took amusement in your rants, no matter how numerous they seemed to have gotten over the past few months.

The woman by your side flipped through the contents of her messenger bag as you spoke, raising her head in time for her to flash you a lopsided grin. Crystal abandoned the bag, arms crossed over the front of her chest as she observed you closely.

‘[Y/N]. I’m saying this with all the peace, love and light in the world. Please don’t try and kill Charles during our trip.’ Crystal made her words clear with a sweeping gesture towards the beat-down truck Charles had managed to snag a few days prior and refused to disclose where the hell he obtained it from.

The trip. You mentally facepalmed for letting the event slip your mind. Of course, the boys had to take up a case hours away from their makeshift office in Port Townsend, and due to the majority of the group being lucky enough to be alive, they had to do it the old-fashioned way.

‘He’s lucky he’s already dead,’ you grumbled under your breath.

Your eyes averted momentarily towards the ghost, who was examining the engine for the ninth time that afternoon. Ebony-clad curls ruffled atop his forehead. The cat-like nature of his eyes narrowed further in concentration. Signature jacket tossed in the back of the trunk. Your lips quirked upwards briefly as you scrutinised him. God, he looked so stupid. It made your heart batter between your ears three times harder.

And maybe the universe felt like playing a sick, sick prank on you. Niko’s wondrous planning skills were thrown out the window as Crystal announced shotgun next to the designated driver, Niko, whilst Edwin decided that sprawling out across the backseat with a plethora of his books was proper enough. Leaving both you and Charles to rot in the truck bed.

‘Looking forward to the road trip, America?’ 

That oh-so-familiar voice rang out behind your ears as you mounted the back of the vehicle, a plethora of chips and snacks tucked under your arm. For moral support, of course, as you met those dangerously daring onyx eyes. 

‘I was,’ you exaggerated those two words, lips upturning sweetly before they dropped into a scowl.

Charles feigned offence, hand clasped to his chest as he proceeded to gawk at you. And alas, without any warning needed, in the midst of your distraction of fluid annoyance, Charles stretched over and snatched the bag of crisps right out of your grasp. Popping them open with a snap of his fingers. Even though the undead couldn’t eat, it paid with just as much satisfaction to watch you glower. 

Your shouts of disapproval fell upon deaf ears, Charles merely responded by propping his feet up on a stray cardboard box, crisps prompt in his lap.

The group had well set off now on their adventures. The breeze had picked up on the road, ruffling Charles’s espresso curls as he reclined his head back, bathing himself in the glory of the whistling air around them. You, on the other hand, inclined yourself to check your phone every once in a while, refusing to let your stare wander any more than it must.

Nevertheless, you found yourself being continuously drawn to the dead boy by your side as the both of you fell into something similar to a comfortable silence. 

‘I can feel your eyes on me, y’know?’ 

Charles’s accented pique cut through the silence, causing you to look sideways with an exasperated look on your face. You crossed two arms over your chest, unwilling to admit you were in fact allowing your eyes to wander.

‘Don’t be flattered,’ you started at once, not wanting Charles to take the unnecessary attention the wrong way. Raising a hand, you gestured towards him with a singular finger. ‘Looking at you makes me feel less cold.’ He’s dead, after all.

Charles didn’t respond for a second. Some sort of amusement crinkled in his eyes before he inclined forwards, shrugging off the plaid-lined jacket at his shoulders in the process. Before you could even ask what the hell he was doing, he dropped the garment into the frame of your lap.

You stared at the piece of clothing momentarily, before turning back to Charles. ‘What was that for?’’

‘You’re complaining of being cold, werent’cha?’

‘Thanks, I guess.’

You took the jacket in one palm, hesitating for a few beats before you moved your arms into the sleeves, adjusting the garment against your statue. It was undeniably making you feel a little warmer. The only downside was that it smelt just like Charles, somehow. The scent wafted through your nostrils, churning your gut with something indescribable.

Charles watched you. He adjusted the collar of the shirt he wore beneath, leaning back against the vehicle they occupied. ‘You look pretty in that.’

You froze. Pretty? Did you hear that correctly?

Glancing upwards, you witnessed in real-time as a soft smirk wound up Charles’s lips. There was something foreign in his stare as he observed you from head to toe, the sudden attention was enough for you to flush under the attention. Going from cold to unbearably hot in a few seconds.

Those feelings were so maddening for you to feel. You weren’t supposed to like the fact Charles was highkey flirting with you. You were supposed to gag and take the piss out of him for even thinking he could get away with that.

‘I didn’t realise that was enough for you to go quiet, [Y/N].’ Charles was grinning now, taking enjoyment out of the fact his words got under your skin.

You steadied the erratic beating of your heart. ‘Oh, shut up.’ 

‘Oh, shuddup,’ he mocked, feigning a horrible American accent.

Sparing a final glare, you turned your back on Charles entirely.

The sun soon dipped beneath the road, and the horizon changed to a muted darkness. The cold you had felt simmered down, thanks to Charles and his oddly comfortable jacket. Having nothing else to do but listen to the stifled music Niko played from inside the vehicle and lay against the fluffy pillows she had set up. 

Accompanied with the thick blanket at the back of the truck, it was so easy to feel yourself drift off to sleep. And soon enough, you opened your eyes to see the night sky twinkling back at you. You stifled a yawn, gradually waking yourself up. You rolled yourself onto your other side, and you saw Charles lying up on the other side. Staring at you with those eyes. He was too close. Too close for comfort.

You looked away at once, feeling your stomach flutter. ‘That’s not at all creepy to wake up to.’

‘I was starting to think you were dead,’ Charles remarked in return.

The two of you lay in silence for a few moments. And suddenly, you were ultra aware of Charles. Of how he lay barely an inch away from you. His eyes were downcast, but they would flicker towards you every once in a while, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. There was something otherworldly in the air that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You placed your palm on the blanket beneath you, moving to push yourself up into a seated position. As you attempted, the vehicle you slept on drove over a bump in the road ahead. Your arm slipped, tripping over yourself at the sudden disruption in your movements.

You hadn’t realised your arm was caging Charles in until you regained your composure from the unexpected fall, witnessing the British boy’s eyes staring up at you with a look that you couldn’t make out. 

You needed to pull back, to put space between the two of you, but you just couldn’t.

It was a fleeting moment. One second, you were hovering over Charles and the next moment his lips were on your own. It felt like any other kiss. It felt strangely electric, not in a metaphorical sense but a literal one. It was addictive, pulsating with a heat you hadn’t experienced before.

His hand moved to your waist, steadying you as he continued to kiss you. There was something foreign that drove his movements, a need that you hadn’t seen in him before.

You moved away to catch your breath, somewhat mentally frozen at the fact you literally just kissed Charles Rowland. The Charles that has been driving you insane for what felt like forever. ‘That was…’

‘Indescribable.’ Charles finished, looking just as starstruck as you felt. The pad of his thumb drew circles into the curve of your hip. With that motion alone, you didn’t hesitate to capture his lips with your own once more.

You might just be in lo-lo-love.

WORD COUNT: 1.6K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

Charles and reader “smut” except they’re clumsy and awkward and it’s wholesome because both of them are just so goofy

And let’s be real, Charles is totally all talk and 0 game, he brags about being so experienced but he’s full of shit and he’s really just an awkward nervous goofball

⟡⁺ FOUR WALLS

this was SO fun to write omg. thank u anon! <3

. . . CHARLES ROWLAND X FEM!READER ‘cause i want to make you feel like its your first time.’ @andforthecoating

inbox is always open for requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒you and charles have sex for the first time, and neither of you know how the hell to go about it.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒smut﹐established relationship﹐unserious sex ﹐choking ﹐charles has zero idea how to fuck ﹐reader doesnt know any better﹐love my babies so proud of them﹐reader questioning why tf she started dating him in the first place﹐'CHARLES FOR FUCKS SAKE’﹐ this prompt made me giggle and kick my feet i love you anon

Soft giggles were prominent in the air of your room. You fumbled to close the door behind you and Charles, hands searching for the door handle as you broke away from your boyfriend. You were barely able to pop the lock before his lips were on your own again.

The two of you were dying (except for Charles, he’s already dead) to get away from your group of friends to have some time alone. The wait was almost excruciating, as Charles whispered sweet-nothings into the crook of your ear all night. His hand gripping your knee a little too tightly, your thigh pressing together underneath the table your friends sat around.

Charles’s lips were hot against your own. It was hungry, ferocious. He was like a starved man who hadn’t eaten for years and you loved every second of it. Sloppily, his mouth derails toward your neck. Single-handedly pinning your lower back against your door, even though the bed was right there.

‘Proper doll, you are.’ Charles murmured between kisses. He was bound to leave many marks on the surface of your throat. ‘Proper.’

The sound of Charles’s jacket hitting the ground caused a sense of anticipation, and adrenaline, to spike. You two of you had only made out with heated, sloppy kisses as if the two of you were teenagers again. Which was the closest thing to sex the two of you had ever experienced, before that, your first time was so long ago you barely remembered how to act in a situation like this.

Charles’s hands travelled downward, past your torso and toward the curve of your ass. His palms fisted the bottoms you wore, before he took your leg with one hand, lifting it toward his waist and pinning it there with his fingers.

You glanced downward, confusion scribbled on your face.

Charles must’ve sensed your hesitance before he pulled back. ‘C’mon, let me carry you.’

‘OHH.’ OK, that makes more sense, doesn’t it?

Putting your faith into Charles, you draped a second leg around his hips. Charles swept you off of your feet as he held you up with his hands. Yet, he was knocked off his feet himself. Charles lost his balance, stumbling backward. You gripped the back of his next, almost painfully as you let out a strangled shout.

‘Holy shit, Charles.’

‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’

Eventually, the two of you made it onto the bed. You were sent onto the mattress with a soft oomph leaving your lips as your back hit the surface and Charles scrambled on top. The collared shirt he wore was slightly unbuttoned, chain-dangling. It would’ve been a hot sight if Charles didn’t look immensely uncomfortable while adjusting his pants.

You couldn’t help yourself but let out a giggle as you saw how painfully hard Charles was, the fabric of the pants he wore suffocating his groin. ‘Need help?’

He flushed a little. ‘Maybe.’

You reached downward. With the pad of your fingers, you took a second to unbutton the fabric and unhook his suspenders. Charles gave a strangled grunt as you pushed his pants down, past his thighs and knees. While you continued to work on his boxers, Charles stripped of his button-up and white wifebeater that lay beneath. Until he was completely bare, just for you.

You leant back to begin to rid of your clothes as Charles proceeded to watch. He was propped on his knees, his palm moving to the length that lay out before him. Rolling his fingers around his cock, moving his hand up and down gradually.

‘Dead fit.’ Charles had grunted under his breath, eyes refusing to advert from you as you tossed your clothes aside before you began to work on your undergarments. He sped up, hips stuttering as the pad of his fingers worked faster.

Your abdomen burnt with a foreign heat as you watched Charles get off at the sight of you naked. Your lacy bra fell away, revealing the mound of your breasts that made him flush and continue to palm himself until a soft gasp escaped the scrawl of his throat.

You watched, almost entranced, as long spurts of thick semen escaped his tip. Wetting the top of your sheets, something you shortly realise that you’ll have to clean afterwards. ‘You came already?’

‘I mean, just look at you.’ Charles spurted between soft breaths of effort. He snatched a tissue from your nightstand, moving to clean himself up.

You flushed, like, really flushed. ‘Oh, shuddup.’

You were suddenly aware of how bare you were, you hadn’t been this vulnerable with Charles in this manner yet. You looked downward, stifling the smile that threatened to tug your lips. Reaching forward, you took the tissue into your own hands and helped Charles to soak up the leftover cum. ‘You brought condoms, yeah?’

Charles snapped back to reality, chest still weaving from his climax. He placed a single hand on the firm skin of your thigh and nodded, his other searching the pockets of his pants. He drew out a couple of rubbers, fingers rushing to rip it open.

As your boyfriend slipped the condom onto his cock, you leant back against the headboard of your bed. You felt a sudden nervousness grip your chest, this was really happening.

Charles propped himself up on his knees again. This time, right in front of you. His lips tugged into a soft, yet almost endearing, smirk. His earrings jingled slightly as he ducked his head. One arm is pressed up against the headboard, right above your noggin. 

‘I’ve been waiting ages for this.’ He murmured into your ear, watching as you would part your legs open for him. A hungry glint caught in his eyes as he shifted a little closer toward you in an attempt to line himself up with your entrance.

You looked down at his flaccid cock, pointing a judgemental finger. ‘This is why you shouldn’t have cum yet, Charles.’

Charles paused, his stare dropped downwards. And that cocky, yet sultry look he wore dissipated into surprise. ‘Oh.’ That is all that he said before his legs stuttered and failed him. Single-handedly causing him to topple right onto you.

You were caught between a gasp of surprise and a roar of laughter as Charles proceeded to just lay on top of you. And as much as you delighted in skin-to-skin contact, he was crushing you. You slapped a palm on his chest.

Charles cuddled up to you further. ‘Maybe I’ll just lay here. You’re proper comfortable.’

‘DARLING. I CAN’T BREATHE.’

A few minutes passed by and Charles finally stopped clinging onto your entirety like a koala. He stood himself up on his knees, his now-erection rigid between his legs. You laid back against the bed, again. And you couldn’t help but notice Charles grew quiet, eyes rounded slightly.

‘You’re quiet.’ You remarked.

Charles adverted his eyes from your glistening womanhood to your face. A soft, goofy grin tugged at his lips, revealing the pearliness of his teeth. ‘Nah. Just thinking how bloody good I’m gonna fuck ya.’

Your abdomen jolted with arousal at the dirty drawl of his accented words. You ran your tongue over your lips, you were undeniably nervous as you watched Charles line himself up with your entrance. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’

It took a moment, his motions were sloppy, and uneven as he attempted to prepare himself.

‘Hol’ on.’ He murmured to himself.

Finally, you felt Charles’s cock begin to enter you. You spread your legs a little further, wincing as you felt his entirety sink inside. It was gradual as you adjusted to his thickness. You laid your head back, you had forgotten how uncomfortable a dick was at first.

‘You all right, love?’ Charles spoke up as he was almost fully inside of you. He paused in his movements, letting a good quarter of his cock hang out. His eyes roundened, voice stressed. Looking as if he was ready to pull out. ‘Did I enter the wrong hole?’

‘Charles. There’s only one hole.’

At last, he was fully inside of you. Your legs dangled around his hips. He began to move, slowly at first. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but soon every shift he made had you gasping a little. Until Charles almost – and accidentally – pulled out completely.

‘Bloody hell.’ Charles muttered under his breath, fumbling to stick it back in.

You facepalmed, mentally. ‘Charles.’ You scolded.

His arms propped himself up by the headboard, caging you in as he began to move again. His chain dangling in front of your face. Charles grunted, dark lips slightly agape as he moved for breath with each rut of his hips. After accidentally slipping out a few times, he began to stick it to a steady rhythm that dragged a few moans from your mouth.

Charles moved his lips to your own, sloppy kisses moving down to your neck as he continued to move. He jolted his head back upward, accidentally hitting it on the lower side of your jaw. The two of you stop moving, in sudden pain.

You rubbed your jaw. ‘CHARLES.’

‘I’M SORRY.’

You two decided that changing positions would be for the best. You had yourself balanced atop Charles’s lap, legs on either side of his own. His dick is deep inside of you now. You hadn’t exactly ridden anybody before, and that fact alone made you nervous.

Your legs shook slightly as you started to bounce. Up and down. ‘Is this okay?’

Charles reached upward. He was laid back in the bed, looking elated as he watched you on top of him. His fingers brushed past loose strands of hair dangling in your face, pushing them back. ‘Bang on perfect.’ And you had a feeling he wasn’t talking about the sex.

He was talking about you.

You continued the movements, feeling that nervousness ease as you got into a steady rhythm that had your back arching. Soft waves of pleasure moved throughout you. Charles’s eyes darkened notably, a grunt or two escaping his mouth. 

‘Saddle up, horsey.’ Charles teased, his words somewhat breathless and strained. He cracked a grin, before landing a palm right on the exposed skin of your ass.

You stopped in your movements. ‘Oh, you’re just asking for it.’

Which was how the two of you took a break from whatever tedious sex the two of you were doing to tussle on the bed. Charles hovered above you, his large palm suited around your neck whilst your hand painfully tugged on the curls of his hair. Charles thought it was the perfect time to slip his girth inside of you, his fingers tightening against your throat.

His hips worked. They were sloppy and uneven, yet his cock was thick enough to hit that spot that had your eyes rolling.

Your hands unclenched from his hair, moving to his shoulders. ‘Fucking hell, keep going.’

Charles did as you said. His thrusts quickened. Sweat began to build at his temple, his hands still clenched around your neck. Your breaths were slightly rushed, yet it was painless. Your back arched absentmindedly, feeling your hips stutter and jerk.

He grunted once, then twice, before you felt something cool fill you up to the brim. ‘Erm…’

Ghost cum, seriously?

‘You can’t help yourself, can you?’ You continued to pant, grabbing his hips, keeping him planted to you. You were so damn close, moans filling the entirety of your room as Charles rode out his orgasm. Fuelling your own.

Within a few minutes, you felt your hips stutter. 

‘Charles, holy shit. Charles.’ You borderline shouted into the open air as the metaphorical dam snapped inside of you, feeling wave after wave of pleasure hit you like a current. Your fingers gripped onto his hips, fingernails sinking into his hips.

Eventually, both you and Charles had steadied yourself. He pulled out from you, deciding that the best measure was to slump onto you. Once again. Half by your side and half sprawled on the bed, his head tucked in your neck.

‘So, was that aces or what, eh?’ He sighed into the peaceful, post-orgasm silence.

You paused for a second. Your hands found his hair again, fingers massaging his scalp absentmindedly as Charles listened to your heartbeat. ‘I reckon you could do with a bit more work, darling.’

Charles gripped the curve of your waist. ‘Nah, love. I think that was all you.’

You groaned, before hitting the back of his head.

WORD COUNT: 2.1K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[sincerelyverena]

heya lovely! how are you doing?

could i request a Charles Rowland x alive! pshychic! reader [fem or gn] who has different powers from Crystal and gets like, lightheadedness or headaches or just feeling too weak when they use their powers/use their powers too much and just a fluffy little fic where reader is feeling those side-effects and maybe how Charles helps? i'll leave the powers up to you to write what it is, and i'd prefer it if it was with an already established relationship, though that can be changed if you want

remember to hydrate and have a lovely day!

⟡⁺ MOTION SICKNESS

PROMPT ATE. i hope you have an amazing rest of your week, love, thank you so much for your support! <3

. . . CHARLES ROWLAND X FEM!READER ‘there are no words in the english language that i could scream to drown you out’ @andforthecoating

inbox is always open for requests!

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒the aftermath of a tedious mission concludes you ill, leaving you and charles together for a sick day.

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒fluff ﹐alive!reader﹐psychic!reader ﹐established relationship ﹐ghost cuddles﹐emetophobia warning﹐gagged a little to myself while writing this﹐charles is so adorable when he isnt being a little shit of a ghost﹐niko being the supportive queen she is

THANK YOU TO MY WONDERFUL BETA READERS: @immortal101 ﹐@arthursdonkeyears

The sound of you dry-gagging filled the bathroom as you lurched over the toilet bowl. Knuckles white as your fingers tensed around the porcelain throne. Nothing but a sliver of dense saliva escaped your mouth, and you coughed out a protest.

Charles had your hair pulled back into gentle fingers, staring down at you with pressed lips as he watched you continue to retch. ‘You’re doing brilliantly, love.’ His words served as a comfort to your very sickly soul, combing the digits of his hands through your scalp reassuringly.

‘I think managing would be the correct word.’ You spluttered out, words mixed with a groan before you fell back on your knees. The tiled floors were cold against your trembling legs. You wiped the back of your hand against the base of your forehead, feeling sweat drip down the side of your head. ‘I shouldn’t have pushed myself.’

‘Remember, you were the reason the case got solved in the first place.’ Charles reminded you, gently. He continued to massage your scalp with the pad of his fingers. But also very much prepared to pull your hair back if your stomach rolls back on itself again. ‘Don’t be so harsh on yourself.’

‘Why do you always have to be right?’ You continued to whine, careless of whether you were making a scene or not. You thrust a hand toward the toilet bowl, toward the murky waters that you were forced to flush every other minute.

Charles moved your hair from your sweat-slicked nape, stifling a smile. His sturdy hands held you steady as if it were second nature. ‘You right to get up now, or is there more coming?’’

Your knees are poised against the cool ground. ‘I think I’m okay now.’

‘Grand.’ Charles announced before he scooped you up. 

Charles’s hands moved to your armpits and rose you into the air without breaking a sweat. On any other day, you would’ve bitten his head off for handling you in that fashion, but all you could do was rest your head in the crook of your boyfriend’s neck and inhale his ghostly self as he carried you back toward your room.

It felt like absolute heaven to feel the comfort of your quilt against your back after long tortuous hours of fighting for your life, hunched over the toilet bowl. Charles murmured to himself absentmindedly as he proceeded to tuck you in, raising the sheets you burrowed yourself into your neck.

Charles stood back, hands propped onto his hips as he admired his handiwork. A grin cracked onto his face, that very same grin that brought you so much reassurance. ‘You look snug as. I’m jealous.’

You were unable to stifle the smile that followed. ‘You’re more than welcome to join me.’

A similar smile spread across Charles’s face. He stepped forward, moving to take you up on your offer before the two of you were shortly interrupted by a sudden yell.

‘[Y/N]!’ Niko shouted from the doorway, making your head shoot up from the bed you were laid upon. Her arms were filled with a plethora of various handy things, all decorated in a pastel, Niko-esque hue.

She entered further into your room, heaving under the weight of the things she had decided to bring to you. Niko plops down a pale purple bucket with soft, star stickers placed across the rim by your bed. 

‘I got you a throw-up bucket.’ She began, before moving to introduce the next item.

‘A heat-pack.’

‘An ice pack.’

‘Painkillers.’

‘Salted crackers, bloody hell.’ Charles butted in, snatching the packet.

Niko finally placed a bottle on the table accompanying your bed. The bottle, like everything else, was immensely cutesy. With a pale outer packaging and the liquid inside was a pretty pink. The scrawl on the front made out to be lychee-flavoured.  ‘Aaand a drink, just for you!’

‘Nikooo, you didn’t have to do this.’ You sort of whined, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to take a look at everything she brought for you. Despite your words, you felt absolutely elated at the amount of love your friends had been showering you with.

‘Yes, I did.’ The platinum-haired girl insisted, before placing a gentle hand upon the curve of your shoulder. Her eyes were softened with concern. ‘C’mon, lay back down!’

You look toward Charles, who stood aside with his arms crossed. He raised a singular eyebrow. Causing you to begrudgingly exhale, but nevertheless, your arms slacked and you plopped back first onto the cotton sheets beneath you. 

‘I’ll leave you two to it.’ Niko made a point to look at Charles, then back at you with a gentle smile gracing her ethereal face. She turned on her heel, and disappeared into the corridor, closing the door to your room behind her with a soft thud.

With nothing more but a sigh, you allowed yourself to sink into the mattress you laid upon.

‘I’ve never seen you look so knackered.’ Charles had observed, lightheartedly. A soft grin broke his face before he neared a step or two closer to the bed. 

‘Mind a little company?’

You raised your head a little off of the pillow to give him a blank, almost blunt stare. Almost retching at the fast motion. The little moment of nausea must’ve appeared on your face as Charles lurched forward to snatch the throw-up bucket in his hand, a little anxious at the thought of cleaning your sheets. Again.

Ducking your head a little, your mouth opened without the will to dry gag before you slumped back against the hardness of the headboard behind you. ‘Lucky I didn’t eat those crackers.’

‘That’d be proper gross.’ Charles agreed, setting down the bucket on the ground.

You looked at the lychee-flavoured drink on your nightstand, pondering internally for a second as you watched Charles stripped of his badge-branded jacket. ‘You think I can keep that down?’

Charles crossed to the other side of your bed, watching as you considered the bottle closely. He drew the covers back, moving to slip his statue in. ‘I think I’m biased, considering I don’t want throw-up all over me.’

You deadpanned him. ‘I would never.’

Charles tucked himself beneath the covers of the bed, reaching his hand out to snatch the heat pack a stretch away. He moved to place the heated fabric by your abdomen, hands gentle. ‘We both know you would.’

‘Oh shuddup.’ You groaned to yourself, unable to help but allow her lips to curve into a soft smile. You leant into the warmth of the device at your stomach, soothing the leftover spasms from your painful hours of nausea.

‘I’d tell you to make me but,’ Charles teased slightly. He leant his head down to plant his lips, softly against your sweat-graced forehead. ‘I don’t think that’d be a good idea.’

‘Well, I’d hope you’d like the feel of vomit—‘

‘No, no, I can’t hear you.’

Charles pulled back at once, planting both palms to his ears. He almost looked like a little kid who didn’t like one thing you said. This caused for you to reach upward, snatching his hand with your fist and pulling it down from his ears. Before Charles could start whining again, you leaned forward to press your lips with his own.

It was a short kiss, yet sweet as ever, as you felt Charles’s rigid shoulders ease at the first touch of one another’s lips. You only pulled back as you had an inkling that your ghost boyfriend was prepared to sink his tongue into your mouth, a big no-no with the amount of vomiting you had experienced beforehand.

You slumped back into your bed, drawing the covers over your shoulders. ‘Oh, so you like the taste? I see.’

Charles feigned annoyance, yet his eyes twinkled slightly. He plopped down on the space next to you, making sure to hold the heat pack close to your abdomen. ‘Not my fault I got carried away.’ 

‘Uh-huh.’ You teased.

Without another word, the both of you lay there. Your back to his front, arms around the curve of your waist. Mainly to hold you up if any sickly spurting begins. But also as an excuse to rub soft circles into your belly. You found yourself drifting off to sleep after that. Sick days were as shit as ever, but with Charles, it wasn’t so bad.

WORD COUNT: 1.5K MASTERLIST REQ ME!

[rainbow-universe]

cute!!

►Picnic Date

also on ao3

Summary: You and your boyfriend Jack go on an impromptu picnic date. You probably shouldn’t be surprised that he worries about the ants on your blanket.

Inspired by this post

Word count: 853 :)

The past few weeks had been stressful for both you and your boyfriend Jack

First there had been the amount of essays from your second year psychology students you’d had to grade, then you’d gotten the flu and the amount of work you had to do had just piled on. Sure, Jack had made you tea and tried his best to cheer you up, but it was hard when he barely had time to be at home and you had to spend the dreary November days largely by yourself. His work had been hectic as of late and Brennan didn’t hesitate to ask him to work over most days.

Therefore, when you’d gotten on top of your work again, you’d decided an impromptu afternoon trip to Park Washington was the best course of action. The day was beautiful, the crisp autumn air refreshing.

When you’d met up with Jack at the Jeffersonian and hastily greeted his team you’d dragged him to the car park, eager to surprise him and spend the day away together.

You’d had the directions on your phone, careful not to disclose too much as you guided the way to the park. Of course, the ride was only 10 minutes but you wanted to keep the air of suspense.

As soon as the road started to be surrounded with trees he turned towards you for a moment, a tentative smile on his lips.

“We’re going hiking?”

You shook your head.

“Maybe another day! I was thinking we could do a picnic if you want?” You said, suddenly worried that it might’ve been an idea that only pleased you. “I made sandwiches before work today and I have coffee and cookies as well.”

“That sounds perfect, baby.” He pulled up to a parking spot and put the car in park as you reached your destination. “Do you want me to carry anything?”

“Yeah! If you take the blanket I’ll take the basket,” you said and opened the car door to take the basket that was in the backseat. “Do you remember the nice place we were last time?” He nodded. “I think that’s just a few minutes away.”

The two of you started following the gravel path toward the place you were talking about and soon enough the trees started scattering. The opening in the forest was pretty, the afternoon sun streaming in through the trees surrounding it.

There were a few other people there already, mostly families with kids. You looked around until Jack tugged a little on your hand.

“There?” He said, gesturing toward a spot on a small hill to the left.

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

-

You’d just finished your sandwich and Jack was on his second when you felt something tickling your foot. Anxiously, you looked down and saw two or three ants running around up towards your ankle. You swatted them away and cuddled closer to Jack, trying to get some of his body heat.

You closed your eyes, breathing in his scent as he laid is arm around you, pulling you even closer.

Soon enough, though, it became impossible to ignore the continued tickling on your leg.

“I’m pretty sure there’s ants running all over this, Jack,” you mumbled against his shoulder, a little worriedly. You weren’t afraid of insects, per say, but you were also not the biggest fan. “Could we just shake them off really quickly?”

“Of course,” he comforted you, carefully disentangling himself from you as he stood up and moved the basket from the blanket.

You followed his lead, grabbing one corner of the blanket as he grabbed the other,

“If you’re a bug just be careful, okay?” Jack said, looking at the picnic blanket. He looked so cute like this, curls all tousled and a flush on his cheeks. The worried look in his eyes as he warned the eventual bugs didn’t hurt either.

“I didn’t know you were such an advocate for ants, baby,” you said with a smile.

“Maybe I can make an exception for these ones.” He grinned and shook the blanket once. You almost lost your balance with the force of it and his grin grew larger.

When the two of you had rustled it enough times that you were positive any possible insects had fallen off you laid down on your back.

Jack laid down next to you, your shoulders brushing, and you took the hand closest to yours in yours.

“Let’s hope the ants don’t carry a grudge for this.” You said, still looking up at the sky.

He chuckled and you turned your head towards him. He looked so happy and careless like this. You’d known he’d been stressed lately but you nothing could’ve prepared you for the difference his laugh made. You wished you could bottle it up, somehow, and save it for all those days when everything felt just a little hopeless.

“They’ll have a vendetta for three days for sure. Maybe they’ll have time to build a machine to conquer us with,” he joked.

“Oh my god, imagine!”

“That’d be pretty crazy.”

“Yeah it would,” you agreed, nuzzling into his side.