#but also some people out there :\ just seem like they need a good stabbing :\

[hyog-blog]

Fangs of Fortune (ep. 06 - ep. 07)

Uh, not Li Lun, out of all people, making everyone finally question why Zhu Yan actually killed Yichen's brother and all those people years ago. We know he lost control over his malicious energy, but why didn't anyone ask him why it happened? Come on, people, you seem to be so smart))

Well, Wen Xiao seems to be accepting enough to not care about what our gorgeous Demon Lord has done in the past, which is quite refreshing. Ambiguous, morally grey characters need more unconditional love (especially when they're, uh, 34,000 years old? XD). But he doesn't even seem to be so 'grey' at this point - he's doing too many good things right now.

The whole thing with being a 'vessel for malicious energy' is quite intriguing. Was he born like that? Can he actually stop 'the cycle of rebirth'? Why did he 'lose control' after so many years of cultivation? I'm also trying to figure out the timeline - the killings must have happened after he dropped Wen Xiao off at what seemed to be the gates to the demon-hunting bureau. But she wasn't staying there when that stuff happened? Did his demonic self come back there just to wreak havoc or for some other reason? Was Li Lun involved? Mmmm, the plot is deliciously mysterious, I will have to wait to get those answers.

Also, I can't even be angry with Li Lun at this point, although he's playing the bad guy now - the poor baby was so visibly hurt when Zhu Yan called him a scumbag. And that painful look he had when our Demon Lord thought something along the lines 'screw you, I know how to wake this boy up from his nightmare' and pierced himself with Yichen's sword (which, uh, seems to be quite a recurring motif and the symbolism of it isn't escaping me, nope XD). In the world of jianghu, the next best thing you can do to show you CARE apart from cutting sleeves is to stab (or get stabbed by) the person you care about. Or get stabbed FOR the person you care about.

I also love how effortlessly Yichen is third-wheeling without creating a feeling that he's actually third-wheeling XD Wen Xiao is obviously biased towards Zhu Yan, now even more so that she knows he IS that Great Demon who accompanied her and the Bai Ze Goddess all those years ago. I would totally trust him, too, if I were her. I also love the messed-up dynamic of a former caretaker/child who's grown up because now Zhu Yan definitely doesn't give us those parental vibes, he's oozing sensuality wherever he goes (and him pretending to be all hurt so she stays with him, ahah, that whole sequence was cute and hilarious). And Zhu Yan saying something along the lines that they now get to 'meet all over again' - was it to build a new relationship with her from scratch? M-hmm, yummy, utterly delicious :D

And you can see how Yichen kinda sorta admits defeat in the way Wen Xiao no longer needs his protection against the 'big bad demon' (the man is using his big bad demonic energy to push her swing, for Christ's sake XD), but still can't let the other man go so easily because of REASONS and that 'you'll have to pay for your sins either way' thing still going on between them. Zhu Yan does know what buttons to push when it comes to Yichen, but the feeling seems to be quite mutual (they're cute together and their interactions are so yummy 😍). That scene at the temple is EVERYTHING. And then at Zhu Yan's mansion with the swing. Is he swinging both ways? Ahah XD For a 34,000-year-old being I don't see how that could be an issue)))

Okay, cutting and piercing still seem to be the show's love language and I APPROVE (never had a kink like that, but there's a first thing for everything, I guess XD). The undertones just make it all so yum))

The introduction of the new character, Yinglei, was hilarious))) We also find out that the Wilderness is crumbling down, which makes the whole Bai Ze token thing even more important.

/and I've finally reached the picture limit in one tumblr post, ahah XD/

[mullermilkshake]

Sukuna’s proposal

Yakuza!Sukuna x Fem!reader

MINORS DNI - Tags: Yakuza AU, fem reader, knives, blood, graphic depictions of violence, references to non-con, stabbing, potential death, gun use, fighting, risk of death/murder, threats of violence, marriage proposal.

Shinjuku - 1982…

Mr Nanami called your name from his office, "Can you come in here please?"

"Is everything alright?" for the first time since you started this job, Kento Nanami showed a concerned look across his face.

"I have someone incredibly important coming and I have to be upfront with you," he offered up the chair across from his desk and allowed you to sit. "To be honest, I thought you would have left by now."

Was he questioning your professionalism? You had been there a few months and he hadn't uttered a word. "How so?"

"Well this sort of work isn't exactly your usual office work, I know you're aware of my security systems."

You were also very aware that at least Mr Nanami was Yakuza, though it never bothered you. It was simple enough to come into work, do your job and leave in the evening. Of course it came with its risks, but any job linked to the Yakuza warranted more open eyes than usual.

That was why you opted for spray in your bag incase someone came with overzealous hands. You could handle yourself in some capacity, so it was never an issue.

"I'm also aware that you are Yakuza, Mr Nanami. That doesn't bother me if that's what you are trying to imply?"

Was that a sigh of relief? "So you're up to speed then, this makes things easier. I apologise I never implicitly clarified before you came, but as you may have noticed, it's difficult to find civilian staff who won't run at the first sign of trouble."

Mr Nanami seemed like a reliable man at least, he was prompt, respectful and incredibly chivalrous. Something that may come in handy later should trouble actually arise.

Though for now, it seemed plausible to suggest that you were in good hands. As long as that didn't change and he left you out in the cold.

"I took this job knowing what sort of work you may have been in, I just need a steady pay check to afford my apartment. I don't need to know anything or ask questions."

Mr Nanami nodded and leant forward in his chair, lacing his fingers together in thought. "Good. At least I won't have to explain this."

He rummaged through his desk drawer and pulled out a knife. large enough to be mistaken for a kitchen knife, though it was dainty enough to be pocket sized if you squinted at it hard enough.

"I want you to keep this in your desk out front. The man who's coming is the type that some people despise for various reasons and I do not like the fact you have nothing as a deterrent while he's here."

Some might have suggested in their minds that the man himself was a serial killer or something, but that wasn't it at all. That signified to you that the man in question was someone of great importance to Mr Nananmi.

His own boss perhaps? Someone with enough power to make enemies out of the wood work to warrant protection from a secretary out front at collateral.

You bet on that it was his boss.

"Alright then," you leant forward and took the knife from the desk, its weighted handle gleaming in the low light of the screens off to the left side of the room you never dared to look at. "If that's what you wish of me, consider it done."

Mr Nanami got up from his chair as a signal for you to do the same. "Thank you, I hope you never have to use it."

"I hope so too," following him, he led you out of the office and back to your desk to which you slipped the knife into your drawer just like he had done before. "What time will your guest arrive?"

"Tonight, but I won't need you to bring him through. I'll greet him myself," he made a move back to his office and stopped in his tracks. "It's best if you don't make direct eye contact with him, his presence can be overwhelming to some."

You nodded to give non-verbal communication and turned to your work for rest of the day until Mr Nanami came back out of his office to greet the shadow at the door.

"Chairman," seeing Mr Nanami bow to another man was an odd sight.

The man being shorter in stature than himself, bright hair and unusual tattooed markings on his face. He was beautiful, the markings were beautiful in their own way, and being a Yakuza man made his presence all that more intimidating.

Well, to other people. Not to you.

To you, he was just another man just like Mr Nanami.

For a fleeting second, the two of you made eye contact to which you bowed your head in respect and continued working, noting his silent footsteps wander past you and into Mr Nanami's office.

Another hour must have passed in silence while your pen scribbled away, scratching over the quiet for something to listen to. Paperwork and filed reports sorted alphabetically to make the time not drag whilst there wasn't much else to do.

A knock at the outer office door was the most interesting thing in the whole room, it sounded timid by the rapping of knuckles which led you to believe it was Ino coming back to tinker with the network, or fiddle with something computer related.

But it wasn't.

It was a man you had never seen before. "I'm sorry, is there any chance I can see Nanami right now?"

"Sorry, but Mr Nanami is in a meeting right now. He can't be disturbed, would you like to leave a message?"

"No that's fine," he moved towards the desk and just past it, looking at the office door. "I only wanted to see who was out here before I get my guys."

What?

He held up a gun and moved fast enough to get behind you. "Why he would put a woman out front is beyond me. The Chairman's in there, isn't he?"

So that man inside with Mr Nanami was the Chairman?

You said nothing, making little micro movements towards your desk drawer. The weapon seemed as though bad luck had graced your desk, spending not even twenty four hours in your possession and you were already edging towards it to use it on a man you'd never met before.

There was a gun pointed at your head and you were as calm as you had ever been. Though what was the use in panicking?

The barrel of that gun pressed against your head. "Answer me, bitch."

"I don't know who you're referring to," so close now, the drawer handle in your reach.

"Don't fucking lie to me," he was trying to be as quiet as he could, teeth gritted and all. "I have four guys out there ready to storm this place and they'll take turns with you, believe me. So cooperate and tell me."

He was making threats like that already? He was either incredibly wet behind the ears to use something so drastic this early, or it was a bluff.

"Alright, I'll get the keys to the office."

The excuse was enough for the pressure of metal to leave the back of your head and allow you to open the drawer naturally and moved your hand around to feel for the knife's handle.

'If a person has possession of a knife when threatened, they better follow through in using it.' That was advice you had heard once from somewhere.

Might as well listen to it.

It all happened so fast, taking a hold of the weighted handle and moving forward a fraction so you could drive the blade into the man's thigh. The gun went off regardless by your head and the shot rang through your ears though it wasn't enough to stun you.

You weren't sure how you got up from your seat the way you did to draw the knife out of him and lunge again with the steel pushing onto his chest, enough to topple him off his feet and drag him to meet the hard floor with you on top of him.

The ringing vibrated your ear drums, tingling too much to notice Mr Nanami's office door open. You were on top of a man who threatened you with a gun and there was so much blood.

But he was still alive.

It wasn't shock. It couldn't have been. You were still coherent, you just couldn't hear much. The red on your hands was new, sticky and warm enough to keep you out of the moment until someone took a hold of your shoulders.

It wiped you out and into reality, grasping at what you had done in the present in front of your employer and a stranger who was eyeing you intensely.

"Can you hear me?" Mr Nanami shook you a little, his voice muffled somewhat. "Are you alright?"

"He threatened me- I didn't know what else I could do."

And now you were justifying yourself. You would do the same thing if there was a time machine to take you back.

"But are you alright?"

"I'm fine. There might be others outside," how were you talking so clearly right now with just your little rapid breaths at your lips? "He asked about the Chairman and said there are four others."

"Can you stand?"

"Yeah. I'm alright," the blood was a nuisance.

Mr Nanami lead you over to your chair and pulled the desk phone to his ear. "I'm calling Naoya, he'll be able to take you home."

"Don't let that ingrate in on this Nanami," the Chairman spoke for the first time.

"I can't leave until this is cleared up, she'll need to get home."

"I'll take her back, Uraume is waiting in the car," the Chairman approached the desk and folded his arms with purpose. "Naoya is a brat, he'd only mess it up. I'll make sure she get's home while you clean up the trash."

Wait. Clean up? Things were catching up to you. "Is he dead?"

Had you just killed a man? You should have been more freaked out about it. But you weren't.

"He's kicking for now. Shame. You should have aimed higher."

Right in front of you was a hand, the Chairman's hand. You made a note of the darkened polish adorning his manicured nails, black bands around his wrist.

You took it without question. "I'll bare that in mind next time I stab a man."

"Good. Nanami, call by tomorrow when this is sorted."

"Yes sir."

His hand was far warmer than you anticipated. He never let go until you were in the car, a sort of blur until he broke the silence.

"Care to explain how a civilian found their way into a vipers pit of the Yakuza?"

He was the Chairman, it was only respectful you answer him honestly. Right? "Money. I needed the money. I was aware who Mr Nanami was as soon as I saw him."

The world zipped by from the car window, unaware for the crime you had just committed. If the man wasn't dead, he was certainly gravely injured enough to warrant a prison sentence should anone find out. It was never discussed or mentioned by Mr Nanami or the Chairman.

It was more like an afterthought from yourself.

"Yet you still accepted the job offer anyway? And now you've stabbed a man with a gun. This life is hardly one to brag about when you're collateral."

"It doesn't scare me," only his reflection was in your periphery, you didn't turn your head to face him. "It's a job. I've had my fair share of hardships to know life isn't easy. Defending myself is something that comes naturally."

You could have sworn you heard him chuckle. "Defending yourself is far more difficult than people understand. It takes someone strong to do what is necessary."

That much was true. And that statement was enough to get your head turning to face him. Even in the dim light of the passing street lights, he was beautiful.

How did someone such as himself find his way into becoming a Chairman?

"Sometimes we're faced with difficult decisions when the hardest choice is the wisest. It's just something that has to happen."

The blood had dried along your fingers and began to crack and chip away leaving streaks of exposed skin at the joints. It would take more than just one shower alone to get all of this yuck off of you.

"You speak more truth than most of the men under my watch. It's refreshing."

"Sir, we've arrived," a voice from the drivers side came about to ground you.

"Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it."

The car door was suddenly opened for you, the driver bowing and their identity remained hidden. The other door opened and the Chairman approached you.

"I never got your name, Mr Nanami never told me."

"Sukuna. It's Ryomen Sukuna."

Even in the darkened sky of the night's glow tapered off with the neon signs of Shinjuku, he was still beautiful. You spoke your name too and offered a bow before taking steps towards the door to your apartment.

A quaint little ground floor, and it was all yours.

"Do you need assistance?"

"No, I'll be alright from here."

His eyes were in the back of your head as you wandered past him. "I'll be forward because it's not every day I meet a woman who pulls something so extraordinary to gain my attention like you did today."

"Hmm?" you turned and watched him from your front door almost, he made no attempt to follow you.

"Marry me."

"What?"

A proposal from someone you had spoken few sentences to was a first. But you didn't find yourself shying away from the subject.

"Marry me."

"I..."

The man in front of you softened his eyes, never judging you covered in another mans blood. "Think about it, and come to me with any answer you choose."

He bowed to you and turned towards the car, the driver opening the door to let him disappear into the darkness of tinted glass.

After that night, you wondered about that man and who he really was.

You gave him your answer several days later.

And it was a firm yes.

[a-darling-thing]

Like I 100% appreciate why so many people wish they could hug Astarion right after he finally stops the ritual, kills Cazador and takes back his freedom, but as someone who has been through some shit ™ l honestly think the way the game decided to handle that was right.

When you are in that really delicate phase of coming out the back side of a chronic abuse situation and you have just had to face down your abuser (and almost been revictimized), and your nervous system is that keyed up, a hug is like the last thing you need.

I mean the poor guy has just stabbed Cazador like 20 times in a frenzied fit of grief and rage and is still standing there covered in his blood, sobbing in relief, and in a complete daze. He’s talking by the time you leave the palace, but he’s clearly not ok (thanks again for your stunning voice work Neil Newbon).

I would personally feel like a hug was something I just had to endure to make the other person happy. I think Astarion would probably snappishly draw a firm boundary, with one of his terse ‘don’t touch me.’s, cause he’s actually pretty good at that. But still…. Why make him have to muster the energy for that after everything he’s just been through. The hugs can come later.

In reality the hugs would probably come days, weeks or months later, but like ‘game pacing’, so I think having that gap of time where Astarion gets to talk to Tav about it all before the graveyard scene, hit a happy balance that gave at least the impression of the passage of time and that he had begun to process it all.

I do actually agree with others that have said him proposing sex with Tav that soon after the whole business also seems unrealistic, but again, the writers had to pace his full story to fit within the timeframe of the game, and I felt they did alright given those constraints.

This is all personal opinion, mind, and opinions may differ, but I like how they handled it.

[ladycaramelswirl]

definitely not old

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

A/N: Did I create an extremely improbable scenario just to suit my need to create another highly improbable scenario? Yes. Do I care that it’s unrealistic? No. Please forgive any typos/ grammatical errors. 

CW: suggestive content, but not explicit (like 15+?). Use of y/n one time. (Technically this would probably warrant one of those hostile workplace environment seminars like they had for Derek and Penelope. But it’s funny? Idk this isn’t serious.) Sassy Hotch. Crack plot tbh. 

Also I know the timeline doesn’t really make sense, because JJ is a profiler and Emily and Rossi exist, but I imagined Season 1 Spencer while writing this! I guess it’s 2005? Btw I do not know how tapes work, so just pretend it makes sense please. This is so unserious. 

Summary: reader wife and Hotch are private people; the BAU team is nosy. Spencer is just constantly in the right place at the wrong time. 

Enjoy!

——————

The screen in front of you depicted horror - just not the kind the BAU was used to. The UnSub had confessed to leaving a message in an old tape. He had already been arrested, but you were all hoping it might contain something that might help the conviction stick. Only he was extremely paranoid, so not only had he left the message in a code, but he had spliced it into a tape he thought people were least likely to watch. His p***. It was the last thing to do for the case and everyone was trying to help. You all sit at the round table, and Spencer shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Derek laughs at his shyness and Emily laughs at the very unrealistic movements. She and JJ tilt their heads at the shape the two on the screen have put themselves into. 

“That does not look comfortable”, JJ mocks. 

The words are out of your mouth before you think. “Trust me it’s not”. 

Everyone at the table snaps their heads to look at you. 

“Damn Mama”, Derek laughs. “Who are you doing these moves with?”

You try to hold back a laugh. You were not ready to share about your sex life with your colleagues, no matter how close you were. Plus you’re pretty sure Aaron would not appreciate it. 

“That is inappropriate workplace conversation”, you say, pausing the video. “And you’re going to miss the next series of code”, you tell him, trying to get him to revert his attention back to the video. Emily grins at your attempted evasion.

“We already got all the code. She just doesn’t want us to tell Hotch she’s capable of all that. Doesn’t want to make the old man feel bad”.

“He’s not old. He’s only 5 years older than you”, you remind her. She puts a hand on her chest in mock offense like you’ve stabbed her. You roll your eyes. “And this is still inappropriate”.

“So it wasn’t Hotch”, Derek laughs. 

“You’re just annoyed because you haven’t tried it yourself”, you deflect, moving to sit next to Spencer who seems to actually be doing his job. 

“I’ve seen her do yoga and she’s very flexible, so if she couldn’t do it I don’t think you can”, JJ tells Morgan. 

“Oh you have no idea what I’m capable of”, he teases, which earns laughs from around the table. “I’m better than the old man for sure”. They all start laughing and talking about you and Hotch. 

You roll your eyes. “Wasn’t old in bed last night”, you mutter under your breath. You startle at the sound of a book hitting the floor and see Spencer’s bright red face. JJ, Derek and Emily look over in curiosity at what they might have missed, but you ignore them, attempting to give Spencer an apology for making him uncomfortable. He moves to drink his coffee in an attempt to avoid more of the conversation. Only he chokes on it because Hotch enters the room. 

“Have you finished working out the code?”

Everyone’s heads snap to him - JJ, Emily and Derek wearing matching grins. Hotch eyes you patting a coughing Spencer’s back.

“Are you alright?”, he asks. 

“Yes! Good! I’m good!”, Spencer squeaks, afraid Hotch is going to ask him why he’s so nervous. Aaron looks to you for some answers but before you can tell him it’s nothing, Spencer suddenly stands up.

“Got the code! Going to call the local PD. DA is waiting”, he warbles before you all watch him run out of the room. Hotch turns back to the rest of you. 

“Well then that wraps it up. Go home now, get some rest”, he instructs. Everyone starts packing up. You and Hotch walk towards the door when he realises there’s only 6 of you in the room. 

“Where’s Dave?”, he asks.

You’re about to tell him Rossi went to the bathroom when the Italian walks back in. Rossi immediately notes the paused video.

“Wow that looks uncomfortable”, he remarks. Everyone smirks in your direction. Hotch snakes an arm around your waist and looks at the screen. Then at you. 

“It was, wasn’t it?”

He smiles at the jaws dropping to the floor. 

“Good night everyone”.

—————————

A little bonus scene:

In his office later:

“You heard us talking before you came in the room didn’t you”, you question your husband. He was so private, he wouldn’t have said something like that otherwise. 

“They called me old”, Aaron grumbles, but his tone is amused. “Just wanted to shock them a little”.

You make your way over to his side of the desk, pulling him to stand up beside you. 

“Well Agent Hotchner, I have to tell you, there’s been some speculation about your performance”, you taunt. “Care to prove them wrong?”

“Last night wasn’t enough proof?”, he laughs raising an eyebrow. You run your hands up his chest and behind his neck, pulling him close. 

“The results were inconclusive”, you tease. He grabs your hips and traps you between himself and his desk, his mouth trailing kisses down your jaw. 

“Well I can’t have that kind of speculation going around”, he murmurs into your skin. Your breath hitches from the sensation of his lips on the sensitive spot on your neck. But instead of continuing, he pulls away and meets your eyes in a conspiratorial grin. “We should do an in house evaluation as soon as possible”.

You open your mouth to reply when the door swings open, Spencer finding you sandwiched between Hotch’s thighs and your blouse rumpled. His mouth drops open and suddenly all 187 iq points mean nothing when his brain loses function.

“Oh- I- um- sorry!”, he manages before running away. You stare at the slammed door then back at Aaron and burst into giggles. He drops his head to your shoulders and sighs. 

“I feel like a teenager”, he groans.

“At least you don’t feel old.”

—————————

Bonus bonus: 

Still in the conference room: 

“I want to go back to 10 minutes ago when I didn’t know this information”, Emily moans. 

“I think I need 5 more minutes before I can form a coherent thought”, JJ laughs in disbelief. Spencer walks back in.

“I finished my report. Where’s Hotch and y/n? Can we go home?”

“Probably doing it in his office for all we know”, Derek mutters.

Spencer’s brows furrow in confusion. “Doing what in his office?”

Rossi raises an eyebrow at Emily. “Is this kid serious?”

She shrugs back at him. 

“Spence, Hotch says we can go home. But you should probably report about what local PD told you before you go”, JJ tells him.

Spencer nods and makes his way to Hotch’s office. The rest of the team watch him walk away.

“You think we should have told him to knock before going in?”

“Probably.”

The sound of a high pitch yelp and the slam of an office door echo down the hallway. 

“Oops.”

——————

thank you for reading :)

masterlist

[luludeluluramblings]

Conner Kent's Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: I saw a few people liking the Superfam stuff and finally went nuts attempting this Conner bit. I tried. I tried so hard. I added dialogue. I'm used to the YJ Conner, but this is my attempt at Comic Conner. If he's OOC, oops. Yeet. (I attempted to research, I swear.) Might edit this some later.

A/N: I write Reader with an accent. One, cause that's how I talk. Two, cause I like it like 'dat.

A/N: I'm also almost done with Part Seven, but I'm adding dialogue to that too to make the breaking point a tad bit more impactful. I've never really written dialogue before.

Warnings: Slight Yandere themes. Romantic Yandere. (Very subtle.)

Conner’s run-ins with Reader always seemed to piss Tim off. Especially after Tim started researching into Reader. He would occasionally always beg Tim to invite Reader to hang out. And, he would find himself rejected every single time. Before it was probably due to Tim being dramatic. Now, he certain of this, it's because Tim dramatic and jealous overprotective.

On other occasions, he'd just by pass Tim, leaving him to his cases (and creeping) so hecould sneak and bother reader. They’re kinda cute, in his opinion. Of course they call him a big city boy and said he clearly lived off of his daddy’s money. Which was only kind of wrong. But, they way they said it made his a trail of heat crawl down his spine.

After some time had passed, he knew that Tim and the other members of the family were suspicious about him coming to the manor so much. He never tried to hide his reasons There was no point in hiding behind weak excuses. He respected the Bats too much to even think he could fool them. Plus, lying to the Bats was a good way to get stabbed with a kryptonite knife. Even though they had made it pretty clear that they disapproved of him coming around so often, He was still going to keep visiting. Could they really blame him? It wasn’t his fault he was enamored so easily. 

He kept his distance just a bit. Like he was silently (commanded) requested. He could tell he made the newest addition to the family a bit uncomfortable. And, he understood. The clone thing was kinda freaky after all.

Well, at first he had assumed it was because he was a clone. That would make any normal person feel a bit weird. But, then he heard them keep call him that nickname. City boy. The way it rolled off their tongue and how often it was said was clearly a sign. They weren’t bothered by the clone thing. They just didn’t like his personality. He could fix that. That wasn’t that hard. He was adaptable.

So when he approached them again, for the million time, he tried to play up the cool and collected act. Going as far as to emulate the Batman. Which, surprising made the ice break. When they laughed at him.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

"No, seriously why are you acting like that?" You're still giggling at how hard he was trying to play up the serious act. Cause that's all it was. You don't doubt he could genuinely be serious for a moment, but this wasn't one of those moments.

"I'm just letting you see a different side of me, is all." Conner replies, trying to keep it up even though he had been quickly caught.

"You mean the imaginary side, city boy? I didn't realize you liked to play pretend." Another teasing snort. God, how you needed that laugh.

"I'm not pretending."

"Yeah, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yeah."

"No."

"Yes, you are. Don't be lyin' to me now. Or, Imma start gettin' upset."

"Okay, okay... How could you tell?" He conceded after a moment. The way he scratched the back of his head suited him much more than that little Oscar performance he was putting on a few seconds prior.

"I'm observant." Comes the mock arrogant reply. It was hard to give him a cold shoulder when he just made you laugh so genuinely in the last few weeks.

"Oh, look who's playing pretend now." The snark on his tongue doesn't have any heat, but it does bring you some relief. A bit of much needed normalcy.

Maybe it's the fact that the loneliness has slowly crawled into your chest and burrowed it's self deep in that hollow part of you, but it's easy to let your guard down around him for once. You had noticed his efforts to get to know you before, and maybe you let those preconceived notions cloud your little head. But, there was no need for them anymore. The twinge of glee he sparked was enough to burn them away and make you pause before you would rebuild those walls of yours.

"Are you saying I'm not observant?"

"Yep."

"The audacity!" The outrage nothing more than a sham. A simple way to fill the air between them. Cause even if the talk was small, just the hint of it filled something in you. That didn't make your curiosity fade, however. "But, seriously, why are you impersonating Bruce? And in his own house, no less."

The brief silence that washes over you both has you already regretting this. Had it really so long since you've had a proper conversation that you were this out of practice?

When he finally speaks again, it is gives you relief and more regret.

"I just wanted to finally get your attention."

Well, doesn't that make you finally fit in with the rest of your family?

Your tongue brushes over your teeth in an attempt to get the lead coating that made your words weigh heavy in your mouth off of it.

"I'm sorry, Conner. I- I've been smallminded haven’t I?"

"No, I get it. The whole clone thing is freaky." He starts, a light flush on his cheeks. He wasn't expecting an apology, and especially one so soon and so heartfelt.

"Oh, yeah, that... Really it didn't have anything to do with it. I kinda just thought you were a typical concrete jungle flirt. Momma warned me about men like you." You try to hide your sheepishness by adding humor to your voice, praying he catches your sincerity under all the different layers.

He catches something, judging by the beaming smile Conner gives you.

"Really? I had hoped it wasn't, ya know, that."

"Nah, nah. It wasn't. Still, I am sorry." You assume silence is about to befall the pair of you again, but he doesn't let it happen.

"My family owns a farm out in Kansas, you know?" The cheeky grin on his face screams that he's going to be getting his revenge in the form of mild bullying.

"No!" The resounding smack of your palm hitting your forehead nearly echoes in the halls. "I feel even worse now."

"So much for being observant, little detective."

"I never claimed to be no detective. But, I might be more... oblivious then I initially implied..."

Now, it's Conner's turn to guffaw at you.

"The audacity."

"Don't you throw my words back at my. I can't handle it." You can't help by click your tongue. There's hardly any annoyance from your words. "I really misjudged you."

"It's fine! I figured you might still be adjusting to Gotham and the whole Wayne lifestyle. Tim mentioned you're from a pretty small town when I started bugging him about you." He's clearly playing up the charm, but you let it work on you.

"More like I'm still suffering from culture shock." Slowly, you can feel this conversation starting to shift to something deeper than surface level. Things that haven't been allowed into the open air start to ripple underneath.

And, he takes that chance to draw it out.

"Still?" Empathy mixing into his tone. Those icy blue eyes looking incredibly warm. You'd never really taken the time to look at him. Sure, you knew he was attractive. Hell, everyone that seemed to show up at the manor was attractive. But, now you were finally looking at him. Too focused were you in taking in his appearance for the first time, that you completely missed the way those eyes shined with opportunity and desperate want.

"Yeah, still. It's... different."

"Different as in the food's a little weird or different as in the people are a little weird?"

"It's all a little weird, and it's... kinda... lonely?" You can't help the wince. You really don't wanna trauma dump on someone who you had initially misjudged. He didn't deserve that.

But, as he moves closer you can't help it. That desolate part of you longing for comfort when you haven't had it in such a long time and the way he's giving you all this undivided attention when you can barely catch Alfred in the halls these days fills that acute craving in your gut.

"Lonely?" God, the concern in his voice doesn't make you want to cry, but it does make you want to choke

"I... I think it's not here that's different. I think it's me that's too different." The way he sucks a breath in after the words leave your mouth makes you want to backtrack immediately. "I'm so sorry. God damn, am I mess right now."

"No. No. No. You are fine." The reassuring words oddly sound more like a purr, but they capture your attention all the same. "I get it. I really really do."

Why does he have to give you such a disarming smile. He's practically beaming at you now. There's a festering tension blooming around them like spores.

"You are really not helping me fell less like a jerk to you now." The click of your tongue attempting to defuse the budding blooms.

"Hey, if you're feeling guilt... you could, maybe... let me take you out for dinner sometime? Just to make it up to me."

After a stunned moment of thought, you finally find the words to reply.

" Honestly, I'd-"

"CONNER!" Tim's sudden interruption sends the words crawling back down your throat.

"Tim." He calls back in a cool greeting, but he strangely doesn't step back from you. Which is nice. You haven't had anyone close to you other than Dick and a few of your remaining friends at Gotham Academy. And Damian, Cassandra, and Duke get a bit huffy, or in Damian's case murdery, when they are within an arms reach of you.

"Sorry, am I interrupting anything? Conner and I had plans for the day." Tim's pleasant voice sends a wave of unease over you. He's not staring at you when he speaks. Just Conner. It's annoying how he's ignoring you despite you being right. In. Front. Of. Him.

But, then he does finally look at you and his dark grey eyes soften ever so slightly. You're not too mad. Clearly he's exhausted, judging by the bruises under his eyes. There's still a slight reflection in them as he's gaze meets yours, despite how dry the appear. Probably from looking at a computer too much.

"You really shouldn't bother with this guy. He's not worth it." The words are clearly meant to be joking. Casual banter between two close friends. But, you can't help thinking they come off a bit strong.

Conner seems to bristle at them, but he does brush them off.

"That's right, we are hanging out today. Can you blame me for getting distracted, though?" That cocky smirk of his is back, and he actually touches your shoulder. It makes you feels warm, but like a prize at the same time.

All Tim seems to do in response is twitch, but giving nothing away. His grey eyes going steely as they drift to Conner's hand.

When the moment finally passes, Conner lets his hand fall. You can feel it grazing down your back as he pulls away. Slow, like he's trying to strike a match and light something inside you.

"I'll see you later, sweetheart. Just think about my offer and get back to me on it!" Conner calls out as Tim storms behind him. Both heading in the direction of the library.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

As soon as their in the Batcave, Conner can tell he probably pushed it too far. Not that he has any regrets. He finally got somewhere and confirmed all of his previous theories about Reader. They were so adorable apologizing to him, and so deliciously sweet about it too.

He should've realized Tim was watching them, though. Dude was a creep. He maybe his best friend, but he's still a damn creep.

As expected, the rest of the family is also giving him the patented Bat-glare when he sees them. But, as he stated, he has no regrets. He's not stupid enough to stick around, though. He saw Jason loading a suspicious looking green bullet into the chamber of his gun. And, while he knows Tim wouldn't kill him, he's not so sure about the rest of them.

He's confirmed what he's wanted, what he's already suspected. They're absolutely perfect for him and ripe and raw.

[buckets-and-trees]

I’d like to point out this man’s insane hotness🥵

Also… imagine needing a place to sit and Bucky tells you to sit on his lap😍

I've been sitting on this one for ages, Shannon, I'm sorry! But I was waiting for a storyline that truly swept me away because this look and the potential for this moment couldn't be squandered if I was going to take a stab at it...

Poison Blood from the Wound of the Pricked Hand

Characters/Pairings: Post TFATWS!Bucky x curvy!Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary: You've made a life-altering decision, and even though it feels like the only choice you could have made, you hope it's the right one, and you hope the man you're being forced to rely on tonight will help you accomplish what you need to, or else your life could be at stake - not to mention the safety of so many others.

Content/Warnings: intense physical intimicy, but no actual smut (I know, shocker)

Author Notes: Possibly the last piece for the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend! And, yes late, but the final piece to complete out my collection for @buckybarnesevents Hot Bucky Summer - week twelve "what should I wear?"

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“How are things going in there?” Bucky called loudly to you.

“Um…” There was a long pause, before you called back, “Fine.”

You glanced at the clock.

You knew at this rate you were going to make the two of you late. But that only ate at you more. You weren’t trying to cause problems.

Or, rather, you weren’t trying to cause more problems. You already felt like a walking liability.

All you had tried to do was get out of the danger of your brother’s organization.

You had finally gone to the authorities, looking to make some kind of deal for safety, maybe witness protection, you didn’t know exactly how these things worked, only that you had to leave.

But evidently things had been even worse and more complicated than you knew, and the price for safety had come with strings.

They needed more information, and they saw you as a means to be able to get it.

And so they’d dangled a deal that required you to play your part as a trusted member of the family one more time.

You had only been gone for just over twenty-four hours, so it wasn’t likely that your brother would suspect your defection yet. But it was so recent that you still felt unsettled over whether you’d made the right decision - especially now that it wasn’t a clean break and you were being used be the people you expected to be the good guys.

“Are you sure?” Bucky’s voice broke through your thoughts again.

You shook your head. Since he was in the other room, there was no danger in him seeing your doubt and uncertainty.

Of all the moving parts in this scheme, Bucky was possibly the only piece you thought you might be able to trust. His reputation preceded him as someone more than capable of handling any dangerous situation, but he also seemed to harbor a question in his mind over working this operation and trusting the government agencies who had a hand in this.

You sighed, then bit your lip. The clock ticked relentlessly, each second a reminder of your indecision. Your eyes darted between two outfits laid out on the bed, both chosen with care but now seeming woefully inadequate for the task ahead.

You sighed, your eyes darting between the two outfits laid out on the bed. One was a sleek black dress, form-fitting and elegant, with a high neckline and long sleeves that would conceal the nervous goosebumps prickling your skin. The other, a tailored pantsuit in deep navy, exuded an air of professionalism and confidence you wished you felt.

Both outfits were carefully chosen to blend in at the high-stakes charity gala where you'd be making your reappearance in your brother's world. But which one would better sell the lie? Which one would make you look like you hadn't just betrayed everything you'd ever known?

You ran your fingers over the cool silk of the dress, then the crisp wool of the suit jacket. The clock's incessant ticking seemed to grow louder with each passing moment, mocking your indecision.

You needed to look like your old self, the trusted sister, and you’d worn clothes just like these a hundred times before. But now?

And with the added caveat of needing to have a brand new man on your arm and sell that he was a valid new part of your life, too?

You grabbed both hangers and went out into the living room of your apartment where Bucky had been patiently waiting for you.

Bucky's eyes widened slightly as you emerged from the bedroom, clothes in hand. He was sitting on the couch, hands in his lap, already dressed in a sharp looking suit with leather lapels - edgy but impressive. For a moment, you were struck by how different he looked from the dangerous operative turned superhero you knew him to be. He looked like he could effortlessly blend into the opulent setting you expected tonight.

"I can't decide," you admitted, your voice hesitant. "Which one do you think would be more… convincing?"

Bucky's gaze flickered between the two outfits, then back to your face. His expression softened, and you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

"The dress," he said after a moment. "It's more in line with what you'd typically wear to these events, right? We don't want to raise any suspicions by changing your style too drastically."

You nodded, grateful for his insight. "You're right. Thank you."

As you turned to go back to the bedroom, Bucky's voice stopped you. "Hey," he said softly, his blue eyes searching your face. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready."

For a moment, you were tempted to take the out he was offering. To tell him you couldn't go through with it, that you'd made a mistake. But then you thought of your brother, of all the people he'd hurt, and you steeled yourself.

"No, I can do this. Besides,” you thought of all the things you’d learned in different meetings and conversations and reports today, “this is our best chance to get the information we need to bring him and the rest of the organization down.”

“But it doesn’t have to be you,” he insisted.

You tilted your head and smiled sadly. “But it should be.” They had been planning to try and infiltrate tonight’s gala before you had presented yourself, but with you, you were practically a golden ticket into the event and into so many more of the areas once inside.

Bucky nodded, a mix of admiration and concern in his eyes. "Alright. But remember, I'll be right there with you the whole time. If anything feels off, just give me the signal and we're out of there."

You nodded, grateful for his reassurance. As you headed back to the bedroom to change, you couldn't help but wonder how convincing you and Bucky would be as a couple. You'd only known each other for a day, and while he seemed kind and protective, there was still so much mystery surrounding him.

As you undressed, you tried to calm your racing thoughts. You'd been to countless events like this before, schmoozing with the elite and corrupt. But never as a double agent, never with the weight of so many lives hanging in the balance, and certainly not since discovering the secret that had shattered your world and opened up your eyes to the fact that everything your brother was involved in was corrupt and dangerous.

As you slipped into the black dress, you couldn't help but feel like you were putting on armor for battle. The silk clung to your skin, cool and familiar, yet somehow foreign now. You zipped it up, fingered the neckline, then pressed your hand to your heart and took a deep breath.

In the mirror, you saw the woman you used to be—poised, elegant, the perfect sister to a powerful man. But your eyes betrayed you, filled with a storm of emotions you'd have to learn to hide in the next few minutes.

You applied your makeup with practiced precision, each stroke of mascara and swipe of lipstick another layer of protection, of disguise. Once satisfied with your appearance, you squared your shoulders, and put the lipstick in your clutch.

You emerged from the bedroom, smoothing down the fabric of your dress. “I’m ready.”

Bucky’s eyes roamed over you appreciatively, and you felt something pool in your stomach - the attraction to this man you’d been trying to ignore since you’d been introduced to him early this morning. You could not have a crush on this man who was supposed to infiltrate your brother’s organization with you, steal information, and try and get both of you out safely.

It would be too much of a distraction.

Bucky's lips quirked into a small smile.

“What?” you asked, suspicious.

“You forgot your shoes,” he said simply.

You looked down and sighed.

“Nervous?” he asked, his tone kind, soft.

"Bucky," you said, looking back at him, "how are we supposed to explain your presence? Won't my brother be suspicious of a new man in my life?"

"We've got a cover story. I'm a potential new investor in your brother's 'business ventures.' You met me at a networking event last week and thought I'd be a good fit for tonight's gala."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just happened to sweep me off my feet?”

"Something like that," Bucky replied with a roguish smile. "We'll keep it vague - a whirlwind romance, sparks flying. Your brother will be more focused on the potential investment than on our relationship."

You nodded, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach. It wasn't just nerves about the mission now; the idea of pretending to be swept off your feet by Bucky wasn't entirely unpleasant.

"Right," you said, forcing yourself to focus. "I'll just go grab those shoes."

You hurried back to the bedroom, slipping on a pair of elegant black heels. As you turned to leave, your eyes fell on a framed photo on the nightstand - you and your brother at last year's gala, both smiling widely. Your stomach churned. How had you been so blind?

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the guilt down and away. You needed to do this. There was no other path in your mind now that you knew the truth. Your eyes flicked from the frame to the luggage packed next to your door. When you’d left yesterday, you hadn’t taken anything with you, not wanting to draw suspicion. With this return to your place and the cover of being swept into something with Bucky, it gave you the cover to pack some of your things - luggage that was being picked up and taken care of for you by one of this “rich investor’s” staff to go with you on a two-week vacation to a private island in the Phillippines. It was a perfect cover, provided you could sell it.

He was so handsome, with his dark hair styled perfectly and his strong jawline. Still sitting on the couch, he radiated confidence and charm, making it easy to see why he was chosen for this mission. You couldn't help but feel slightly nervous under his intense gaze.

Bucky's eyes flicked over your ensemble. "You look beautiful," he said, his voice low and husky.

Your heart skipped a beat at the compliment, feeling self-conscious under his scrutiny. "Thank you," you replied shyly.

You’d been so worried about all the other logistics of tonight, you hadn’t thought about the believability of you and Bucky until now.

“Come here,” he said, holding a hand out to you. You crossed the room and took it, gasping as he pulled you down to sit across his lap.

“Bucky,” you protested, insecure about sitting all of your plus-sized body in his lap. You had never been comfortable with your few previous partners in this situation, but he pressed one cool vibranium finger to your lips, while his other hand moved softly up and down your back.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered. “You’ll need to look comfortable around me when I touch you, and if your brother is going to believe you’ve agreed to go away with me tonight, I can’t touch you for the first time while we’re there.”

You nodded. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and you shivered.

You felt a flush creep up your neck as Bucky's lips brushed your cheek. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, but you could feel the strength in his arms as he held you. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself further. He seemed unconcerned, even happy to hold all of you, and the contrast between his warm flesh hand and the cool metal of his other arm sent tingles down your spine.

"Is this okay?" he murmured against your skin, his breath hot on your neck.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. Your heart was racing, and you weren't sure if it was from nerves about the mission or the proximity of this dangerously attractive man.

Bucky's hand traced lazy circles on your back, and you found yourself relaxing into his touch despite your better judgment. "We need to look natural together," he explained softly. "Like we can't keep our hands off each other. It'll sell the whirlwind romance angle."

You swallowed hard, trying keep it together.

Bucky's hand continued its soothing motion up and down your back, and you found yourself leaning into his touch despite your better judgment.

"Tell me more about your brother," Bucky said softly. "What should I expect?"

You tensed slightly at the mention of your brother, but Bucky's steady presence kept you grounded. "He's… charming," you began, choosing your words carefully. "Charismatic. He can make anyone feel like the most important person in the room. But there's always an agenda behind it."

Bucky nodded, his fingers still tracing patterns on your back. "And how does he usually react to you bringing someone new around?"

You sighed, leaning your head against Bucky's shoulder. "He's protective. Suspicious. I haven’t brought many men around. He'll probably try to get you alone, size you up."

"I can handle that," Bucky assured you, his voice low and confident.

You lifted your head to look at him, suddenly struck by how close your faces were. His blue eyes were intense, searching yours. "Bucky," you whispered, "what if I can't pull this off?"

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing softly across your skin. "We will," he said firmly. It didn’t escape your notice that he’d said we, not allowing you to feel alone. "You're stronger than you think, and I've got your back.”

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Underneath that charm, he's calculating. Always looking for an angle, a way to use people. And he's dangerous when he feels threatened."

Before, you hadn’t questioned his cold side, thought it to usually be warranted, protective of you and the family and his organization. But now you knew better, illusion shattered.

Bucky nodded, his expression grave. "I'll be on high alert," he assured you. "We'll have to make sure he sees me as an asset, not a threat. But remember, we're not there to confront him tonight. Just to gather information."

"Right," you said, trying to calm your racing heart. "Just information."

Bucky's hand resumed landed on your thigh, and he squeezed reassuringly. You put your hand over his.

"Good," he murmured, eyes dropping down to your coupled hands. "That's the kind of reaction we need."

You nodded, trying to focus on the mission, on the act you needed to sell. But it was becoming increasingly difficult with Bucky's strong arm around you, his warm breath on your neck.

"We should practice," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "What if... what if we need to kiss?"

Bucky's eyes met yours, a mix of surprise and something darker, more intense. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, your heart racing. "We need to be convincing, right?"

Without another word, Bucky's hand slid to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips met yours, soft at first, then with growing intensity. You melted into the kiss, your hands instinctively moving to his chest. The stubble on his jaw scratched lightly against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

For a moment, you forgot about the mission, about your brother, about everything except the feel of Bucky's lips on yours. It felt electric, a spark of something real amidst all the deception you were about to undertake. His metal arm tightened around your waist, and you gasped softly into his mouth.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Bucky's eyes were dark with desire. "That was..." he started, then cleared his throat. "That should be convincing enough.”

You nodded, unable to form words. The kiss had felt all too real, and you were struggling to remind yourself that this was just part of the act. You couldn't afford to develop real feelings for Bucky, not with everything at stake.

"We should go," you managed to say, glancing at the clock. "We don't want to be late."

Bucky nodded, but neither of you moved.

Then you leaned in and kissed him again. He returned your kiss, metal arm pulling you even closer. Your hands tangled into his hair, and you shifted in his lap so you could press your chest flush against his.

"We really should go," you murmured against Bucky's lips when you had to break off for another breath, but made no move to pull away.

He hummed in agreement, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, all thoughts of the mission momentarily forgotten. There was only the warmth of his body, the softness of his lips, the gentle scrape of his stubble against your skin.

Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the strength coiled beneath his suit jacket. Bucky's flesh hand slid from your hair down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps. You gasped softly at the contact, and he took the opportunity to trace your lower lip with his tongue. Heat pooled in your stomach as you parted your lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss further.

His vibrainum hand continued its exploration down your body, while his warm, flesh hand stayed at the small of your back, anchoring you. You lost yourself in the sensation, forgetting for a moment about the dangerous mission ahead. Bucky's kisses were intoxicating, making you dizzy with desire. His metal hand traced the curve of your hip, sending shivers through your body.

Suddenly, the sharp ring of a phone cut through the haze of passion. You jerked away from Bucky, reality crashing back. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a sleek black device.

"It's time," he said, his voice husky. "The car's waiting downstairs."

You nodded, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing heart. As you stood up from his lap, you smoothed down your dress, acutely aware of how close you'd come to losing control.

Bucky rose as well, adjusting his tie and running a hand through his slightly mussed hair. His eyes met yours, filled with…

Filled with what, you weren’t sure.

If you made it out tonight, maybe you might have a chance to find out.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Read more stories from the Deliciously Debauched Labor Day Weekend!

👀

What do we think? Do we want to see more of them?

I think this could be a post-TFATWS and pre-Thunderbolts kind of thing maybe. idk.

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[felixknow]

Hi! Can I request 64 with felix please:))

~cookie🍪

64. "please pretend to be my boyfriend."

Thanks for requesting! This one is a drabble instead of fake texts given the nature of the prompt. I didn't re-read or edit it, whatever happened is what happened LOL.

1.1k, fluff? Felix prevents it from being angst <3

Your trip to the convenience store was supposed to be quick.

You and Felix volunteered to go for the whole group-- you because you weren’t essential to the recording session, and Felix because he wanted to stretch his legs after being stuck in that small room for hours, waiting for his turn to record.

“Changbinnie wants a smoothie but I’m afraid it’ll melt before we get back,” you say, going over the list in your notes app while walking behind Felix, trusting that he won't let you bump into anything.

“It’s only a ten minute walk. I don’t think it’ll be too melted,” Felix says. “It’s pretty cool out tonight. It should be okay.”

“Okay,” you mumble, glancing over the list once more. It should be easy enough to find everything, and you can probably offer to pay today-- Felix probably expects to do it himself, but maybe you can beat him to it.

“After you,” he says, holding the door of the convenience store open for you. You say thank you and hear someone snicker behind the two of you.

So it isn’t common to hold the door open in Korea, you think. It’s not like it’s unheard of. Why do people always scoff at it?

“Found Innie’s chips,” Felix says, pulling a bag off the shelf.

“I’ll go make Changbinnie’s smoothie. Can you also look for Han’s mini cheesecake and Lee Know’s chocolate?”

“Of course.”

You wander to the opposite side of the small store to the drinks section and go about getting a cup of ice, some fruit, some juice, and then you hear another scoff and a laugh over your shoulder.

“She hasn’t changed,” you hear someone say in a not-so-quiet whisper.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Still as ugly as I remember.”

A cold spike stabs through you. I know that voice.

Your heart increases and a cold chill runs down your back. No, please no.

You finish making Changbin’s drink and snap the lid on tightly. As you turn and rush back to the corner of the store where you left Felix, you catch a glimpse.

Of her.

The girl you thought you’d never have to see again when you graduated high school. The girl who tormented you day after day and made you dread even walking through the halls lest she be close enough to shout at you and get her clique of friends to laugh at you.

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks when you approach him. A frown etches onto his pretty mouth. “You look upset. Did something happen?”

“Um… someone who…”

“Sorry, what? I can’t hear you.”

You motion for him to lean down, and you whisper into his ear “someone who used to bully me is here. Can you please pretend to be my boyfriend or something? I just need her to leave me alone or not see me or something.”

Felix immediately starts looking around and seems to make eye contact with someone across the store.

“Of course,” he says to you, wrapping one arm protectively around your shoulders. “I’ve got almost everything, I think. We just need Chan’s gummies and we should be good.”

You nod and walk along silently with Felix, keeping your eyes to the ground. Your hands shake just enough that you consider asking him to carry the drink instead so you don’t risk dropping it.

“Got it,” he says, smiling as he takes them from the hook, now holding a frankly ridiculous amount of snacks in one hand.

“Here, let me have some of those,” you say, reaching for him, but Felix pulls his arm back.

“No, my baby never has to carry anything when I’m around,” he says, beaming a sweet smile down at you. “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late to see my parents.”

He’s really invested in this, you think, slightly smiling.

“Y/N,” a sickly false-sweet voice coos behind you. “Is that you, Y/N?”

Felix lets go of you and goes to the register, dropping the snacks on the counter.

“Oh, uh, hi,” you say, slowly turning to face her. “How are you?”

“I’m doing so well. How are you? You look… the same.” She smirks.

“Babyyy,” Felix whines, coming back over to you and wrapping both of his arms around your shoulders. “Come on, give me your drink. I told you I’m paying this time.”

He kisses your cheek and takes the drink out of your hand, then looks up at your former bully.

“Oh, hello. Are you a friend of my Y/Nnie?”

Her expression falls, the smirk dissipating faster than it appeared. She’s starstruck--you can see it in her eyes as they shine with admiration and also confusion.

“Wait… aren’t you an idol?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, laughing softly. “Oops. We should get going.” Felix grabs your hand and pulls you with him to the register so you can finish your trip.

“Y/N, how did you start dating an idol?”

Felix frowns but maintains his composure, glancing over his shoulder as he talks to her.

“I saw her at a concert and thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world,” he says, taking the bag of snacks after saying a quick thank you to the cashier.

“But--”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, cutting her off. “We’re not supposed to discuss our relationship. In fact, I’ll have to have you sign an NDA because we’re not actually public yet. Would you mind waiting here? I’ll send a representative of the company.”

“Oh, okay…” she says unsurely. “Felix, can I get a picture with you first?”

“I’ll come back without Y/Nnie and we’ll take a picture, okay? I want to walk my girlfriend home safely first.”

“Yeah, of course,” she agrees, refusing to meet your eye. It seems that her tough facade has completely been destroyed in the face of someone as charming as Felix.

“Come on, jagiya,” he says to you, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

Once you’re out of the store, you expect Felix to drop your hand, but he doesn’t.

“Thank you so much,” you say softly, squeezing his hand. “I don’t know what I thought that would accomplish. I just… panicked.”

“I think I’ll probably get in trouble for that if she tells anyone,” he says. “I’m probably actually gonna have to send someone with an NDA.”

“She’s really gonna think we’re dating,” you say, giggling at the absurdity of it all.

“That’s incredible,” Felix says, laughing too. “She’s never gonna be able to say shit to you again, though, that’s for sure.”

“Oh my god, this couldn’t have gone better. Thank you, so much.”

“Thank you for letting me hold your hand,” he says, smiling over at you. “I’ve wanted to but I didn’t know if we were close enough for that.”

“After this we definitely are,” you say, swinging your hands a little as you walk.

“I’m so glad,” he says.

Since when has Felix been shy to hold someone’s hand…?

masterlist | Wanna see the other members? Ask <3 | Send me a number!

Do NOT repost my content on any website for any reason.

[theminecraftbee]

Etho and Grian are back at base, hysterically laughing over their achievement. Cleo sits inside, staring, as the two of them talk about getting a wither and a warden to fight, and tries to figure out what she feels about it.

In some ways it's not their fault. Task made them do it and all that. Plus--

Well, it's not like she and Etho are losing hearts anytime soon. They've both done a damn good job keeping themselves from dying. A benefit, Cleo thinks, of deciding to team with Etho this time. Between the two of them, they'll largely only do chaos they can recover from. Maybe this is their game. Maybe this time, Cleo manages to stick with someone until the very end. It looks like it. It looks like...

Grian, of course, is the confounding factor.

She wasn't going to turn him away. He needed allies. They needed someone a bit better at actually doing damage than herself or Etho. It's mutually beneficial. And, besides, he's weirdly lovable, in an inherently kind of dangerous way. A little like loving a bobcat someone had accidentally raised as a pet cat until it got a bit too big and stinky and murdery for them. Like, yeah, he shouldn't be domesticated and he's not, really, in any sense of the word, but it's a bit sad to watch him try to survive on his own now, right?

Hah. Maybe that's what Scar managed to do to him. Would explain a lot, really.

Anyway, he's her bobcat now, which is the problem.

See the thing is: Cleo understands Etho. It's why finally deciding to be partners for once felt... right. They're similar flavors of people. Scared, mostly. Survivors, but not in the 'will stab anyone' way that like, Martyn is. Loyal, although Cleo has no delusions that Etho is as loyal as she. And scared. Has she already said that? Scared. It's important to the kinds of things she and Etho are. Like... mountain lions, maybe. Mountain lions that have been around just enough people to know how dangerous they are. Like that.

God, she's only doing cat metaphors. Bdubs really is turning them all into furries.

Anyway, the point is, Grian isn't scared.

And that... terrifies her.

That's scarier than anything else. Because, see, Cleo wants to survive. But more than that, she wants her partners to survive. And she and Etho, the two of them are doing well. Better than most people. They're green and they have so many hearts.

But Grian? Grian's yellow and not afraid and goading Etho into not being afraid too. It's not their fault, exactly, Cleo thinks. They both had hard tasks. They didn't have a choice, Cleo thinks.

But. But.

She doesn't know what to do, if Etho gets convinced the humans down the mountain aren't scary. She doesn't know what to do if he gets too close. She doesn't know what to do if he gets hurt.

Because she--she doesn't think she can learn to stop being scared, anymore.

But she also doesn't know how many times her heart can stand to lose someone.

Did you know--wild cats are social? They have a reputation for being loners, but mountain lions, they're social. They don't do well being alone. They don't actually hunt solely alone. That's the important bit here. They seem independent, sure, but actually...

Anyway. This is Bdubs's fault. For making her a furry, apparently.

She watches Grian and Etho scheme together and sits back and breathes and tells herself that Etho isn't going to stop being afraid anytime soon. That if push came to shove, he, at least, would retreat back, and that maybe the two of them could convince Grian to retreat too. Safe from hunters. Safe from red.

Maybe safe from hurting each other, too.

(She's not so sure about that part.)

[katakaluptastrophy]

Can we talk about Magnus in Harrow the Ninth? Because there's a tendency to paint him as this constantly cheerful figure and he's not - he's just very Fifth.

He's the only person who seems even slightly upset about the whole gun-toting horror thing:

“Did the Sleeper get them?”

“Only by assumption,” said Harrowhark, while Abigail’s dolt of a husband said, “I bloody hope so.”

“Magnus,” Abigail said, a touch disapprovingly.

“Well, if the Sleeper didn’t, that’s two maniacs with an ancient weapon and a love of blowing off faces, dear,” said Magnus.

And he's got a very low opinion of Silas:

"She won’t tell me what he said to her, just that he ‘was horrid.’”

“Cheeky little so-and-so,” said Magnus. “If he were my son, I’d give him something to think about. I’m not surprised he’s gone to ground.”

“I would hope your son might be of different character,” said his wife, half-smiling.

“Protesilaus should have biffed him.”

“It’s strange,” said Abigail, ignoring her husband’s exhortations to biffing.

Behind the jolly Jeeves and Wooster-esque talk of biffing people, let's remember that this is Magnus - who from Gideon's POV never saw a teenager he didn't want to adopt - earnestly wishing that a grown man had hit a 16 year old kid.

And when Harrow explains that she thinks she saw him jump to his death, Magnus isn't particularly sympathetic:

“We should have made him a greater priority,” said Lady Pent.

Magnus said, “I’m not certain.”

and

“We didn’t need him,” he said bracingly.

Abigail said, “We need everyone.”

“I never thought he was quite the thing.”

This "never quite the thing" line is the same one Abigail uses when she says Ianthe shouldn't have become a Lyctor and you get the sense it has a quite specific meaning on the Fifth. You get the distinct feeling Magnus is saying "good riddance" in response to a teenager's apparent suicide.

And then of course there's Magnus' conversation with Harrow as the River bubble collapses, as Harrow debates whether she should leave her body to Gideon:

She said: “If I go back, it will finally destroy her soul.”

It was Magnus who stepped forward and looked at Harrow face-to-face. And perhaps she felt that more keenly: that he was the man who had, in Gideon’s own words a lifetime ago, been nice to her cavalier. His mouth was hard now, but his eyes were as kind as they had ever been. And kindness was a knife.

He doesn't pull any punches in laying out his understanding of the situation to Harrow:

“This whole thing happened because you wouldn’t face up to Gideon dying,” he said, which was a stab as precise as any Nonius had managed. “I don’t blame you. But where would you be, right now, if you’d said: She is dead? You’re keeping her things like a lover keeping old notes, but with her death, the stuff that made her Gideon was destroyed. That’s how Lyctorhood works, isn’t it? She died. She can’t come back, even if you keep her stuffed away in a drawer you can’t look at. You’re not waiting for her resurrection; you’ve made yourself her mausoleum.”

His wife looked at Harrow’s face and murmured, “Magnus, you’ve made your point,” but he uncharacteristically ignored her.

He's trying to get through to her in a very fraught situation, but he's certainly not pulling his punches:

“You’re a smart girl, Harrowhark. You might turn some of that brain to the toughest lesson: that of grief.”

Abigail is also trying to talk her out of things, but she's much more discursive and apologetic. Magnus is kind, but it's kindness as a knife, not a cushion.

Magnus is so often written off as just a silly, goofy character, when he's more complicated than that. He's allowed to have a very real frustration with the River bubble and with Harrow, however much he does also care for her and want to help her.

And you know what, he's a CFO stuck in a horrorscape with his delighted ghost nerd wife and a bunch of soldiers. He runs with it - he cracks one of his House ordinal jokes while physically tackling a gun-toting ghost and makes a decent go at it before getting shot. But he's very much out of his comfort zone, angry, and no longer entirely held back by propriety.

[luveline]

hi again!! i saw you mention wanting to write for prince!steve, and i also saw that you write with dialogue prompts so i present to you:

A: “I’ll take care of you.”

B: “It’s rotten work.”

A: “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

maybe the reader gets injured doing something for training, but it’s all up to you!! i’m sure we’ll love it regardless. kisses!!

thank you for requesting! —prince steve au. fem, 1.5k

Pain was familiar before you came to the palace. Small pains and big, all kinds of hurting, poverty-driven neglect leading to toothaches and back pain, twisted ankles walked on without choice, sore skin otherwise ignored. It didn’t matter if you got hurt as long as you lived. 

Not in a dramatic sense. It didn’t feel dramatic at the time, only miserable. You go to work with a migraine because you can’t afford not to. You walk home in the dark because the mag-trams are getting too expensive. You break your holo, so you make do without one. You pick your head up to keep looking both ways and you get everywhere you need to go because you need to work, to get paid, to eat, to work. 

That’s how it always was. So getting sick didn’t matter. An injury was temporary pain that your body would fix eventually, and if it didn’t, well, it’s cheaper to pull a tooth than pay to have it filled. 

You were used to your sorry life, and then you met Steve. Tall, brown-haired, brown-eyed Steve. Looking at him sometimes is enough to make your whole body a void for things you used to complain about; you wake up across from him in the big bed and forget you can feel pain at all, if only because he’s already awake, waiting for you to open your eyes before he rests his hand on your cheek. You met him and your soul-mark glowed with a lacy, almost feathered light, your wrist braceleted with white colour that soon faded to mellow blue. 

When you first meet your soulmate, the colours you make tend to shift. It takes time for your heart to decide if love is pink or orange or blue. It seems to have settled now —when Steve kisses you, your mark turns a Gaussian amber. When you kiss back, his mark turns light pink, like the lotus flowers he keeps in his private gardens. 

Right now, your mark hums an angry red. It’s typical in its colour, and it’s common. Most people’s marks turn red when they’re hurting. Yours is a crimson so dark it looks black in the dim lighting, and it throbs in time with your pain like a vexing metronome. You’ll never be able to put it from your mind if the mark continues to remind you. 

Steve is uncharacteristically quiet at your side. His own mark is lit in sympathy, mostly pink with his affection, but threaded in red like spider lily flowers blooming against his forearm. 

He shifts beside you. It’s been more than a month since your wedding, and yet he’s careful with you. Almost shy, though he can be brash and cocky. You know intimately how sweet Steve can be when he’s in love. 

It doesn’t make any sense. 

“How’s the pain now?” he asks, his eyebrows pulled together at their starts. 

“Not so bad.” 

“Could you rate it on a scale? If zero was no pain at all, and ten were enough to warrant another dose of white willow bark?” 

“What if I were at a five?” you ask. 

“A half dose and a good kiss?” 

You turn his way but flinch when it puts undue pressure on your leg, a stab of hot pain jumping from your fractured tibia to deep inside of your hips. Steve sees your wincing and presses your shoulder into the bed, leaning over you, a scolding he doesn’t give in the pinch of his eyebrows as he leans down to kiss you. It’s more caress than kiss, his hand cupping your cheek, his lips barely touching yours before he rests his nose at your brow. “Can you stay still?” he asks. 

“Sorry.” 

“Just don’t want you to hurt yourself again.” 

He lifts his head. Holds your cheek for longer than you can work out why, dotting another soft kiss to your nose before slinking out of bed to find you some white willow bark tincture. It’s a potent pain reliever. You shouldn’t have too much of it. If you were still living your past life, you’d be chewing on ginger skins trying to limp your way back into work. There’d be no time to stop. 

“Steve,” you say, watching him a small ways away at the table of your quarters. He turns to you. “I don’t really need anything else.” 

“You said it’s hurting?” Steve pipettes the tincture into a cup of water. “You said a five, and you lie. Knowing you, it’s closer to an eight, you just don’t want to tell me.” 

It might not be as extreme as an eight now, laying down and bandaged, but it hurts badly and a tincture would solve this. Still, you say, “It’s fine, I don’t need it.” 

He brings the glass regardless and puts it on the nightstand. Your bed is yards too big for one person, even two, but when Steve sits next to you he leaves no room between you. He looks down at you fondly. Brown hair like down feather falls against his forehead. 

“You’re going to be in pain for a long time.” He brings a hand to your cheek again. “It might sound tame, a plateau fracture, but that’s still a fracture. You know doctors say fracture when they mean broken, right? You broke your leg. It’s okay to want pain relief.” 

“I knew that. I didn’t know you knew it.” 

“Impolite.” He ducks down to look you in the eyes. You’re a little skewiff, straight to his sideways, but it gets a point across. He wants to kiss you while you’ve said something maddening. “I don’t see why you’re so insistent on pretending it hasn’t happened and that you’re fine. You got hurt, and you’ll stay hurt for a while. It might be weeks of bed and– and you need to be looked after. I don’t know why you’re so guilty about it.” 

“I’m not guilty,” you deny guilty, turning your face to lean into his hand, rather than continue to face his imploring gaze. “I just… I’m not used to this. Before, if something went wrong, I couldn’t just lay down and wait to get better, and I surely wouldn’t be laying here with doctors and servants and the ladies in waiting all trying to make sure– It’s like it’s not my fault, and that doesn’t make any sense. I don’t want to be a burden on everyone. More than I already am,” you add, a bitter mumble nearly lost to his palm. 

He makes a promise, then, turning your face to the light. “I’ll take care of you,” he says. 

“It’s rotten work.” 

Steve shakes his head gently. “Not to me. Not if it’s you.” 

You press your tongue to your teeth, worried you’ll say something you’ll regret. You don’t want him to go. You want him to mean exactly what he says, to stay here and take care of you, and to enjoy doing it. Wouldn’t it be nice to be loved for love's sake? 

Steve shuffles inward and encourages your head into his lap, thrusting pillows aside to take up station against your headboard. He frames your face, upside down, before both hands begin to run down your arms. A hug, in a way, as he twists his face to kiss the skin beside your eye. You squint at the proximity. 

“You’re not a burden,” he says, hands climbing upwards now, warm and steady where they travel, “you’re my wife. My cherished wife, remember?” 

His tone is silk. 

“You… haven’t proved to be a wretched husband,” you confess. 

“I did try. But loving you has been easy. It makes husbandry a gift.” He laughs at his grandiose and gives you a kiss that’s more familiar by your ear, his pleading, searching kisses, the kind he likes to press to all your softest junctures. “I wish you could understand that we’re marked for a reason. We were always meant to be together, and I couldn’t have asked for a better person to stand with me. I’m happy you’re here. I want to take care of you.” 

Not if it’s you, he’d said. 

You wonder if it might be okay to cry. He’s massaging your arms, still bent in half over you trying to kiss some belief in him into your forehead. 

“It’ll be okay,” he murmurs between chaste, silent kisses, “really. You don’t have to pretend things don’t hurt you anymore.” 

You feel strange, then, shivery and weak as you turn your face into his thigh. His hand slips behind your back to hold you.

“Can I convince you to drink this tincture now?” he asks, just above your ear. 

“I love you,” you mumble. 

He pauses his trailing hands. You squeeze your eyes closed, but he doesn’t pause for long enough to scare you. “I love you,” he says. “Since the day we met, I’ve loved you. I’ll take care of you.” 

He is easy to believe. 

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

The gang + powerful overlord reader who is trying to reform

A/n: Tbh I don't have the strongest grasp on what makes an overlord an overlord but I tried. Everything here is platonic!

Warning: Very slight alluding to suicide. It's in one sentence and not supposed to be about suicide but I just wanted to warn y'all in case.

(Not beta read!)

You honestly didn't want to be an overlord. But if you had some power maybe the citizens of hell would leave you alone. And you were admittedly powerful. Which wasn't by your own doing, just like in the living world everything was down to luck. And you won the lottery. So you decided to spend the money and became an overlord. Just to lower the chance of demons pestering you.

It worked. It worked too well. You took out a few overlords, it was dirty. You caught them off guard in the middle of going about their life. You don't keep up with politics. To your surprise, you took out two heavy hitters. Which did result in people not pestering you. But not just that it resulted in them outright avoiding you. You didn't feel good about killing them, you just killed as many as you thought would need to make you noteable. If you had just killed the two it would have removed more unnecessary deaths that you caused.

People would literally light themselves on fire rather than be near you. Out of fear of what gruesome way you would kill them. Not that you would kill them but rumors spread. It went from you just stabbing the overlords to torturing them in the most messed up way possible. You being this insanely powerful and sadistic being. That was the only way they could imagine you killing some of the most powerful creatures in hell.

So it was like that for years. As you were walking around the death and carnage you didn't mean to cause. Amidst all the screams you heard a TV playing. You check it out and it was some sort of ad. You recognized Angel from Val. Whenever Velvet was the one to show up at meetings she would always manage to bring up her and the other Vee's social media presence. Which with Val would involve his pornos. At least he's able to escape from that prick sometimes. Despite the glitch he was somehow causing and his face being hidden you also recognized Alastor.

You didn't know much about your colleague's personal lives. You barely showed up at the meeting but this piqued your interest. But it was quickly cut off by the news.

"Breaking news in hell today!" One of the broadcasters, Katie, spoke, "We have just received word from the Heaven embassy that the next extermination is happening sooner than ever before!"

Well fuck you guess. You were never worried about exterminations. Not only did you have a safe area then none of the angels seemed to visit, if they killed you you'd be out of this dumpster fire. Granted you could go to an even worse dumpster fire but you didn't know that for sure.

But you were interested in whatever that first ad was for. Granted everyone was panicking so it wasn't like you could ask anyone about it. However, the news cut right back to the ad.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" A woman with an x over her eye spoke.

It cut to Husk (Who you've only heard snippets about from Alastor.) and Angel.

"Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel." Husk's eyes lingered below him. Clearly reading a script. If his eyes didn't give it away his monotone voice certainly did. "Can I help you with anything?"

"I've been a bad boy. And I need a big strong daddy to put me in my place." Angel moaned. There was a slight sigh coming from behind the camera. Okay ew. You were not trying to see porn while going for a walk. Just as you were about to walk away Angel spoke up again, "On the path to redemption!"

Oh! That sounded... quite nice actually. You didn't exactly believe in the idea. But a chance to get away and even a chance to redeem yourself was a very nice idea.

You went to the hotel's door and racked against the door. Which was kind of stupid. Hotel doors don't need to be knocked on but it still felt like the right thing to do. The fucking princess of hell herself opened the door with a somewhat panicky smile plastered on her face.

"Hello-" She bit her lip "One second." She left but left the door open a creek, "Vaggie it happened again!" She yelled you could hear the rest of what she was saying but you saw a red glow approaching the door.

Before you knew what was happening your hand (and whole body was being shaken by the Radio demon himself, "Why hello y/n!" His staticky voice greeted, "Are you here to watch this wayward adventure fail as well? Or perhaps you aim to entertain it?" Alastor unnerved you. While you were the same on power level he was unpredicted any vengeful thoughts he had were hidden behind his smile.

He was gently pushed away by Charlie. "So sorry about the wait, just wasn't expecting another powerful overlord." She vaguely gestured to Alastor, "So do you want to check in?" Her voice was cautiously hopeful.

"Yep!"

Her eyes turned the size of saucers, "OK! Great so um sorry I'm just so excited! You can go choose your room! A few are already occupied by our guests and staff! But it's pretty easy to tell which rooms are taken." She rambled. As she guided you through the hotel the woman with an x over her eye pointed a spear at you as you passed by.

A short one-eyed girl scattered around. The exact opposite of how she was in the ad. She stabbed a bug with a whole knife getting dangerously close to Husk being at the end of her knife in the process.

Angel glanced at you and any color his already pure white face had drained. Uh oh.

"One minute." You said and walked over to the spider demon, "Fyi just to let you know I also want to kill Val. Just say the word and I might finally be able to go through with it." You said in a hushed voice. He was still tense but visibly relaxed.

You soon found a room and got somewhat set up. You'd have to bring some stuff from your house tomorrow. But today you decided to just collapse onto your bed. While your first impressions weren't of a super chill place, it did give the impression of a family. Maybe your life wouldn't be so much of a living hell here.

[talk-danmei-to-me]

pls pls pls pls make a list of all danmei people should read. I am thirsty for love and angst and pls be my salvation

Omg I can't say no to that!

Full disclosure, I've only been reading danmei since May. Also, I only read official translations. Others may be able to give a wider range.

But since you asked so nicely, let's go!

1) Yuwu/Remnants of Filth

Obviously, my number 1 is going to be the danmei I spend 80% of my time here trying to convince people to read.

Yuwu is a gift for fans of angst, literally opens with the MC getting stabbed in the heart and Meatbun doesn't let up from there.

Fun fact - the only Meatbun without non-con elements in the primary ship.

Sad fact - it also lacks her usual comedy.

Why I love it: Mo Xi, my princess, genuinely the saddest boy in all of danmei. I'm ridiculously invested in Ximang's quest for happiness.

2) 2ha/Erha/The Husky and his White Cat Shizun

At it's heart (at least to where the official translations are up to) 2ha is a romantic comedy. Tropes you may have found in other danmei hit so good (ghost weddings and shizun fucking).

Fun fact - Has my favourite confession scene out of all danmei I've read.

Sad fact - Being Meatbun's most popular work, you can basically collect spoilers like pokemon cards. Not even ao3 tags are safe.

Why I love it - Meatbun's smut writing is S tier and Mo Ran is one of my favourite protaganists... although he has some competition.

3) Ballad of Sword and Wine

I feel like I need to formally apologise for sleeping on this series after reading the first volume. It’s so, so juicy! Obsessed with the character dynamics and it’s always a winner when the main couple starts to dabble with each other in the first volume. It’s not Meatbun levels of smut peddling but I appreciate Tang Jiu Qing’s hustle. If you love courtly politics, graphic descriptions of violence and the most insane levels of sexual tension you will ever read. You need this danmei in your life.

Fun fact - I am as obsessed with Cezhou as Xiao Chiye is with the nape of Shen Lanzhou’s neck.

Sad fact - The sheer amount of characters will drive you insane.

4) To Rule in a Turbulent World

Enter You Miao! His introduction made me fall in love with him just as fast as I did Mo Ran! There's a reason everyone raves about chapter 3. Hilarious, horny and wholesome. The side characters are amazing, the main couple is adorable and it's giving hints of political powerplays. Also the first danmei I've read that seems to really deliver when it comes to skinship. The main couple literally can't keep their hands to themselves.

Fun fact - I'm only 50% through but I am buying every single Fei Tian Ye Xiang 7 seas is about to release day 1.

Sad fact - there's no pictures. Also I'm not sure how angsty it's going to get.

Bonus: For the toxic yaoi fan in your life

Meatbun's most unhinged work. She's peddling all the toxic smut fans of bl mangas and manhwas will be familiar with. Even though it's modern it made me nostalgic for that reason. He Yu is a clown and I adore him. Meatbun is airing all her kinks with this one and I'm not mad about it.

Fun fact- This is the first modern danmei I've read. Also, one of the more fun uses of the straight man trope I've read.

Sad fact - Vol 3 cliffhanger!

Why I love it - It's just pure Meatbun chaos.

(Am I just exposing myself as a Meatbun stan, probably, but she delivers every time.)

[jhilsara]

Of Bookstore, Coffees, and Late Nights

Sunshine!Reader/Southern!Reader/Plus Sized!Reader

Summary: After Spencer is shot he can't do much in the field for a while, being stuck to the offices in Quantico. His insomnia starts to amp up and instead of an urge for McDonald's at 1 AM he finds himself desperate for a new book and a coffee. Somehow, he finds the Midnight Owl, the late night bookstore/cafe open at weird hours with a cute southern co owner who probably gets the same amount of sleep as he does.

She also makes the best coffee that is disgustingly sweet. Exactly how he likes it.

Word Count: 11k

Warnings: Mentions of Season 5 100 episode and canon typical BAU themes

|Next

The one with the late night bookstore    

If Spencer could pace, he would, but his new semi-permanent crutch situation was impeding his mobility. He hasn’t been able to sleep, much less relax with the knowledge of Hotch being stabbed by George Foyet in his own home. Or how it’s clear that Foyet is playing an extreme game with the BAU, but mostly Hotch. Spencer didn’t even want to think about poor Haley and Jack being thrown into witness protection. These were scenarios Spencer knew came with the job he does, but seeing it happen to people he knows and cares about, makes his stomach churn. He couldn’t imagine if it was his own mother being threatened. It sends a cold chill down his back. He needs a distraction.    

Spencer’s eyes drag over to his used and abused bookshelf. Looking through his collection trying to find something to read. Even for a distraction he’s not very interested in rereading any of the texts on his shelf. His go to comfort of Sherlock Holmes doesn’t even seem all that appealing at the moment. He needs something that isn’t about criminals or detectives right now. Too bad nothing else on his shelf seemed to catch his eye. Spencer eyes his clock and the analog clock on his wall tells him it’s two in the morning. He’d be lucky if anything besides a dingy twenty-four-hour cafe was open, much less a bookstore.    

He sighs and looks over at his discarded laptop on his desk. He boots it up to see if maybe he could at least check how early the library opened. He could try to sleep but his insomnia was eating away at him, trying to focus on anything else but work seemed harder and harder. Spencer had to get out of his apartment. He looks up the library hours as well as a few bookstores. Just trying to see how soon he could sit down and avoid the never-ending running of his brain. He’s surprised when he finds a bookstore that was advertising its hours as open. Surely that was wrong. He spots the phone number on the webpage, and he decides to call to double check.    

The line rings for roughly two seconds before it’s picked up, a melodic voice on the other line states, “Midnight Owl, this is Y/N how can I help you?” The cadence of the woman’s voice much too chipper for the middle of the night.    

Spencer’s shocked into silence for a moment before he responds, “I thought the hours posted were wrong...” He finds himself stating.   

“Nope!” She replies, unbothered by his blunt response. “We’re open 24/5, only closed on Fridays and Saturdays!” She tells him brightly, “You wouldn’t be the first to call thinking we posted our hours wrong though. More common than you think.”    

He coughs awkwardly and finds himself nodding even though she can’t see it. “Okay, great, thank you so much.”    

“Not a problem, swing by some time we have the best drinks crafted by yours truly!” She jokes with a soft laugh trailing her sentence. She drawls out the end of her words in a way that has them twisting together as sweet as the tea he’s almost positive she drinks.   

“Have a good night.” He states before hanging up the phone.    

He looks at the address listed and finds that it’s just up the street, barely a block away.    

Spencer eyes his crutches for a moment debating on whether he should go or not. His good leg shakes in anxious movements as he sits on his couch. What were the odds that there was a bookstore up his block that was open at odd hours that catered to him? He knew the odds; they were incredibly low . He shrugs to himself and hobbles to grab his crutches, he’ll check it out. Why the hell not? If it’s too good to be true he can add it to the list of places he’ll never visit again like that one coffee shop downtown that burns everything he’s ever ordered.    

He desperately needs to get out of his apartment.    

-   

Y/N’s night at the Midnight Owl was going slowly. You had a few regulars wander in, which you were happy about since the store had only officially been open for four months. There was a couple that sat on the loveseat in the cafe every Thursday night reading their books together and drinking the cafe’s famous homemade lavender lemonade. Not that you could brag about it, your co-owner makes pastries and premade drinks. All homemade family recipes. On the opposite side of the store was the guy who came in every other day to check for anything new. He grabs a coffee and roams the stacks for an hour. Sometimes he buys, sometimes he doesn’t. He comes in at the same time though, so you’re pretty sure he works a graveyard shift.    

There were a couple of students at a table in the cafe section clearly up studying and writing papers. The semester for school had only just started a month ago, but the influx of students coming and going was increasing by the day.    

You loved your little bookstore, and during the day it was popping. A rising trendy place for local university students. You preferred the quiet of the nights though. It gave you time to make orders for books, restock, and change out displays. It was methodical cleaning and sorting that kept you sane. Your daytime life was overly complicated and having your own corner of the world was nice. It felt like a safe bubble that didn’t necessarily feel like work.    

You’re in the middle of compiling a list of books to reorder that have already sold out when the front doorbell chimes telling her someone just entered. You are behind a stack finishing what you're writing on your notepad when you calls out, “Be right there!”    

You bound around the stack to the counter to meet the newcomer, “Welcome in! How can I help you?” you asked happily pushing your hair behind your ear nervously.    

You scan the guy from head to toe, he’s definitely new. He looks like a grad student, probably around your age. His mousy brown hair is tied back into a low ponytail and he’s in a well-worn Caltech shirt and sweatpants. The oddest thing about him is the crutches he’s sporting as he comes in. You send him a warm smile.   

Spencer looks at the woman standing at the counter and finds you’re not what he expected you to be. You look like the moon; you have features that are soft and delicate, and your eyes shine with the bright ambience of the bookstore. Spencer almost loses his train of thought as he takes in the bookstore worker’s features that just made you seem so inviting.    

It takes a second before he registers that you asked him a question. “Oh, yes,” he rushes out awkwardly. “Is the cafe still open?” He questions, tilting his head to the empty-looking bar on the other side.    

You nod happily, “It is! I’m the only one who works the night shift, so I run the register and the cafe. Would you like something?” you ask him, already walking toward the counter that holds the cabinet of pastries and coffee machines.    

“A latte would be great actually.” He says in a much clearer voice.    

“Can do.” You grin at him radiantly and it’s so infectious he finds himself returning one. You turn and almost have a skip to your step as you walk, far too awake for him to deem reasonable for two in the morning.    

Spencer watches her as he slowly moves forward on his crutches, she almost dances around the machines as she makes his latte. She’s humming to the music that he’s finally registered playing in the bookstore. She’s radiating a warmth that Spencer doesn’t get to see much day to day except for the one and only, Penelope Garcia. Garcia looked and acted like the sun, one giant ball of pink and blonde energy. He watches the worker move around her workstation making his latte and it’s seamless how she moves, it’s her second nature.  She’s just at ease here, which settles his uneasy nerves about trying a new place out in the middle of the night. He looks around and sees a few people mingling about.   

Spencer takes time to look around the store and notices how it feels much more lived in than any box stores he’s been to. The overhead lights aren’t fluorescent like a normal store but a few well-placed wooden chandeliers that are carved to look like vines. Every other light is a floor light or table lamp that has mismatched covers and stained glass. He turns to the large windows, and he guesses the store probably gets great sunshine when it’s daylight. The multiple house plants by the window and on the empty tables being a good indicator. The ambiance is so inviting, not to mention the amount of comfortable faux leather seating he sees.    

He could imagine spending a lot of time here, it was just so cozy. Spencer can’t imagine he would have missed this place opening but with all the cases they’ve been busy with, he actually isn’t surprised at all.    

He’s brought out of his thoughts by her placing the drink on the pickup bar, “So what ails you?” Your voice carries to him, and you tilt your head waiting patiently.   

“Excuse me?” He finds himself stuttering out.   

You shrug nonchalantly, “Well, it’s the middle of the night and I’ve never seen your face in here before.” You state the fact like it's so obvious.    

“So, what’s buggin’ you?” Your voice drawls out sweetly as you look at him expectantly.   

It’s almost like the lights in the cafe frame her from behind, bright and dazzling. She’s clearly personable and Spencer isn’t used to people with Y/N’s personality being overtly kind to him. He’ll see how long it takes her to dismiss him like most people do. It doesn’t annoy him like it used to, he expects it really. Especially when his own team and friends do it almost regularly.    

You are waiting patiently for his response with unwavering kind eyes.   

“Insomnia,” He settled on admitting to you, he gave you a tight lined frown. “I needed a new book; I’ve read through my catalog.”    

Your eyes light up, “That’s my specialty! I mean, I make a mean latte, but my favorite part of this place is the books.” you whispered conspiratorially.    

“So,” you come around from the back of the bar and put your hands on your hips, “What genre were you looking for? Or was it a specific book?” you ask him.    

“Fantasy, preferably. I’ve read all of Tolkien and Gaiman’s works.” He tells you.    

You nod in understanding your eyes giving a quick look of him from head to toe, “You look like a man who’s read The Hobbit and American Gods .” You said, almost more so to herself.    

Spencer gives you a quizzical look, unsure if he should be insulted or not. You read his face and your own cheeks flush with embarrassment. Your hands start moving exaggeratedly as your voice pitches, “Not in a bad way! I promise, I’m here for a well-read person! Not that you have to have read those two authors to be well read, I just-” You take a deep breath and stop yourself.    

“Sorry, I just mean, you look like you’ve probably read some of the most popular titles in that genre.” Your voice grows smaller, and your face is bright in a flush as you rush through your words, drawling them out in that voice that sounds like sugar. You bite the inside of your cheek forcing yourself to stop talking.    

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head, “I get it, you’re good.” He tells you reassuringly.    

You sigh in relief, pushing your hair out of your face nervously, “Sorry, I really didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant you probably want something different and not recommended every time you ask for fantasy.”    

Spencer just gives you a smile, “I appreciate it.” He shifts his weight on his crutches to awkwardly sip his latte.    

You usher him over to one of the comfortable chairs with a nice side table lamp that has beautiful green and red stained-glass roses on it.    

“Here sit, I’ll grab some recommendations, and you can let me know what you think.” You don’t even give him a chance to rebuttal before you’re off and disappear into the stacks.    

The silence that followed her absence was overwhelmingly loud, except for the soft music playing from the speakers. Spencer takes his time drinking his latte and it’s delicious. Better than the place the BAU grabs coffee from, and much better than whatever was in their coffee pot at the office.    

You pop back out from the stacks within ten minutes holding at least five book options for him to sort through.    

“These all have different sub-genres but are fantasy in nature. Let me know if any look good to you.” You hand them over to him happily. He notices you biting the inside of your cheek again, as you watch him look over the books.    

You’re rocking on your feet, as you watch Spencer thumb through the books, reading the summaries keeping his face neutral. You start picking at your nails trying not to seem like a dog waiting for its owner. You should busy yourself with something else besides trying to gauge Spencer’s reaction to the books, but you can’t help it.   

Spencer pauses on a book with a bright colorful cover that was in the middle of the stack. It’s the only one he pauses on and your face lights up.    

“I loved Howl’s Moving Castle !” Your voice pitches up in enthusiasm. You start talking with your hands again, “It’s fun, and the cast of characters who, in a magical world, feel so relatable. The two leads also have great dialogue! I was genuinely laughing out loud.” Your face splits into a grin as you explain the book to Spencer without spoiling anything.    

You are so filled with joy as you talk about the book, it doesn’t take him but a second of listening to you to know he’s sold. He’s reading this, your genuine joy selling him on it. He doesn’t have to look through the rest of the stack, though he’s sure you’ve likely read all the books you offered him.   

“I’ll take it.” He said, moving to stand up to purchase it at the counter.    

You move to stop him, “Don’t worry about it! You can pay on your way out. You look like you’ve been struggling with those crutches.” You tell him waving him back down to sit.    

“Just relax, drink and read. It’s what the Midnight Owl’s for.” You chirp happily shooting him a triumphant look as you move to walk back to the counter.    

You go back to working on creating an order for books back at the checkout counter. You have the work desktop open back to the list of books you were cross referencing for prices. You go back and forth from looking at your handwritten list to researching prices from different distributors.    

The couple who was there earlier finally get up, waving goodbye to Y/N.    

“Have a great night y’all! See you next week.” You tell them with your own wave that’s brief as you make the order.    

The only noise in the store is some shuffling and the music playing overhead and you humming along to it. It’s a mix CD you burned a few years back and most of the songs are still your favorite. You keep meaning to make a new one, but you just haven’t had time. Your eyes wander from your computer to check on your new customer reading in the corner. You don’t want to hover, but you try to gauge if he’ll be a regular or not. You hope so, he seemed nice enough.    

Spencer can feel her eyes on him occasionally, he can see her fidgeting behind the counter. Every other song he can spot her leaning out of the corner of his eye to look over to him. He tries to hide his grin; he knows that look well. She’s trying to see if he’s enjoying the book. Spencer tries to read at a normal pace, even though he can read twenty thousand words per minute, that defeats the purpose of him trying to get out of his apartment to just devour this book. Plus, he kind of enjoys watching the store clerk.   

She’s full of energy and he has no idea where it comes from, but it’s almost a nervous energy. She’s constantly moving, either fidgeting or walking through the stacks to check or tidy the books. She’s also passed in front of him a few times to check the cafe machines or even grab a pastry he’s sure has been there for too long, and she feels bad about selling it.    

Spencer stays there for a few hours; he really doesn’t notice how long until the door opens and the bell chimes again.    

“Morning!” The new woman cheers sleepily.    

You wave at her, “Morning Josie. There are still a few pastries left from yesterday, but I put them in the back fridge for you.”   

The new woman, Josie, waved back, “Thanks, I’m going to prep for today.”    

Spencer finally looks at the time and realizes it’s five in the morning, he sighs standing up. He grabs his crutches and pushes himself toward the counter to pay for his book. If he’s lucky he could get an hour or two of a nap before work.    

He gently slides the book over to you and your whole face brightens, “Have you liked it so far?” you asked him.    

Spencer grins “It’s charming. You were right about the cast; it’s a great blend of characters that shouldn’t fit as well as they do together.”    

You nod excitedly. “I don’t know if you’ve gotten to a certain part, but I won’t spoil it, I loved how they explain the magic that affects Sophie! It was a fun book.”   

Spencer hands over some cash to pay for his book. “I’ve liked it so far. I’ll have to ask for another recommendation.” He tells you.    

If you were a dog, your ears would be pointed up and tail wagging, you cannot contain your pure joy.    

“Absolutely! Anytime, it’s one of my favorite things.” You push your hair back and you look down at the table nervously pushing his book back toward him with his change.    

“I’m always happy to see a returning face.” You said looking up at him, your eyes sparkling. “I’m Y/N by the way, I don’t know if I introduced myself.”   

Spencer takes the book and his change; you smile brilliantly at him, and he feels a little enchanted by the bookstore clerk. He returns it. “Spencer. It was nice to meet you.”    

He gives you a small wave before walking out, crutches pushing him forward.    

The one about Halloween    

You have decided that you do not care if it’s only September, you are decorating for Halloween. Maybe it’s that you’re festive or maybe it’s from growing up in a southern community that went all out for decorations, but you are determined that the Midnight Owl will be the place to be for October. You’ve also planned a few events for the spooky month for all ages.    

There are a few reading hours planned for children during the day, costume contests, and some trick or treat candy lined up to buy. Your shopping list was filling up quickly. For the nighttime events you’ve gotten together with Josie to throw a movie night every Sunday night at eight in October. You’ve already planned a lineup of movies to play and popcorn to order. You still can’t decide on having two movies or not, a family friendly one first and then a scary one. She’ll figure it out.    

To say that you are bubbling with excitement is an understatement.    

You're in the middle of dragging out one of the boxes of decorations from the attic when the door chimes open.     

“Welcome in! Help yourself to shop or if you wait a few minutes, I can fix you a drink at the cafe!” You shout from behind the large box you’re carrying. It’s not heavy, filled mostly with paper and plastic decorations. The box itself is just quite large, and it blocks your view when you walk.   

“What are you doing?” A soft chuckle passes through, and you recognize it immediately. It’s your new favorite regular.    

You set the box down in a huff behind the counter and look at Spencer exasperatedly.   

“If you must know, I’m preparing for Halloween.” You said matter-of-factly.    

Spencer’s hazel eyes light up, the same way he gets when he’s about to tell you a long list of facts about something. You love it when he gets excited. It’s contagious.   

“Oh, please continue then. It’s never too early for Halloween.” He said happily.   

You let out a burst of laughter and it echoes in the room, “Thank you! Finally, someone who understands.” You tease him.   

Spencer’s been coming in almost every night since his first visit. It’s only been a month, but you love talking to Spencer. He’s full of endless information and he loves to read just as much, if not more, than you do.    

He has an unfair advantage though. He had admitted how quickly he could read to you in passing a few weeks ago and your jaw dropped. You didn’t believe him at first.    

-   

 “Okay, that’s the fifth book you’ve finished in like two days Spencer. Are you even actually reading them?” You had teased him, when he returned to the shelves looking through the selections.    

“Of course I do. I just happen to read twenty thousand words per minute.” He said easily running his fingers along the spines of the books as he pursues.    

You scoff, “Yea right.” you rolled your eyes. “Just say you skim through them.”   

Spencer shakes his head, “I’m serious, I have an eidetic memory too.” he said.    

You blinked at him a few times in disbelief before just bursting into a fit of small giggles.   

“Wow, I wish I could read that fast. I’d get through my TBR so much faster!” you said impressed.    

Spencer pauses looking at you, trying to assess if you're trying to make fun of him or not. Your face is split into a wide grin, and he realizes you are intrigued by this little tidbit. You didn't think it was weird, that he’s weird.    

Spencer felt his face flush a bit, and he just shrugged it off. “It’s not a big deal.”    

“No, it’s just a really cool fact about you.” You said, like it was obvious.    

Spencer mouth tighten into a fine line, and he shook his head, “That would be a first.” he had mumbled under his breath.    

You didn’t press him, but you did file away in the back of your mind his response for later. Clearly Spencer wasn’t used to someone reacting positively to this tidbit about him.    

-   

You look at Spencer as he stands there watching you. He’s in his work clothes, which you're used to by now, but it’s the opposite of what he wore when they first met. He’s in a purple button up shirt that he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His cardigan is hanging off his faded brown leather satchel sitting against his hip. He’s leaning on his crutches as she assesses him.    

“C’mon,” you said waving for him to follow. “Let’s make something fall flavored to get rolling with the season.” You suggest a small smile tugging at your lips.    

Spencer just nods and follows you toward the cafe section.    

“Are you a fan of pumpkin flavors or do you prefer other autumn flavors?” You ask him as you walk around the counter to the coffee machines.   

The pickup counter for the cafe doubles as a normal place to sit and Spencer grabs a stool to sit in, leaning his crutches against the counter.   

“I only like my drinks sweet. Flavor isn’t too important.”    

You hum in acknowledgement and get to work on making him a drink. “I’ll just surprise you then.”    

Spencer brings out a few books he’s reading and places them on the table. While you make his drink you ask, “What’s your favorite book to read to get into the spooky spirit?”    

He perks up, “There’s plenty of options, I think I prefer something classic like The Shinning or maybe even an old compilation of ghost stories. Those are always good.” he said passionately.    

“Ooh! I’m obsessed with the paranormal!” you gasp in excitement.   

Spencer feeds into the enthusiastic response, “Did you know there are a multitude of categories of the paranormal? Most people only associate it with ghosts or demons, but ufology and cryptozoology are also subcategories. Personally, as interesting as ghost or demon possession stories are, I’m far more fascinated by cryptozoology and the creatures that different areas of the world claim to see and state they have proof of.”    

Spencer realizes he’s rambling and tries to cut himself off, but your eyes are wide as you actively lean against the counter giving him your rapt attention.    

You notice his abrupt stop and you tilt your head, “Keep going, you have my full attention! I’m trying to get into the spooky spirit!” You drawl out, your rich accent seeping through.    

You turn to grab his drink and hand it to him. It's in a nice burnt orange colored mug, “It’s a maple chai latte. Felt like fall to me.” you said quietly, having a matching mug with him. You lean against the counter and bat your hand at his forearm.   

“C’mon tell me more!” you giggled.    

Spencer stared at you in awe for a moment, before he tried to hide his expression through drinking his latte.    

“Ghost hunting became popular in the early 2000s, but it’s been around since the 1920’s and even before then there were popular ghost stories told throughout history! Humans have always been interested in the afterlife which is why we’re probably so fascinated by looking for proof of the afterlife.”   

You nod and sips from your own mug, “Have you ever watched those ghost hunting shows before?” you asked curiously.    

Spencer shook his head no. “I don’t watch a lot of television.”    

You hum in thought, “Yeah, that checks out. Well, they’re super cheesy and trashy. Love them to be honest.”    

“Which one’s your favorite?” he asked, leaning closer against the bar.   

It felt like it was only the two of them in the bookstore. Inside their own bubble, the world moved slowly inside the confines of the Midnight Owl.    

“This is gonna sound so awful!” you laughed lightly shaking your head, “There’s a show called Ghost Adventures, and the main guy, Zak Bagans, he’s such a dick to the ghosts! He instigates all the time, and I mean, regardless of if ghosts are real, he goes in hot ! Not to mention he always throws his costar Aaron into the worst places! It’s just insane, absolute trash.” you shake your head in disbelief.    

“But you love it?” Spencer asked.    

You gave him a deadpan stare, “Oh absolutely, it’s the best kind of quality trash.”   

You burst into a fit of giggles and Spencer couldn’t help but find it contagious.  �� 

“Aaaaaaanyway~” You drag out, moving to grab your box of decorations.    

“Wanna help me decide how to decorate?” you ask him, grabbing a pumpkin garland out of the bin and tossing it dramatically over your shoulders like a scarf.   

Spencer brushes his loose hair out of his face and nods. He may still be useless on crutches, but he could help... Kind of.    

You empty the containers of the bin on the counter where Spencer’s sitting and he quickly grabs his mug to lift it up to avoid being knocked over from the avalanche of orange and black. You smile at him apologetically before trying to dig out your favorite decorations.    

-   

Spencer’s face is twisted in a look of frustration as he sits in the corner reading. He came in a while ago and besides his drink, he hasn’t spoken much to you.    

Which isn’t a bad thing, tonight was one of the busier nights. It was mid-October, and the festivities had been nonstop. Tonight was vampire night, which upon entering the building Spencer was already grimacing. There was a special drink deal on the board hanging above the cafe for anyone buying a vampire related book. Twilight , Dracula , Carmilla , Interview with a Vampire, just pick a title it was an option with its own fun themed cafe drink that was absolutely red.   

 It wasn’t like you knew he had just finished working on a case that involved vampirism, but the odds weren’t in his favor for finding an escape from the most recent case. Halloween season had its ups and downs he supposed.   

There was no way of explaining his slightly irritable mood. Spencer hadn’t mentioned his work to you. You never asked, and he didn’t feel like explaining that he spent most of his waking hours profiling serial killers. In the past it hasn’t made the best openers in conversation. It’s also nice to have this small corner of his life not be coated with unsubs, victims, and death. It’s just his favorite bookstore.   

Spencer looked up to see you making more drinks, the cafe was popular tonight. Your chatting up another woman who’s laughing at the joke you told her. The other woman is holding a book that Spencer is positive is a vampire novel.    

“And I have one raspberry mocha for a Carmilla lover!” your voice rang out and you handed over the drink to the customer.    

“Come back Sunday for our movie night, we’re playing Beetlejuice !” you said and waved goodbye to the customer.    

For eleven o'clock at night the shop was busy. Busting out drink after drink and ringing up books at the cafe register. It was your idea to do a deal with a themed book and drink combo, but you didn’t expect to still be busy into the night. You hadn’t even had a break in customers to say hello to your regulars.    

For business, this was great, for your own mental health, you were struggling. You just needed it to slow down enough to catch your breath. You should have scheduled someone else on shift with you, but you weren’t about to call for help now. It was your mistake, and you'll live with it. You made a note to make sure someone is on shift with you tomorrow night for a different themed deal.    

After another round of five more customers there is finally a break. You sighed leaning against the counter and took a grounding breath. You don’t move for a minute, just catch your breath before you look up and catch Spencer from his chair looking at you. You shot him a shaky smile that is supposed to be reassuring but actually looks like you’re about to cry. Spencer’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he decides to get up and come over. The cafe was still bustling but no one was sitting at the counter. Spencer shoves his book into his bag, grabs his crutches and hobbles to the counter.    

“Busy night?” he asked, already knowing the answer but trying to see how you were doing.    

Your eyes look up into his hazel ones and you look worn. “In my head, the whole vampire boom and Halloween themed event seemed like a good idea. For profit, absolutely. For my sanity? I never wanna see another Twilight shirt or raspberry flavored item for a while.” you said in a groan placing your head against the counter.    

“What is Twilight ?” Spencer asked.    

He doesn’t know anything except that it has something to do with vampires and its popular enough that the victims of the latest case were also obsessed with it. He knows it’s a book, but besides that, he has no clue.    

You slowly move to look up and blink at him for a moment, trying to deduce if he’s being serious or not. “Very funny Spencer, I know you’re not asking what the pop culture phenomenon Twilight franchise is.” you replied with a laugh.   

After a moment of looking at Spencer’s confused face you realize he was in fact, unaware. Your eyes widen.    

“Wait, wait, wait, you seriously don’t know? I mean it’s like everywhere. The second movie is coming out in less than a month. I don’t think I’ve sold so many copies of a book in my life. I can’t keep New Moon on the shelves.” you said almost exasperatedly, but the smile on your face gave it away. If Spencer didn’t know any better, he’d think you were getting a kick out of it. He knows by now you won’t make fun of him; you're elated for a completely different reason.   

“I just know it’s popular and about vampires.” He replied with a shrug.    

“Oh my god, I get to explain Twilight to you.” your face splits into a massive grin, your energy returning quickly.    

Spencer quirks an eyebrow, “I thought you were over hearing Twilight ?”    

“No, no, no, no! This is totally different!” you're almost vibrating with excitement. “I’ve read all the books, I’m gonna let you borrow my copy next time you’re in! Actually, I’ll give you the first two since you read so fast!” her words are running together in a run on sentence she’s talking too fast. Your accent came through stronger than ever with your eagerness.    

He doesn’t have it in him to turn you down, you're just so thrilled. Spencer just finds himself too caught up in your joy to tell you he had no interest in the book series. He finds himself agreeing to borrow your copies.    

“I can buy them if you need me too. I don’t want to take your copies unless, you’re sure.” He offers.   

You shake your head, “I can’t keep them on the shelves long enough for you to buy them. Just go ahead and take my copies.” You move to make Spencer a drink that isn’t one of the red blood themed drinks on the menu. “It’s not a big deal. I do have a lot of sticky notes in there though, my friends and I read it for a book club night.”    

He sits up a little straighter, suddenly becoming more interested in reading these books. Not because of their pop culture relevance but because he could read your commentary. There was something special about that, sharing a book with annotations.   

“I’ll bring one too.” He finds himself offering before he can think.    

Your face glows as you hand him a chai latte. “I’d love that! It’ll take me a bit longer to read than you will.” you joked lightly.   

“It’ll be worth it; I haven’t had someone to talk to about books since my mom.” He said looking down at his drink, his eyes growing distant for a split second.   

You open your mouth to ask but quickly shut it, biting the inside of your cheek to stop. You might be nosy, but you knew when to not pry. It was how Spencer seemed to be somewhere else in his mind, if only for a moment. It was enough to know that you had no business asking him to open a can of worms he maybe didn’t want to. Instead, you turn around to grab a set of fake vampire teeth to put in your mouth. They were small and awkward and not cute by any means, but if you could get him to smile, that was all you needed.    

You patiently wait for Spencer to look back up at as you rest your head in your palm and keep your face neutral. The fake teeth are making your mouth uncomfortable, but you’ll survive.    

When Spencer does look up and sees you dramatically batting your eyes at him and grinning madly with children’s plastic vampire teeth, he can’t control the bubbling laughter that takes over him. His shoulders shake with the full body movement, and he shakes his head in disbelief.   

“Where did you get those?” he asked through his fit.    

You turn to spit them out into the trash, your mouth disgustingly filled with drool from the uncomfortable teeth. You cover your mouth and grab your own drink to flush out your mouth.    

“They were a gimmick for the themed drinks tonight.” you finally replied. “Good for a quick joke not for actually wearing.” you said groaning.   

“Pretty sure they are made for children’s mouths.” Spencer teased.   

You shrug and sigh, “Well, being a vampire for Halloween is off the list of options this year. I don’t want to wear those for a whole night.”   

“Probably better off.” He said trying to not immediately focus on Dante and his manager coercing a mentally ill young woman into committing vampire ritual like murders.   

“Yeah, the whole thing with that celebrity kinda left a sour taste in my mouth.” you mentioned grimacing.    

“Dante?” Spencer asked for clarification.   

“Yeah, it was all over the tabloids,” you pointed to the magazine stand by the main register. “Got them in this morning.”    

Spencer tries to not make a face as he sees them, “You read that?”    

You let out a loud snort of a laugh. “No, no, no, oh god!” you stand up a little straighter and push your hair back. “I don’t trust a TMZ article as far as I can throw it, but those murders are real. Making it look like vampire bites...” you shudder, “that just skeeves me out.”    

Spencer drinks from his mug but nods his head in agreement. He didn’t peg you to believe paparazzi reports. The magazine articles would be wrong anyway; they didn’t make the arrest until that afternoon. It was refreshing to see someone not believe everything they read.    

“If vampires are off your list, what other costumes are you thinking about?” he asked, trying to change the subject.    

“No idea.” you groan out in irritation. “I usually do group costumes with my friends but, kind of hard when they live 600 miles away.”    

“South?” he asked.    

You snorted with a roll of your eyes, “Aw geez what gave it away?” you tease with an exaggerated drawl, making your accent thicker than normal.    

Spencer shakes his head in amusement. “Very funny. Why move here?”    

You tense up, avoiding his doe eyes. You look down biting your lip nervously. “It’s uh, a long story.” you said quietly.    

Your body almost looks like it’s trying to shrink in on itself. Spencer doesn’t need to be a profiler to understand your body language. Whatever it is, you’re not ready to share it.    

Instead, he tries to be reassuring that he’s not prying for information.    

“I’m a transplant too. I grew up in Las Vegas.”    

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I’ve never been, is it really just the strip filled with casinos or are there nice pockets of peace and no tourists?” you asked.   

You sigh, “It is a lot of tourists. There’s plenty of local places, ones that are only there if you’ve grown up knowing how to get to them.” he told you in a quiet voice, almost conspiratorially.    

Your mouth splits into a smile that reaches your eyes, “So you’ll be my tour guide, right?”   

Spencer’s face heats up from the suggestion and your giggles fill the room.    

“I’m just teasing you,” you pat his arm reassuringly before going to grab a pastry from the front display.    

“Come on and split this last cookie with me, I know I'm not going to sell it.” you said grabbing a chocolate chip cookie and warming it up before cutting it in half.    

Spencer’s face is still tinted pink but the soft cookie and the way it melts when he bites into it and seeing you look happier than earlier, is enough for him. A small corner of peace in the world inside the Midnight Owl.   

The one after Haley’s funeral    

You’re sitting at the checkout counter reading the book Spencer most recently traded with you. It’s one of the Sherlock Homles books, which you had admittedly never read before. You've watched plenty of films and shows but reading it never really crossed your mind.    

You joked about making Spencer watch The Great Mouse Detective when you finished so you could explain your first introduction to Sherlock Holmes. He had no idea what you were talking about, which you found charming in its own way. You loved introducing Spencer to the pop culture media that just filled your brain. Even if it was trashy. You had promised him The Great Mouse Detective was anything but trash. A childhood classic for sure.    

You take your time reading the books Spencer lent. He started leaving small post-it notes for you in them with commentary and questions. It was like you two had your own language, and it was books. Even if he let you borrow a genre you had no interest in, you suddenly were invested. It was a way to get to know him, and in turn he took your books happily. Your annotations were way more scattered brained and filled with tiny commentary to yourself.    

You saw Spencer reading one of the books you let him borrow and he laughed, loudly, in the middle of the store. You both flushed in embarrassment. It was a busy night, filled with university students studying late at night, so it was mostly silent besides the music that was playing through the speakers. You knew you had written something insulting about one of the characters in that sticky note. You were creative with your insults, and you had completely forgotten to take that out before giving it to him. Spencer teased you about your comments on Gale from The Hunger Games for the rest of that night.    

You’re in the middle of The Hounds of Baskerville when the door opens. You look up to greet them but your face falls when you see Spencer, he looks terrible. You slowly close the book and move to walk toward him.   

His eyes were hollow and the normal dark circles under his eyes seemed impossibly darker than usual. Spencer just seemed sad and defeated. You hadn’t seen this side of him and all you wanted to do was press your thumb to his forehead and smooth out the furrow of his brow. To get him to relax, if only for a moment.   

“Hey honey, what’s wrong?” you asked gently walking toward him. You reach out to rub his arms affectionately, “What happened?”    

Your voice is soft and sweet, the way you said honey with your southern drawl feels like a hug. Spencer just needed a minute. One second of peace. The image of Haley’s body unmoving with blood still fresh behind his eyes.    

“It’s been a long week.” His voice comes out a little rough. He’s haggard from the flight from Nashville and he really didn’t want to go home.    

The only comforting place he could think of immediately was the Midnight Owl, of you. Your warm voice and comforting drinks were the only things he could stand to be around.    

Your face softens at his words, and you tilt your head, “Do you need a hug?” you asked softly.    

There’s a shaky sigh that escapes Spencer’s mouth and he just nods his head, unable to form the words.    

You pull him into your embrace gently, your arms wrapped around his shoulders tightly. You rub soothing circles into his back and Spencer holds onto your waist. Your body radiates heat and it's comforting as he shoves his face into your shoulder. You smell like vanilla, cloves, and parchment paper and his whole body relaxes into you. You hold onto him until Spencer pulls away, not wanting him to feel like he was a burden. The store was empty anyway, it's been a slow night.   

He takes a deep breath before peeling himself off. He moves his hands to hold your arms so he’s supporting himself. Your eyes soften as you look him over, her hand coming up to cup his face.    

“You don’t have to talk about if you don’t want to, but I’ve been told I’m a great listener.” You whisper softly.    

Spencer relaxes against your touch and doesn’t say much, just hums in response. He eventually finds his words, “My friends wife died recently, and it just, it was a shock.”    

He doesn’t want to get into how Haley died. That his job makes him and his coworkers targets. The people they love. George Foyet died at Hotch’s hands for killing Haley and attempting to kill Jack. Spencer watched Hotch’s face crumble, fall and lose what he loved the most. He knew Hotch didn’t want to divorce Haley, he loved her and his son with his whole heart.    

That love had cost him Haley’s life.   

“Oh hun,” your voice brings him back, “I’m so sorry.”    

He shakes his head, “I’ll be fine. I’m just processing it.”    

“You don’t have to justify yourself to me, you’re allowed to process and grieve, especially if you knew her.” you tell him firmly. “C’mon, go sit down and I’m gonna make a delicious warm drink and we can just relax alright?”    

Spencer gives a tiny, tight smile and lets you grab his hand to pull him to one of the nicer chairs. He sets his cane against the arm rest and is floored by how easy everything is with you.  

You don’t push or pry for information, let him ramble, and Spencer doesn’t think he’s had a real friend outside of the BAU in a long time, much less someone his age. As much as he loves his team, there are times where they don’t understand him. It’s a lot easier to be himself with you. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s doing most of his days, and he could argue with himself that you don’t know him. Almost 90% of his life is the BAU, and who is he if he isn’t Dr. Spencer Reid, FBI agent in the Behavioral Analyst Unit? A small part of him hopes he could be the person he becomes when he enters the Midnight Owl.    

He’s too lost in his thoughts to notice you walking over with two steaming mugs.    

“Here, it’s just tea but I think you need a relaxing drink. No caffeine.” you said with a sweet tone looking him over.    

You sit on the arm rest of the chair cradling your own mug. “Can I try something?” you ask him.    

Spencer drinks from his mug, but he mutters an agreement under his breath.    

“Lean back fully in the chair.” you instructed.   

He does as he’s told, he lowers his hands to his lap, mug still warmly pressed into his hands. Spencer isn’t sure what you’re trying to do until your hands are running through his hair, feather light. You’re not massaging his scalp, just the lightest of touches as you card your fingers through his long hair. Spencer’s eyes close and he almost moans from how the tension leaves his body immediately.    

You let out a tiny snort but continue the motions.    

“My momma used to do this when I was little.” you whisper to him, keeping a low voice.   

“I would be asleep in an instant.” you emphasized with a quiet snap of your fingers.   

Spencer’s eyes flutter open to look up at you, his big doe eyes looking up to see your soft features be highlighted in the warm glow of the lamps. You look down at him and tilt your head.    

“I might pass out like this.” he murmured in a low voice.   

“You can if you want. Promise I won’t let anyone bother you... not that anyone’s coming in anytime soon.” You drawl out looking around at the empty shop.    

“Just a quick nap, twenty minutes.” he told you, voice already fading and his eyes growing heavy.    

You don’t respond to him, just continue stroking his hair until he falls asleep. He felt the warm mug leave his hands and he heard ceramic clank onto the wooded side table next to him.   

You watch Spencer sleep, giving him much longer than twenty minutes. His dark circles told enough; he needed this nap more than he was letting on. It takes less than five minutes for Spencer to pass out. His body relaxed into the chair with all tension leaving his body. You slow down your movements until you feel safe enough to stop. His small snore a sign he was asleep.    

You moved to stand and went back to your duties, which wasn’t anything more than inventory tonight. Mondays were always slow.   

You moved about the bookshop, filing away books, crossing off things on your checklist, and beside the few customers that came in for less than twenty minutes each, the night was quiet. Enough so that you let Spencer sleep much longer than twenty minutes.    

Spencer sleeps peacefully for most of the night. You check on him occasionally, and besides the few snores, he’s sound asleep.    

Around four in the morning he stirs awake, blinking blearily and looks around the store. You hear him and poke your head out from behind a shelf.    

“Good morning sunshine!” you teased in a chipper tone.    

Spencer looks at you confused before looking down at his watch. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked, tone not accusing, just confused.    

You shrug and make your way over to him, “You looked like you needed the sleep.”    

You gently reach your hand up to smooth the furrow of his brow. “You’ll die young from all that stress you’re carrying on your shoulders.” You tell him softly. The way you’re gently touching his forehead is like you’re trying to erase the stress and pressure.    

Spencer sighs into the light touch, “For sleeping on a chair, it was pretty peaceful.” he murmurs.    

You snort in amusement. “Well, at least I know they’re comfy.”    

“I sleep on planes frequently, so this is much better.” he said.   

“Travel a lot for work?” you asked.   

Spencer just nods. Not wanting to explore too deep into his job. The job that was leaving him sleepless most nights.   

“Do you feel any better?” you ask quietly.    

He nods solemnly. “Better than when I arrived.” he said with a shrug.    

You frown but don’t press, you push his hair back again giving him a reassuring smile.    

“I’m a good listener if you ever need to talk. Promise.” You hold out your pinky finger in the childish gesture of a pinky promise.    

Spencer finds himself smiling, finding it charming. Regardless of his problem with germs, it doesn’t feel so intense with you. You’re not a stranger anymore. He hooks his pinky with yours.    

“Not now.” He whispers. “But someday...”   

“Someday.” you reaffirm.   

The one about family    

Spencer’s surprised to see that you’re not working one random night in November. He knows that, of course, You can’t possibly be working every single night he comes in. It just throws him off when he doesn’t see you immediately. The sunshine woman behind the bar making him a new sickly-sweet coffee to try. You’ve only ever missed one day max two, so he doesn’t think much of it. Just a blip on his night.   

One night without you suddenly turns into half a week. Every day Spencer walks in and it’s not your bright bubbly voice greeting him. It’s one of the handful of people who work the late-night shift. They aren’t strangers, Spencer’s ran into a couple of them occasionally. So, when Spencer comes into the bookstore to see, yet again, Robert, manning the front desk lazily flipping through a magazine, his mild frustration turns to worry. You've been gone for four days and none of your coworkers seem to know why.   

What if you’re sick? What if something happened to you? Did you take a vacation? What if you’re in danger?    

The thoughts consume Spencer so much he almost calls Garcia to track you down. Or at least give him your address to check on you. He pulls himself together and realizes that it would be a bad idea and an invasion of your privacy. He’ll just have to wait it out.   

Spencer does wait, mostly because he’s forced too. The BAU never truly stops working.   

When he finally sees you again it’s near the tail end of November and way too close to Thanksgiving for his liking. He feels like you've been gone for ages, but it’s only been two weeks. The door chimes behind him as he walks in, he’s expecting to see your eyes light up with a smile on your flushed pink cheeks. The way you’ve always greeted him.    

Instead, he sees a side of you that he’s not used to at all. You look tired, exhausted. The dark circles under your eyes could compete against his natural ones. You’re wearing glasses which he’s never seen on you before. Her hair is haphazardly tied up, and You're in a large well-worn sweater that reads, ‘Read Banned Books’. He doesn’t think you've slept much, if at all, since he last saw you.    

You look like a zombie, barely functioning.   

You don’t even register Spencer enter; you're standing at the checkout counter finishing a transaction with a customer. You're swaying on your feet the whole time.    

Spencer lets you finish the interaction before coming over to the counter, concern clear on his face.   

“Y/N?” He says your name softly as he approaches.    

Your eyes fly up to him and widen a little in surprise, your body reacts with a small flinch. “Oh god Spencer!” You give a soft laugh, your hand coming up to clutch your chest, “You scared me! I didn’t hear you come in.” you try to calm yourself down.   

Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes and Spencer can tell. It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re not yourself. Her eyes are only half open, your hands shaking from what he can only assume is the obscene amount of caffeine you probably have in your system. Everything just seems muted, not the bright colors he used to see you framed in.   

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve been gone for a while.” he prompts, trying to get something out of you. A clue to what might have happened. Anything.   

You shake your head, “I’m fine, everything’s fine.” You said it a little too quickly.    

Spencer doesn’t buy it, but he’s kept enough secrets to himself to know he probably shouldn’t go looking into friends’ private lives. Some things he knows he’d rather keep to himself... but seeing you like this, he wants to help.    

You avoid his eyes and start to play with your hands on the counter. “I-” you open your mouth but promptly shut it again. You bite your cheek with a frown plastered on your face.    

“Sorry, it’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.” you said quickly before turning to grab some books from behind the desk to busy yourself with.    

You don't want to talk about or think about it. It’s been a long two weeks, and you just need some normalcy. Something that you know you can do and enjoy.    

You feel Spencer’s eyes burning into you. You try to keep your usual high energy, you truly do. Everything has been so rough this month; you just need a break. The bookstore was your one solace. The Midnight Owl wasn’t just a job, it was your home. Your safe haven.   

You didn’t want to bring your real life here, not when sometimes your only highlight is seeing Spencer and sharing books back and forth. If he starts asking about your life outside the four walls of your shop, you don’t know if you can hold yourself together. Not today.    

“Y/N,” he opens his mouth trying to get your attention again.    

“Really Spencer, it’s fine, I’m fine!” you tell him, a short tone to your voice.    

You spin on your heels to walk somewhere, anywhere, else. “You know I have your book actually, let me return it. I left some notes in there.” You make it five or six steps before you falter and sways again. Spencer reaches out to grab and steady you.  

“Forget the book, you don’t look fine.” He makes you face him. “You look exhausted.” He chastises you.    

You deflate immediately and let Spencer guide you to a chair. He gently sets you down and he pries the book out of your hand and places it on the side table.    

“Sorry, you don’t have to take care of me.” you murmur feebly swatting him away. “I just...” You take a deep breath. “I had to take dad to the hospital on Tuesday and it’s just been downhill all week...” you admit timidly. You pushed your glasses up to your hairline and pressed the heels of your palm to your eyes.    

“I haven’t gotten much sleep.” you admit.    

“You’ve run yourself ragged.” Spencer lowers himself to be eye level with you. “Is he home now?” he asks gently.   

“No, they’re keeping him one more night.” you said with a heavy sigh.    

Your arms fell in between your knees, and you lean your head back exhausted. “It’s just been hard this past year...” your voice is small and lingers with sadness.    

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked hesitantly.    

Spencer maybe doesn’t like talking about his hardships, but he’ll listen to yours if you let him. He wants to desperately ease your mind, see you smile.    

You look up at him, eyes wide as you assess him. “I don’t want to put my problems on you Spencer.” you give a tight smile. “I’ll figure it out.”   

Spencer reaches out to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Talking about it doesn’t mean that you’re inconveniencing me. I'm just worried.”   

You sigh, already feeling him chip away at you. You didn’t stand a chance against his big doe eyes looking at you like you were fragile.    

You take a deep breath before answering him, “My dad has ALS, he was diagnosed a few years ago... I’ve been taking care of him.” you admit.    

“Where we were, the doctors just weren’t cutting it. So, I did some research and of course there were stellar doctors in DC... plus my baby sister came here for university so I just thought... maybe it would be easier. On all of us.” The tone of your voice gives your worry away.    

“Anyway, he just, he had an accident and fell down the other day. His legs are finally giving out and he’s being so stubborn about needing a wheelchair.” Your voice shakes and you close your eyes.    

“It’s been a long week.” you finally admit looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.    

Spencer understands. He’s spent most of his life taking care of his mom because of her own illness. While your dad is suffering from something different, he understands. Probably more than you realize.    

“I get it, I do.” he said. You go to retort, but he cuts you off. “I took care of my mom for a long time. She...” He pauses looking at you, debating for a moment on if he should tell you.    

“My mom has schizophrenia, and I committed her when I was eighteen.” he tells you with a tight frown.   

“It’s hard to take care of your parents, especially when it’s their job to take care of us.” He tells you sincerely.   

You have tears pricking your eyes, “Oh Spencer, I’m so sorry.”   

He shakes his head, “I’m telling you this because I understand. I promise I do, it’s not easy.”    

You take a shaky breath; your heart feels like it’s a thousand pounds. “Does it ever get easier?” you ask softly.    

Spencer squeezes your hand, “No, it doesn’t. There are happy moments though. Moments where you know you’re doing the right thing, even if it’s difficult.”    

You sniffle and wipes your face, “Thanks, I uh, I needed that.” you said with a small smile.    

-   

It’s getting closer to Christmas. The bookstore is decorated and busier than ever. There’s a handful of special events but between people coming in to buy presents and university students staying all night to study for finals, you have your hands full.    

There’s a second staff member working nights with you this month until the holiday break starts for the store. You and Josie were adamant about closing the bookstore between Christmas Eve and New Years. If someone needed a book that badly they could go to a big box store.    

What you really don’t need right now is your baby sister coming to your place of work and harassing you about Christmas and your dad.    

“Bridget, I don’t have time to discuss this with you right now!” you hiss out at your younger sister. “You didn’t spend Thanksgiving with us and daddy really wants you to come home just for Christmas.” you chastised your sister with a frown.    

You have a pause in customers for the moment, but you know that the large study group is coming in half an hour like they have been for the past week and half.    

“That’s not fair Magpie!” your sister groans in frustration using your nickname to try and be sweet. “I made these plans months ago; Mark really wants me to spend Christmas with his family.”  

You cross your arms and look at your sister sadly. “Birdie, we don’t know how much time we get with dad-” you start but is cut off.    

Bridget’s face scrunches in disgust at her sister’s words and huffs exaggeratedly. “Good god Y/N! He’s not gonna die over the holidays, stop fucking guilt trippin’ me over every decision because it doesn’t revolve around dad!”    

Bridget’s annoyed and you can tell, she always tries to skirt around her problems when she’s frustrated. She thinks you’re trying to back her into a corner.    

“Birdie-”    

“It’s Bri. I go by Bri here.” Her sister crosses her arms and looks at you in annoyance.    

“Look, I know dad’s sick, I’m not stupid.”    

“I didn’t say you were Bridget.” you said defensively.   

She rolled her eyes, “I didn’t decide to pack everything up and move dad out to DC. Just because you’re closer doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living my life to take care of daddy.”    

You bite your tongue. Trying to not fight with your sister, but your irritation rises in your throat. Burning words of resentment linger in your mind.    

“Fine. Would you please just call him on Christmas and please come by after the New Year. He really misses you.” You try to plead with your sister.    

Bridget just waves goodbye as she walks out the door, “Will do. See you next year Magpie.” she almost ran out the door.    

You deflate, your shoulders dropping. You almost don’t hear Spencer walking up next to you holding a gift bag in his hands.    

“I didn’t know your sister visited you.” he said.    

You look up at him and smile at your favorite regular. Your friend. You think they’re allowed to call each other friends now. He already saw you cry and that was a big step.    

You shake your head, “Yeah, we’re not as close as we used to be.” you mumble under your breath.    

Spencer nods his head. He never had any siblings, but he can read your face well enough to know you’re not thrilled.  

“Still close enough for nicknames, Magpie?” he asked, biting back a smile.  

“Childhood nicknames, Birdie and Magpie. Cause we were birds of a feather.” You said looking down at your hands sadly.  

“It’s fine.” you shrug it off and give a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You lean against the counter. “What’s that you got there?” you asked, changing the subject.    

You’re pointing to the gift bag in his hands. You tilt your head curiously.    

“Oh, this is,” he flushes for a split second rushing his words out. “This is for you. I know you’re closing for the holiday soon and I don’t know if I’ll have a last-minute work call or not so., I brought your Christmas present.” He fumbled through his words quickly, but he held out the small bag.   

You light up immediately. Your eyes shimmer with excitement. “Aww, Spencer! This is so kind thank you!”    

You bend down below the counter and grabs your own item, “I actually have your present too.” you said shyly, handing him a wrapped package.    

Spencer is quiet as he gently takes the gift from you, a tiny smile on his face. He brushes his hair back out of his face as he looks at you softly.    

“This is so kind thank you.”    

Giddy giggles consume you, and you hold the gift bag. “Should we open them together or do you want to wait until Christmas?” you asked.    

Spencer shakes his head, “No no, you can open it now.” He reassures you.    

You smile, biting the inside of your cheek and open your present. Under the tissue paper is a sweater that’s twice your size and it’s the softest thing you’ve ever felt. You pull it out and it’s a purple crocheted sweater with a beautiful sun right in the middle. It reminds you of one of the tapestries from the late nineties that would have been in Practical Magic or something like that.    

“Oh Spencer, this is perfect.” you say quietly holding it tightly to your chest. “Thank you so much, I love it.”    

You pull off your cardigan and immediately shove the sweater on. You nestle yourself inside it and grins widely, “It matches your scarf!”    

Spencer just takes in your joy and how you light up, and he’s happy he could make you feel better.    

“Well go on open yours!” you said excitedly pushing your wrapped package toward him.   

Spencer gently peels back the wrapping paper and uncovers a white box; he opens the box to find a ceramic mug. It's custom made, with some uneven texture. It’s glazed a speckled purple and wrapped around the bottom is a quote, “Some books are so familiar that reading them is being home again.” -L.M. Alcott    

Spencer is quietly inspecting it, and you start explaining. You push your hair behind your ear, “I uh, I took a pottery class in my free time this past year. Since you’re here so much I thought you would like your own mug.” you said hesitantly.    

Spencer’s eyes widen, “You, you made this? For me?” he asked in surprise.    

You nod, looking down at the counter nervously.    

Spencer makes his way around the counter and pulls you into a tight hug. “This is the best gift anyone's ever gotten me.” he whispers to you.    

You return the hug holding Spencer tightly. You press your face into his shoulder, and you feel infinitely better than how your night started.   

When they pull apart you play with the edge of the new sweaters' sleeves, a small blush on your face. “Do you go visit your mama for holidays?” you asked him.    

Spencer shakes his head, “Not all the time. My job doesn’t usually care if it’s a holiday or not.” he tells you.    

You nod, “Well, I hope you get to this year Spencer. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”    

He takes a shaky breath and nods in agreement. “Yeah, I’ll try to see her soon.”    

You nudge him lightly, trying to keep the tone light, “Want a fresh drink in your new mug?” you tease.   

Spencer chuckles but nods his head. “I’d love that.”    

“We’re about to test run if I’m actually good at pottery. So, fingers crossed it doesn’t leak.” you joke moving to the cafe counter at the back of the store.   

Spencer watches you walk away, with a skip in your step like the first night he came to the Midnight Owl. The way you easily glide through the crowd and chatter with customers and giggling.    

You shine bright like a star, like the sun.  

[cobrakaisb]

what was i made for?

summary: everybody hates you, but luke could never see you that way; luke hates himself, but he’s always going to be the center of your galaxy.

word count: 2.3k

featuring: angst, reader and luke share a vape (sue me🙈), but also friend dynamics, and official godly parent reveal 🙌, reader and luke are basically together (without the labels).  

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next 

“i hate it here,” you announce, taking a seat at the hermes table for breakfast. 

chris, luke, and katrina all exchange glances. you can sense their nerves from a mile away, and their unease only seems to heighten when you slam your plate and goblet on the table. chris opens his mouth, ready to comment on your behavior, but he decides not to when you throw a nasty glare his way. 

“wow, you’re hera’s daughter,” katrina teases, nudging your shin with her own from across the table. 

“no shit, really?” you reply, stabbing a lone strawberry on your plate.

“no seriously, your glare is exactly like hers. i can see her staring at me in disapproval and everything,” katrina continues with a wide smile on her face.

you flash a tight-lipped smile in response, but don’t take the bait that’s dangling in front of you. over the past few months, you’ve established quite the reputation at camp half-blood. aside from being something akin to a forbidden child -- because it was always assumed that hera would never have children -- your nasty temper, smart mouth, and enormous ego have led to a number of fights. all of them were petty, with campers making claims about you that were so far into leftfield you were surprised they even caught on. 

“what happened this time?” luke asks, his shoulder brushing against yours when he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. 

“that stupid fucking lava wall,” you grumble, taking a bite of your pancakes. 

“okay…” katrina prompts, waving her hand in a continue motion. 

you swallow your food before answering, “i love the lava wall, it’s such a good workout, but i hate that my time slot is the same as the ares kids.” 

“nothing new, but what’d they do now?” katrina asks. 

“annoy me,” you answer.

luke says your name in the same tone he uses when travis and connor get caught pulling some master prank. you can hear the disappointment in his tone, and that elicits an eye roll from you. he doesn’t even know the full story, and he’s already picking a side other than yours, typical. 

“sorry, that we can’t all be the golden child like you,” you sneer, getting up from the table to throw the rest of your food in the burning fire pit.

everybody knows you prayed to your mother when the flames flash a deep purple before flickering back to their normal orange. 

“i’ll talk to her,” katrina says, standing up from her seat. 

luke lifts up his hand, shakes his head no, and replies, “i got it.” 

he follows you out of the dining pavilion and into the woods. you know he’s there because you can hear the cracks of twigs and rustling of bushes as he matches your step. only two people are crazy enough to follow you, but only one of them knows when to walk in silence.

“go back to camp luke,” you demand, pushing a branch out of the way. 

“not until you tell me what the fuck happened at the lava wall,” he answers, dodging the branch before it makes contact with his nose. 

you stop short, looking at long island sound through a small gap in the trees. luke knows the spot; you two come here frequently. he waits for a moment, admiring your straight back. even when you’re feeling your worst, you still muster up the courage to walk with the confidence of a princess. 

“the same old shit. you know the story,” you mumble, eyes squinting from the glare of the sun. 

luke sighs. he doesn’t understand why you put up this mask with him. why do you feel the need to continue being the strong, confident, arrogant, and put-together, daughter of hera when it’s just the two of you? he steps closer to you, standing directly behind you so his arms can wrap around your waist. you lean back into his chest, shoulders sagging in defeat. 

“i never used to care what people thought of me, now it’s all i can think about. this was supposed to be different, luke,” you whisper. 

luke doesn’t say anything in return. he drops his forehead against the back of your head, and squeezes your hips just a bit tighter. camp was supposed to be different. you were meant to feel wanted and seen; he was meant to become a hero with ultimate glory. from the looks of it, neither of you are anywhere close to getting what you deserve. 

—

some days were harder than others, luke knew this. yet, it didn’t make it any easier when one of those hard days came around. each and every time he feels utterly dead to the world, wanting nothing more than to rot away in the comfort of his bottom bunk in the hermes cabin. being head counselor doesn’t afford that luxury. so, he takes a deep breath, musters up every ounce of courage his body could possibly possess, and walks out the door. 

usually, the training arena is quiet in the mornings. nobody, not even the most dedicated warriors, is willing to get up earlier than they need to. sleep is a hot commodity at camp half-blood. and so is privacy. so, luke relishes in the quiet mornings where he’s surrounded by the soft tweets of birds, the slash of his sword, and his heavy breathing. he trains and trains, searching for a way to be good enough again. he used to pray, but after years of going unheard and unanswered, he gave up on connecting with his father.

he thinks of his mother, alone in their house in suburban connecticut. she never doubted hermes, even when he left them for worse; her faith kept her loyal. luke wishes that he had her loyalty, but he doesn’t. instead, all he feels is anger and resentment towards his father. he swings his sword again, cutting through the outer layer of the dummy, and watches as the stuffing falls gracefully to the ground.  

“that’s a lot of slashes,” you comment, and your voice draws him out of his own head.

he ignores you, continuing on with his practice session. 

“you know you can take a break, right?” you ask, coming to stand behind him. 

luke’s arm falls to his side, his sword resting against his thigh. his head falls forehead, and he takes in a deep breath, letting the clean air fill his lungs. your hand sneaks between the strap of his bronze breastplate and his bright orange t-shirt. he takes another breath, and your chin digs into his shoulder before you drop a kiss on the exposed skin by the collar of his shirt. 

you don’t say anything, and luke appreciates that about you. ever since your arrival at camp, he’s tried to pinpoint what exactly draws him to you. every time he comes up empty handed, but at this moment he knows it’s your willingness to just let him be. you never force him to be happy or content with the gods’ and their behavior. you embrace the darkness slowly rising inside of him, even when he tries to suppress it. 

“i just want to be good enough,” luke whispers, finally allowing himself to be vulnerable. 

your arms tighten around him, and you reply, “you are good enough.” 

“not for him,” he mumbles. 

“he’s not good enough for you,” you say assertively. 

luke doesn’t comment on your words. the conviction in your voice is enough to inform him that there’s no changing your mind. he wishes he believed you, but he doesn’t. 

“you’re not the one who failed their quest,” luke mumbles. 

you openly scoff at his words, letting go of him. he waits patiently for your next move and stumbles when you pull him towards your face by the strap of his armor. your eyes met, and luke swear he’s never seen such fury brewing in them.

“don’t ever use that as a determinant of your worth. that quest was impossible luke, and he knew that,” you seethe. 

luke blinks, letting your words sink in. he can’t believe them; he doesn’t believe them. 

“it was my chance, my one chance to show him that i’m worthy,” luke whispers, leaning his forehead against yours. 

you let out a shaky breath and luke can feel the anger and frustration radiating off you in waves. he knows that if he wasn’t holding you in his arms, olympus would fall. he blinks, and you’re standing there, in the middle of crumbled temples and the debris of ancient ruins with the fiercest look in your eyes. you’re hera’s daughter, and you’re loyal to a fault, he thinks.

“i just don’t know how much longer i can do this,” he confesses, kissing your earlobe. 

“me too,” you answer, squeezing him tighter. 

—

the two of you are sitting on the dock, feet dangling over the edge as your toes barely graze the surface of the water. you always meet here after all the campers in the hermes cabin settled into bed. when he was able to sneak out and away from their curious eyes.

“i hate it here,” you whisper, leaning further back into luke’s chest.

“you don’t hate it here,” he mumbles, fumbling around in the pocket of his cargo pants. 

“i do,” you answer with certainty. “everybody here hates me. except maybe you and katrina,” you continue. 

luke doesn’t accept or deny your statement. instead, he just hands you the orange stick. you scoff at him, but take the vape from his hands anyways. one thing about luke, he feeds your addictions; every single one of them. instead of thanking him, like you normally would, you bring the vape to your mouth, inhaling deeply. you wait a second, letting the toxins fill your lungs, and then release the smoke in one puff. there’s nothing sexy or hot about the action, but luke squeezes your side, pulling you a bit closer. 

“i can’t believe my plug is my boyfriend,” you joke, but there’s no happiness in your tone. 

luke pokes your side. you switch the vape to your left hand, holding it out to him. you wait patiently for him to take it, but he doesn’t. that confuses you. you turn to face him, forehead bumping against his chin. it hurts, but you just grit your teeth instead of saying anything. luke grimaces, leaning down to plant a kiss on your forehead. 

“there are other people here who like you,” luke says.

“name them,” you demand, taking another hit. 

luke takes the item from you, uses it, and then answers, “chris.” 

“is your friend not mine,” you reply. 

luke rolls his eyes. “connor and travis,” he continues. 

“enjoy torturing me, not my company. besides, they’re like ten,” you say. 

“okay then, what about clarisse?” luke asks.

now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, “clarisse tolerates me.” 

“that’s more than i can say,” luke answers, and you snort at his response. 

luke smiles softly at you, and you feel your cheeks heat up. you hate when he does that. when he looks at you like you’re the only person he could possibly dream about. there are days where there's such deep admiration for you in his eyes, you wonder if he leaves burnt offerings in your name instead of the gods.

you turn his face in the opposite direction and whisper, “don’t do that.” 

“do what?” he asks nonchalantly.  

“you know what,” you answer, shooting him a pointed look. 

luke grins. it’s proud and cocky, telling you that he knows exactly what he’s doing. his brown eyes crinkle at the corners, and his scar bunches up with the upturn of his lips. you think he looks the prettiest in this moment; in the dark of the night, with messy curls, grimy skin, and a vibrant smile. you turn again, so that your legs are draped across his lap, and wrap your left arm around the back of his neck. luke’s left hand, the one previously resting against your side, lands on your right thigh, and he squeezes the flesh there as he kisses your temple. 

“do you think we moved too fast?” you ask, taking the vape from his right hand. 

luke waits, expecting you to take a hit, but you just look at him with eager eyes.

“i think we’re doing everything right,” he explains. 

his words hold a deeper meaning that you refuse to acknowledge at the moment. you know what’s going on, but you don’t want to think about it. what would mother say?, you wonder. you lean your head against luke’s shoulder, nose brushing against the crook of his neck, and close your eyes.

“do you think icarus knew he was falling to his death?” luke asks, breaking the silence.

it takes you a moment, but you respond, “maybe. i’m not sure.”

“i mean he was flying the whole time, and then suddenly, he’s plummeting into the mediterranean,” luke continues, taking the vape from your hand.  

“maybe he wanted to die,” you reply, tilting your head to meet his brown eyes. 

a confused expression overcomes luke’s face, propelling you to continue on: “he must have known that the sun would melt the wax, and then his wings would break. i think icarus meant to die, trying to send a message to daedalus or even maybe the gods.”

luke ponders your words for a minute. the gears in his head turning as he contemplates the truth behind your theory. is that what we’re doing?, he wonders. the brewing plans between the two of you linger over his head like a dark cloud, but he can’t bring himself to regret anything.

“so icarus had a greater purpose…like us,” luke observes, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“exactly,” you answer, leaning into his side. 

luke hands the vape back to you, and you pocket it for good this time. he exhales deeply, engulfing you in a cloud of mango-scented smoke. it burns your lungs, but at least you feel something, which is more than you can say as of lately. 

“i just want to be happy,” luke announces. 

“happy and free,” you decide, kissing his cheek delicately.

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo @hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @used2beee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcillia @obxstiles @maraschinocherry3

[bobluvbot]

someone you loved

pairing: sirius black x f!reader  summary: your relationship with sirius hurt so much, that the only way forward was to forget. wc: 3k a/n: angst angst angst!!! lots of negative self talk and low self esteem, allusions to a bad childhood (not stated directly), implied emotional abuse & cheating, both sirius and reader are going through it.

snippets of his voice echo in your head like a haunting lullaby that doesn’t seem to end. its funny how the mind is known to block out the traumatic memories, but for some reason, yours kept record of the most painful ones that left his lips.

you’re just too much. 

i can’t love you the way you expect me to.

i’m ending this.

i’m sorry, but i can’t deal with this, with you, anymore.

it keeps repeating like a song once loved, now loathed left on repeat, and a stop button might be somewhere but you can’t bring yourself to turn it off. it reminds you of that habit you secretly developed when you had two large bruises on both your knees after a nasty fall, bone hitting pavement. nothing bled, which was a relief to the new babysitter as no bright band-aids would be blatant proof of her lack of attention on the kid she was supposed to keep watch on. blood kept within the skin, nothing left to do but to watch your body slowly take it back. you were curious of how the color changes each day, the angry reds bleeding into dark purples that resemble galaxies that you’d see on your astronomy books. one day spent examining your bruises again, you pressed on the reddish purple one too hard and tears spring up your eyes when the sting hits. but as it lingered and faded, a strange feeling of satisfaction replaced it, and you felt the urge to press on it again, curious to see if the same unknown feeling makes an appearance again. It does, and the fascination as you play in between the lines of pain and pleasure follows you as you grew up. Curious, you once read up on it from those muggle books, where you learn that the body itself releases pain-killing hormones that help relieve the perception of pain, leading to a temporary feeling of relief. 

you knew thinking about sirius’ words will never not hurt, will continue to bury you in a deepening hole that you have to fight to the nails to crawl out of, but you couldn’t stop. 

It gave deep seated satisfaction to that green monster in the back of your mind, responsible for only seeing the negative in each situation you find yourself in. ‘i told you so,’ it says in a tinny singsong voice, clearly pleased with each iteration of sirius’ words and the raw metal stabbing your heart each time.  

it also serves like a constant reminder of your failure. Failure to love like a decent person, failure to be the person that sirius needed, failure to gauge what was too much that the other person drowned without you knowing, failure to protect yourself and your dignity from being trampled on like nothing, and failure to just simply accept the fact that love just wasn’t made for people like you. 

being friends with lily made you forget a lot of things, fundamental parts that you realized so young. you knew better, should have after everything you’ve gone through, but somehow with her, anything seemed possible, achievable, tangible when you’re a kind person. marlene would always say, doing good things meant you can expect to receive good things back from the universe.

and for the most part it seemed to always work that way. you’d witnessed james nurture the simple appreciation he had on lily’s genuine smile at him that eased his nerves while they were in line to get sorted into houses throughout the years, growing as he’d gotten to know her innate kindness and wit, and finally erupting from him like rays of sunlight until he became brave enough to speak it out loud starting fourth year. 

Even though the marauders had acted questionably during their early years of exploring their pranking abilities, james had always been full of love. Never hesitating to share it to those he truly cared for. it took lily years to accept this, and more to gain courage and let herself experience it. 

by 7th year, you never believed a love could thrive like that whilst cradled with such young hands until you saw james and lily do it effortlessly. 

so what part of this could’ve made you think otherwise? 

were you to blame for believing in that fantasy, that something like this could be attainable for someone like you, too? 

you had always housed deep adoration and awe for sirius black, like many others, despite his wild reputation and scandalous rumors that seem to always follow when his name gets uttered.

why? Because he was once the raven haired boy who slipped the trolley witch a few sickles when he saw you return the pumpkin pasty after realizing you couldn’t afford it. 

it had been a gloomy tuesday. the trolley witch was supposed to go compartment by compartment, but the bumbling first years seemed to miss that memo and started piling up close to the cart to see what was being sold that she had to force them all in a line. you were quiet and unobtrusive as you stood patiently in line; which was nothing compared the boys’ raucous laughters and animated chatter behind you. sirius would’ve accidentally pushed or stepped on you if he didn’t see your figure. the train was loud and so was james’ mouth, so excited to be away from his parents and to have his first official Hogwarts friend, but sirius also stood close enough to you that he could hear your stomach grumbling and see your arms crossed over your midsection. he admitted once that he found the gurgling sounds funny (like an eleven year old would do) but he didn’t have the heart to poke fun at you because he remembered he’d hear the same thing from his own when his parents would send him to bed without eating. 

even before your turn, you were already overwhelmed at the amount of food and candy available, none of which sounds or looks remotely familiar to what you’ve had growing up. your heartbeat picked up when you heard loud sighs, feet tapping impatiently (both James) snorting and shushing (sirius), and just grabbed something that resembled bread, quickly apologizing to the witch that gave you a kind smile. you hadn’t eaten anything as you rushed to pack the mismatched, secondhand supplies that the headmaster had sent you, and you were dropped off to the station just in time before the train left. your fingers trembled in excitement to finally eat and in hunger as you fished out your coin purse. It took a few seconds before it sunk in that you don’t have enough to buy your pasty. How embarassing. 

You swallowed your tears back, willing the hateful voice in your head to keep quiet for a minute or two, just enough time to put back the pasty and run to your deserted compartment, where you could freely go to town beating yourself up for your stupidity. Just quick enough so no one will notice. 

It took three deep breaths before the dam opened, for the tears to run uncontrollably down your cheeks. You couldn’t even wipe it off because your hands were still clutching your stomach, trying to ease the growling, gnawing pain. Pathetic.

The compartment door opened and you didn’t even hear someone clearing their throat, only looking up when a hand dropped three pasties, a chocolate frog, and a bottle of pumpkin juice on your lap. Barely balancing it, you looked up to see who took pity on you, but only caught a glimpse of stark raven hair and alabaster skin.

you’d find him later during sorting, squeezed between three boys that couldn’t seem to shut up about what house they thought the other would go. not used to kindness, much less from a complete stranger, you hesitated approaching him. but fate always had a weird way of showing you it does listen to your wishes once in a while and you found yourself later on, scooting a bit to your left to make space for him on the bench of your shared house. you both exchanged a knowing smile, and you’d always remember him like that. The kind boy who gave you a feast even without knowing who you were. 

you’d remember that boy when the pouring rain had finally soaked through your thick coat as you waited patiently for him at madam puddifoot’s on your first Valentine’s day. Despite the fact that he was already two hours late and the cafe would be closing soon, you chose to wait. 

you’d remember that kind boy when some mean ravenclaw girls in class would pick on you for the most absurd things, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you looked back at him desperately for some reprieve, only for him to avoid your gaze and continue to guffaw at something James said, effectively ignoring your existence. 

You once asked him why. It was embarrassing how quick he figured out what you were really asking. In fact, he knew a lot of things: that he didn’t deserve your love (or anyone’s for that matter), that someone as pure and selfless as you shouldn’t even associate with the likes of him, and that he was aware of every single thing he does that shatters you whole. He knew that he should tread this conversation gently, to not let his claws rip further skin more than he already has, but the Black darkness has its way of slithering out of the deep recesses he tries to bury it in. 

Words leave him exasperatedly, like he’s not spouting words that cut through skin. “I’d been clear to you right from the start, of what I can give you and what I can’t. You knew what you were getting into, Y/N. you put this onto yourself.” 

He storms back into his dorm before he could hear your quiet sobs echo through the empty common room. 

—-

lily knew in the back of her mind that this wasn’t just a simple, silly request now, but more of an obligation to her closest friend. 

it’s been three weeks. three excruciating weeks to be handed and given and filled with so much love she didn’t need to ask for, whilst seeing her best friend chip away with the lack of, like a once-bright porcelain doll that was abandoned and exposed to the direct heat of the sun. 

you had finally gone silent by last week, like a shut door. refusing to eat, go to class, speak—- hell, lily bets, if you could also not breathe by choice, you wouldn’t. It’s like youre keeping everything you once had given to the world thoughtlessly, close. Dorcas thinks you were keeping close to heart the mundane things that make you alive, to remind yourself that you still are. She had said, like air to a balloon. lily cried herself to sleep that night, the thought of losing such a fundamental part of her life, you, inch by inch, day by day, in front of her very eyes was a haunting, damning thought. Something that she and you both thought would come so much more years later, with unsurmountable memories, many glasses of champagne and slices of cake, wrinkles and smile lines, more laughter and loving hugs exchanged. 

she had thought the silence was a welcoming sign of change. A necessary step towards acceptance and moving on. she was relieved when your crying stopped, tremors leaving your fingers, and there was a chance again for the redness to vacate the whites of your eyes. She held hope that she and the girls can start working on instilling your light back, hopeful that a few months from now their star can find its way back to its rightful place in the sky and everything could be okay once again. 

Lily looked forward to nights that were filled by snores and shuffling of sheets, not the unmistakable sound of your feet on the wooden floors, misjudging that everyone was asleep, the muffled creak of the dorm room door opening and closing, and your footsteps fading in the dark. She’d wait fifteen to thirty minutes (the longest was an hour or two on the first night) before she’d hear you return, footsteps still light but she could hear the slight drag in each step, almost as if it was taking so much of your might to even make it to the bed. the quiet whimpers would start, followed by muffled hiccups lily knew only happens when you cry too hard. it took so much of her to exercise self-restraint, to keep herself on her own bed and not lay beside you and hug you as if it’s something that could put you back together. 

She has to turn her back on you even if it felt like raw betrayal. 

Because that one time she didn’t, she couldn’t forget the look of horror, dejection, desperation, and pure unbridled embarrassment on your face when you realized she knew what you were up to late at night. She knew you came up to the boys’ dormitory, crawling into sirius’ bed, where you begged and begged for him to take you back, that you’ll be a better more doting and loving girlfriend this time around, that you won’t be too attached this time and will give him the necessary space and time he needs so he doesn’t feel suffocated, that you’ll be anything, do anything just for him to welcome you back into his arms and whisper sweet nothings in your ear until your throat was raw, and sirius has to physically take you back to the start of the staircase to your dormitory. 

this happened for days and days on end until the boys had to lock their door at night, or whenever sirius is in. 

james couldn’t meet lily’s eyes when he’d ask for her help to keep you apart from Sirius as it would do you no good. they had gotten into a fight because of this, because lily heard nothing but  ‘stop her from making a fool of herself’ and her best friend is the smartest intuitive empathetic kindest witch she had ever met; the farthest thing from a fool. 

But one day those very words came off your lips with a hollow laugh. “But I am a fool, Lily. No one in their right mind would even do half the things I do.” It would be hypocritical for lily to deny sneaking out at night and crawling into your ex’s bed and begging for him to take you back as something of a desperate fool would do. A girl once had chased and pined for Remus during the entirety of fifth year and the things she did to get his attention were laughable at that time. But she didn’t plan to see the same, even worse, done by her best friend, and she still couldn’t wouldn’t call you a fool.

After all, your only fault was that you loved. And that shouldn’t even be a fault because that’s what she did with James, marlene with dorcas, her father with her mother. even someone as selfish as petunia could find love and be loved right back. 

you of all people deserved to love and be loved right back after everything you’d been through, and james would say the same thing for sirius as well. 

but sirius was a complex person, lily could recite this on top of her head from endless times where you stood your ground, defending sirius’ honor like he’d see your great martyrdom and suddenly consider you once again worthy of his love and affection. Before, she knew of sirius as a friend and James’ brother— but she knew more than what she signed up for because you’d fill in the gaps for her when she’d try to beat some sense into you during the unacceptable treatment you’d accept from sirius. 

You’d say with such confidence “he loves me, he’s just going through a lot right now, especially after that howler his mother sent him a few days ago.”

You didn’t have to elaborate, lily remembered that day vividly, not because of the way sirius’ face fell when the howler began its assault had reminded her so much of how she’d react after getting bitter letters from petunia, but because that same day she saw sirius being manhandled by a hufflepuff, both kiss sick and all over each other, into a secluded broom closet. 

It was years worth of push or pulls, of moral dilemmas that would get the outspoken redhead to choke on her words, and dejectedly sweep them under the rug out of your sight. Because the beaming smile and flushed cheeks you’d sport when Sirius murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, the weight on your shoulders dissipating when tucked in his arms, the jump in your step whenever he’d kiss you on the forehead and wish you good luck for the day— Lily couldn’t bear the thought of robbing you with those moments of bliss, even when it’s all done in private. 

So in an empty classroom on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon, she points her wand at you, fingers trembling and tears trailing down her cheeks, but you don’t see any of these. Instead, your beautiful features wear a serene expression that weakens lily’s knees. Oh how she missed her dearest friend. She’d do anything in the world to get you back, hold your hand, and dance with you in the autumn rain. 

So she does the wand movement like she practiced for days and takes a breath. She pictures you and Sirius happily dancing barefoot during the yule ball, your blushed cheeks when you told her about the feel of his lips on yours for the first time, you on sirius’ shoulders as you carried the quidditch cup, both smiling big as remus snaps a picture from the muggle camera, you drifting off to sleep on sirius’ shoulder while your hands were laced as you rode the train back to hogwarts.

Before mumbling the incantation, obliviate.

[the-thing-withfeathers]

exceeded caution part 5

how dare you?

series masterlist | previous part | next part

a/n: ohhhh i had so much fucking fun with this chapter. i couldnt stop once i started. i hope u all enjoyyyy

pairing: ex!tara carpenter x f!reader into sam carpenter x f!reader

warnings: cursing, threatening language, mention of blood and violence, mention of sustained injuries, mention of stabbing. 3.9k words.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

"i really don't want you doing this." you said to sam as you fixed the collar on her jacket, using your palm to flatten the fabric.

"i will be fine. and i'll be back in no time." sam placed her hand over yours. you just stared at your joined hands for a moment.

she noticed that you were starting to zone out and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"it'll work. i know it will." she said, confidently.

"it might work. but at what risk?" you asked, finally making eye contact with her. "they're putting you out there like lambs for the slaughter. i don't want anything to happen to you or tara. it's not worth it."

sam placed a hand on your cheek, holding your attention.

"i'll take any chance to catch this motherfucker and put an end to this if it means we get to be together at the end."

god, you hated her.

"you'll need to be alive for that, samantha." you rolled your eyes at her.

"i will be alive. i promise."

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

you were sat in the back of a van while sam and tara wandered out in the open. you hated the idea of using them as bait. no matter how good kirby and detective bailey were at their jobs, you knew ghostface was always a few steps ahead.

as mindy and kirby butted heads over the plan, you glanced at ethan. the boy was shamelessly snacking on a bag of cheetos, how could he even stomach anything right now? he noticed your staring and turned the bag of cheetos to you, offering you some. you waved your hand to dismiss him and looked away.

you offered to join the two sisters in their escapade to gain an advantage over ghostface, but they didn't need you in an even worse state.

you realised that you didn't even have a theory as to who the killer could be. there were too many people around and too many things happening for you to even make a guess. you also wondered if anyone suspected you.

"heart of gold with a dark past." mindy said, describing you to tara and sam. "it's the perfect cover up."

"she's got a rock solid alibi." tara said, crossing her arms at mindy. the girl still held a protective nature for you. "i was breaking up with her."

"she still left after." mindy countered. "you never know. isn't it weird that she always just seems to be around when you need her most?"

sam hated to even consider that you were capable of taking a life. unfortunately, despite her growing feelings, she had to be cautious with you. that was one of the risks she had to ponder on after you two decided to take things further.

fortunately for you, she looked into your eyes enough to know that there was not a single murderous spark in that head of yours.

"this is exactly how our uncle randy died." mindy's frustrated voice echoed in the van, taking you out of your investigative headspace. "broad daylight, public place, yanked into a van." the girl's monologue was never-ending, she was hard to stop when she got like this.

"stab. stab. stab. no more randy!" she exclaimed.

"huh." kirby responded, seemingly ignoring mindy's efforts at pointing out flaws in the operation. she turned back to the computer in front of her. "hey sam? stay frosty out there, okay?"

"we're good." you heard her voice through the computer's soft speaker. the tone of her voice reassured you, you knew she just wanted this to end.

you leaned back against the wall of the van, letting out a small yawn. you can't remember the last time you got a decent sleep.

you heard a faint ringing. you sat up as sam picked up the phone.

"you're gonna die, you know?" you almost felt your attraction to her increasingly grow with her determination. but now wasn't the time to think about that.

kirby typed away on her computer, tracking the killer's location. you leaned forward, trying to hear better.

"for a mastermind, you’re not very bright. waiting for me to call, desperately hoping i’m nearby so the police can grab me." the voice changer was haunting, it was the type of voice that wouldn't leave your nightmares. he was terrifying, you had to give him that. "but i’m not nearby. i'm one step ahead. be seeing you, samantha."

hearing sam's full name come from ghostface sent chills down your spine. it was intense, like the name held a lot of weight.

he hung up just like that, you watched as kirby discovered his location. the radius slowly started to narrow down to the upper west side.

kirby informed the two girls that ghostface was nowhere near them.

"on west 96th?" tara asked, kirby furrowed her eyebrows.

"how did you know that?" kirby inquired.

"gale." sam spoke.

you thought back to how kirby turned gale away from joining everyone, how press wasn't allowed anywhere near this. while her action was valid, you now realise it may have turned around to bite her back harder.

you heard heavy breathing and footsteps from the other end of the comms, deducing that they were running.

"my friend danny works on the upper west side. he can get there quicker!" you heard sam say through her short breaths. you had only met danny a few times, you had no doubt that he was a good presence in the carpenter's lives. although, he was still a viable suspect. you know he had a history with sam, you couldn't tell if it was just jealousy or actual logic that caused you to suspect him.

"or he could finish her off! it's possible he's the killer." detective bailey had a point there, it was convenient that he just so happened to work in the area.

"fuck. we have to get there now." sam said, stopping in her tracks as bailey protested, asking her to take a minute.

the comms started to fizzle out suddenly, you realised it was because they were getting further away.

you couldn't help yourself and lunged out of the van you were sitting in. you looked around and scanned the area. you spotted bailey and squinted, only to see that there was a police vehicle driving away with it's sirens blaring. you had no doubt that it was tara's doing, she could be reckless when she wanted to be.

"fuck this." you mumbled, turning back around to kirby. "can you take us there?" kirby heard the worry laced in your voice, she sighed and nodded.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

the car ride was silent, you sat in the passenger seat while the other three squeezed into the back seat. chad looked uncomfortable in the middle, seeing as he was the most built one out of all of them.

you jumped as your phone buzzed, you were doing that more often.

caller id — tara carpenter

you quickly answered.

"tara. are you okay?" you immediately asked. "is gale okay?"

"sam and i are fine. gale isn't. she's been hurt." tara answered your question.

"sit tight. we're almost there." you said.

"okay." tara sounded exhausted. this would have been extremely hard for the both of them. gale was someone that was there when this all started, despite their differences, she was a constant that they could depend on. "i'll see you soon..." tara proceeded to hang up the phone.

you turned to everyone else in the car. "gale's been hurt. i'm not sure how bad but we'll find out soon enough." you wished that there were no other cars present on the road. you wished that you could just plow through every other vehicle just to get there faster.

when you arrived, the sisters were standing shoulder to shoulder by the steps of the apartment complex.

sam looked like she had years taken off her lifespan. she was staring into nothing, her mind was racing and her shoulders were holding the weight of the world.

you hopped out of the car and felt your feet pick up the pace, you had to get to her as soon as possible.

as you crashed into the girl, you wrapped your arms around her neck, enveloping her into a hug. she took her hands out of her pockets and hugged your waist, her face burrowing itself into your neck. she inhaled deeply, taking in your scent and warmth. she felt herself relax a little more as she held you in your arms.

"i was so fucking worried about you both." you said, slowly pulling away to suddenly pull tara into a hug. she didn't expect it but she was pleasantly surprised. she hugged your waist and put her head on your chest. you were tall enough to rest your chin on her head. hearing your heartbeat was enough to calm her as well.

"any word on gale?" chad asked, walking up the stairs. you all collectively decided to sit on the couches that were in the lobby. you took a seat directly next to sam.

"she had a pulse the last time we saw her." tara cleared the air a bit more. "they said she's strong enough to pull through."

you sighed in relief. you spotted danny suddenly run into the building, breathless as he looked like he was running.

"i got here as fast as i could." he spoke in between breaths.

"did you?" tara asked, her tone accusatory.

had tara also been suspecting him? you had to give her credit for that. she was incredibly quick with picking up things like this. you glanced at danny and realised he was staring right at sam. was there still something lingering there? did sam have any lingering feelings? you wanted to pull her closer, stake some form of claim on her but you knew you had no right to do that just yet. instead, you settled for placing a hand on her upper arm.

"i'm scared. i don't wanna get hurt again." mindy said, her voice just barely above a whisper.

"neither do i." chad followed. mindy eyed him.

"i don't want you getting hurt again either." she told him.

"i know. i know." chad leaned his head on his sister's shoulder. as much as they butted heads, they loved each other more than anyone.

tara leaned her head on mindy's shoulder too. a part of you would have loved to be there when they were all happy together, enjoying life as normal teenagers back in woodsboro. maybe then you'd be able to understand them.

"so what do we do now?" chad asked, turning to sam.

"maybe he gets to win this time." sam said, softly. your eyes flickered to her, your eyebrows furrowing at her statement. win? what did she mean by that?

tara, mindy, and chad had the same expression as you. they raised their heads to look at sam, confused looks on their faces.

"he wants to punish me." your was pushed away as she stood up from her seat. "me." you saw tears starting to pool around her eyes, a choked down sob almost making it through her hardened exterior. "so maybe i let him."

you looked over to everyone else, did this sound absolutely ridiculous to them too?

"i'll just give myself up." she said, allowing the tears to flow freely and the rasp to take control of her voice. "if this is what i have to do to keep you safe, it's worth it."

you were stunned to silence. sam just wanted to give up. that wasn't the sam you knew, that wasn't the girl you fell for. you wondered where this was suddenly coming from. you thought that all the loss just got too much for her, she was willing to give herself up to end it all. you couldn't let that happen.

"no!" tara spoke up before you could. "we're not doing that, sam." the girl scrambled to stand up from her chair. "you came back to woodsboro to protect me. every single day, you make the decision to protect me. none of us would even be alive if it wasn't for you."

"she's right." chad nodded. "you have to let us help you too, sam."

"no." sam shook her head. she couldn't take it anymore. she hated how much you've all been through just because she happened to draw the short straw in a gene pool.

"yes. we're a team, remember?" tara stared her sister down, which was impressive given that tara has never been able to stare anyone down.

"actually, we're family." mindy said. you watched as the four of them came together, chad clapping and standing up. you wondered how the lovable knucklehead managed to brighten up the moment no matter what.

"core four!" core four. that was cute.

"he's gonna keep coming after us." sam said.

"isn't there somewhere safe we could just hole up in?" ethan asked. you forgot he was there for a second. maybe he felt like just as much of an outsider as you did sometimes.

"he's just gonna keep finding us." tara said to him. suddenly, it was like the gears turned in her head. "we could use that though. i have an idea."

tara held her hand out and asked for chad's phone, walking outwith the rest of the crew. sam was about to follow but you pulled her back.

"i didn't get to say what i thought." you said, your voice was firm. sam met your eyes and her lips pressed into a thin line. you were glaring at her. you shoved her chest back. it wasn't enough to topple her but it was enough to stun her. in fact, it was impressive how you were able to do it with just one hand. "how fucking dare you?!"

she stared at you with wide, shocked eyes.

"don't look at me like that. how dare you even think about giving yourself up?!" you almost screamed at her but you kept your voice down. "did you not even think of how that would affect everyone else?"

sam was rendered to silence. she wanted you to let it all out, even if it meant taking your sudden change of tone. she didn't know how to handle this side of you, but she was glad you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with her. in fact, you challenged her.

"tara would be left without anybody! you're practically chad and mindy's triplet! and me! and... and me..." you started to stutter out your words as the sobs laced themselves in between your words. "did you even remember that you made me a promise?" you asked, weakly.

"i'm sorry. i remember that promise like i made it two seconds ago." sam said, reaching for your hand and placing it over her heart. "please forgive me. i'll never bring it up again. this heart will continue to beat for you." it was criminal how easily she eased your worries.

"you stress me the fuck out." you scoffed out through tears.

"i'm afraid you will have to deal with that for a very long time then." she said, placing her own hand over yours.

"good."

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

you two rejoined everyone else outside, tara was already on the phone to detective bailey.

"we wanna lure him to a secure location and trap him inside." was tara's opening line that you walked in on. the girl was clever. she probably already had an entire plan mapped out in her head. you were always impressed by her level of intelligence.

"and then what?" you heard bailey over the phone.

"we execute him." you almost laughed at the aggressive word used by tara. but you felt that it was fitting.

bailey went quiet, you chalked it up to the fact that he was probably thinking the entire thing over. he had lost his daughter, you thought that he wouldn't think twice.

"are you gonna help us?" tara asked, an attitude sparking. she was growing impatient. and nobody liked impatient tara.

"let's kill this son of a bitch." bailey said.

you looked over to sam as bailey explained that you had access to the theater. he also warned you all to travel in public to minimize the chances of ghostface attacking you.

so you decided to take the subway.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

the hustle and bustle of new york.

it had been a while since you've actually been out with other people. this was an unconventional reason for you and all your friends to suddenly immerse yourself in the crowd but it was better than nothing.

you almost forgot it was time to play dress up. most of the people underground were all dressed up in costumes, probably about to make their way to halloween parties.

as you pushed through the crowd. you felt yourself get pulled in a million different directions. before you knew it, you had gotten separated from your friends.

you were shoved into a tightly packed train car, trying to shove your way through to find someone familiar. you squeezed your way through the sardine-like formation that everyone situated themselves in.

eventually, though the clearing, you spotted chad. you started to slowly make your way over to them. your arm was in pain, constantly being bumped into by strangers or the train itself. you winced as someone backed into you, lightly pushing them away,

when you reached the group of four, the train shook. you stumbled into tara, reaching for her shoulder with your good arm.

"sorry." you mumbled. sam let out a breath, she was glad you made it on with them.

"it's okay. i'm glad you're here." tara said, turning to face you. you grabbed the hanging strap right above her, staying close.

"me too. where's mindy?" you asked chad. "and ethan...?"

"we got split apart. pretty boy here pulled me in. maybe if you didn't do that, i'd be with them." chad practically spat at him.

"i was just trying to keep us together." danny said, on the defensive side.

you and tara turned to him at the same time, the same expression on your faces. you squinted at him, studying him a bit. he was a local, he knew how busy the subway could get. sometimes you just had to go with the ocean and not force anything.

the lights started flickering and you made sure to keep an eye on everyone when they did turn back on. chad suddenly straightened his posture when he realised the state of the train.

"holy shit." he looked just behind sam's shoulder. you followed his eyes.

ghostface. pinhead. ghostface. michael myers. ghostface. ghostface. ghostface. ghostface. another ghostface. and another ghostface.

they were everywhere.

"fuck." you whispered under your breath.

"how many stops do we have?" tara asked, sam leaned over to look at the map.

"ten." she said.

fuck. double digits. were you even gonna make it to the first?

it was like the universe was actively working against you. there was no way you all happened to board this train on this day and get separated.

people started to funnel out of the train with each stop. you looked over at sam and realised something had caught her eye. you tried to track where she was looking but there were just too many people.

"guys." she caught the attention of everyone else.

there.

one of the ghostfaces was moving towards you at an alarming pace. just as he was about to reach sam, you stepped in front of her. she grabbed your waist to steady you and pull you back against her chest.

the person in the costume turned to exit the train. you exhaled sharply and grabbed another hanging strap, this time on sam's side. tara frowned at the loss of your closeness but admired that you stood in between sam and a potential murderer.

with sam's hand resting on your waist still, you stayed close to her side, practically leaning on the girl. your mind was racing. nine more stops to go.

you hoped that mindy was okay on the other train. she'd be just as terrified, there would be just as many ghostfaces.

stop after stop, the pit in your stomach failed to resolve itself. even if you were going to make it off the train, you still had an entire night ahead of you.

screech!

you had dozed off on about stop number six, you were now seated but still leaning on sam's shoulder. you blinked your sleep away and sat up as you hit your final stop.

the four of you exited the train, quickly jogging up the steps and out of the subway. as you walked towards the theater, you felt yourself gravitate towards sam.

fuck it.

tara, danny, and chad walked ahead of you both anyway. you reached for her hand and intertwined your fingers. you needed that moment with her before you walked into your doom. she roughly pulled her hand away, looking irritated suddenly. you looked up at her with concern, did you miss something?

as you fell asleep on stop number six, chad turned to sam.

"you have to be careful of her." he whispered. he had never been the theory type, that was more mindy's thing. but mindy wasn't there, and she had her thoughts about you. as much as she did care for you, she cared for everyone else too. "she's got just as much motivation as the rest of them."

sam looked at the floor, silently processing.

"tara broke her heart. she could be out for revenge." he continued. "i know you like her a lot. and i get it. i was like that with liv ages ago. i let my feelings cloud my judgement. and you can't do that, sam. we're counting on you."

sam gritted her teeth at what chad was saying. she knew he was right. she had to do what it took to protect her family. unfortunately, you didn't go through what they went through, and you did have motive.

"and even then, she's already taken a lot of hits. we can't have anyone slowing us down. she's down one arm and it might bite us in the ass harder than we think." chad said. she hated that he used your injury to built the case against you.

even then, it didn't stop the doubt that grew in sam's mind.

she had to make the right call tonight. and it was going to be hard.

as you met kirby outside the theater, she mentioned that she had everything set up.

"let's get you all inside." she said.

sam abruptly turned to you and danny.

"not you guys."

what?

"sam, what are you talking about?" you asked her, stepping towards her, nearly shouldering danny just to get in her eyeline.

"i can't trust anyone. and yes, i know... i know what we are. but we don't know you." you felt your heart shatter at the fact that maybe you didn't open yourself up as well as you thought. when she said that, you knew that she didn't eliminate you entirely from her list of suspects, no matter how deep her feelings ran.

"but i have to be in there with you. i promised i wouldn't leave!" you said, reaching out to her. she only stepped backwards, away from you.

"you're not woodsboro."

she was right. you weren't woodsboro. you never were and you never will be. you were never going to be a part of that little family they shared. you were never going to understand.

as you stood outside with danny, you didn't know what to do with yourself. when you saw the group round the corner, you heard danny's muffled groans. you turned around to be met with the infamous masked killer himself.

and then everything went black.

𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩 𓆪𓆩

author's journal okay once again this came out a lot sooner than i expected but i had a lot of writing muse today and i promised emma that i would get this out for her! i hope you enjoy this, liefje. oooh i am sososososososo incredibly excited to write the next part of this series. cause u alllll know whats coming next. i promise it won't end when the canon ends though, i'm estimating a few more parts even after the ghostface stuff is resolved. i also fuck so hard w the music i listened to when writing this chapter. a lot of paris again but the live version of labour this time. that song just sends chills down my spine. but i promise i listened to more! particularly this song riiiiight here.

i also kinda wanna start timing myself when writing like hm just curious to see how long i usually take esp for long chapters. i hope u all have been enjoying the series so far cause i've had SUCH a good time writing it. i have an assessment due in two days so i will have to focus on that for a hot sec but i promise part 6 wont be ages cause i'll write it in my free time. anyways, i wish that everyone has the bestest day ever. kisses x